#saf's yandere stone au

[notagayloser]

No, you don’t understand.

Stone is strong. He’s intelligent. He’s fiercely loyal—to a fault. (Literally. His loyalty is a fucking problem.) There is so much potential with yandere Stone. But it’s not possession in the traditional sense. Robotnik doesn’t belong to him. It’s the other way around. Stone is Robotnik’s, he knows this, and he likes it that way.

Stone exists for him. His devotion isn’t passive—it’s worship, obsession sharpened into purpose. A prayer whispered in the form of unwavering obedience. And only Stone is worthy. Only Stone gets to stand in his presence, to bask in his brilliance, to offer up his loyalty like a sacred gift.

This is what I mean when I say Stone is Robotnik’s. Not in the way a soldier follows orders, not in the way one man admires another. It’s deeper than that. Darker. It’s his faith, and no one else is allowed to share it.

[notagayloser]

At some point, Robotnik stopped seeing Stone as human altogether. Flesh and blood became irrelevant—nothing more than the messy casing surrounding the machine. What mattered was performance. Precision. Predictability. So he recalibrated his expectations, molding Stone into something like an algorithm, his every response, his every flaw, stripped down and remade into an extension of his will.

Occasionally, when Stone’s reactions failed to align with the cold logic Ivo demanded, Robotnik would mutter, "Huh. Unexpected output." like a programmer logging an error, as if Stone were nothing more than faulty code. In those moments, Stone’s very existence seemed reduced to an anomaly—a glitch in the perfect machine.

And then, when Ivo indulged in a rare moment of physical contact, his gloved hand resting on Stone’s forehead, the gesture was not tender—it was clinical, mechanical. Like recalibrating an instrument to its optimal setting. His voice, velvet-smooth and chillingly absolute, slipped into Stone’s ears like a command from the depths of the machine’s code:

"Flawless execution. Keep running that subroutine."

The words were nothing more than a performance review. Yet, to Stone, they struck deeper than any wound—deeper than any blade could ever reach. They carved into him, seeping into his bones and twisting in places where emotion should have been, where desire shouldn’t have bloomed.

He stands, frozen, paralyzed between the programmed obedience coursing through him and the unbearable, unholy longing gnawing at the edges of his soul. His mind whirls, caught in the gearwork of this cruel, impossible tension. He inhales, struggling for control, each breath forced and erratic, like a machine desperately trying to reboot, to reassert its purpose.

[notagayloser]

At some point, Robotnik got tired of repeating himself and compiled a comprehensive document titled "Optimization Procedures for Agent Stone" that details exactly how Stone should act, respond, and even breathe around him. It’s a mix of scientific analysis and completely unnecessary micro-management

"Chapter 3: Proper Coffee Preparation & The Inevitability of Disappointment"

"Chapter 7: Acceptable Vocal Tones When Addressing Your Superior (Spoiler: There’s One.)"

"Chapter 18: Grooming Standards - A Guide to the Only Haircuts That Don't Offend Me"

Stone has memorized the manual. And he obeys it. Even the ridiculous rules.

[notagayloser]

Stone’s hands are not soft.

They are worn, calloused—etched with the ghosts of past labors, lined with the jagged remnants of wounds that never quite faded. His hands are not tools; they are weapons, precise and unyielding.

But when they touch Ivo, they are reverent.

Mapping the sharp angles and stark planes of his body with an almost unbearable devotion, tracing fire and static into his very skin. Every graze, every press of his fingertips, is an unspoken prayer. A silent vow, worship whispered against flesh.

Ivo is indulgent. Unconcerned. And that allowance alone is enough to unravel Stone completely. A single nod, a glance, the barest flicker of acknowledgment— to Stone it is everything. He kneels as if his very existence depends on it, as if the act itself is holy.

If gods were real, they would envy the way he prays. If devotion could be measured, even the heavens would come up lacking.

His hands do not seek permission; they plead for purpose. And without Ivo beneath them, they are nothing—hollow, wasted, meaningless. His hands have broken men, left bodies ruined and bones shattered without a second thought.

But against Ivo, they are weightless, reverent.

Stone does not just memorize him—he consumes him. His hands, so capable of violence, are terrifying in their restraint. Because they could break, could ruin, could tear apart anything that dared to stand against the man he adores. But here, against Ivo, they do the opposite.

Here, they tremble.

[notagayloser]

Stone’s body is a canvas of devotion, it's covered in marks.

Bruises bloom beneath his skin, fingerprints press into his flesh, bite marks linger like signatures, scratches carve their way down his back. Every mark is a claim, a reminder, proof of who he belongs to. And he wears them proudly.

Stone carries fading violet of bruises and the sting of half-healed wounds by choice. He wears them like scripture etched into flesh, proof of Ivo’s touch, of Stone's devotion. He doesn’t just endure them. He welcomes them.

Stone is made to be owned. To be marked. To be reshaped beneath Ivo’s hands. But Ivo? Ivo is untouchable. Divine. His perfection is not to be marred by something as crude as human possession. He remains untouched. Untainted. And that's how it should be.

[notagayloser]

There are moments when Robotnik’s hands are gentle—fixing Stone’s collar, tracing the violet bloom of a bruise—but it is not tenderness, not really.

Stone is a biological canvas stained with the fingerprints of his maker.

Robotnik’s hands have built machines, burned bridges, shattered bones—and now they sculpt devotion itself. They straighten Stone’s tie with the same precision used when calibrating delicate machinery, they trace bruises with curiosity. Fingers brush against flesh like instruments against glass, testing for fractures, for flaws in the architecture of his creation.

To be handled by those hands is to be understood—taken apart, examined, remade.

In every scar, Stone carries a signature. Every conditioned flinch, every desperate breath, every trembling plea. It was carefully curated by Robotnik. Every single cracked edge of Stone’s soul is hidden in a file somewhere, annotated with clinical fascination.

The proof of devotion, flickering in Stone’s every desperate plea, every breathless whimper.

Because of this, Stone does not need to say he belongs to Robotnik—his body, his mind, his every conditioned reaction screams it because it is instinctive, involuntary—a reflex carved into him like writing etched into metal.

Robotnik doesn’t love Stone despite his obsession, he loves him because of it—because it’s fascinating, beautiful in its predictability and volatility. Robotnik does not give care—he engineers it. His affection is rooted in observation, data collection, and meticulous analysis.

To him, this is how you care for someone: you know them, down to their biological rhythms.

And Stone, like a moth developing a symbiotic dependency on flame, wants for it. He devours every scrap of attention, cradling it to his chest like a holy relic. He begs. He pleads. And Robotnik finds the begging beautiful—not because of sadism (though sometimes it’s that too), but because desperation is data, and that data is beautiful.

It's proof that autonomy is a myth when devotion can be designed. Proof that Stone’s perfection is not in his freedom—but in the way he breaks, predictably and beautifully, every time.

[notagayloser]

Okay, so you know how you have Stone practically worship Robotnik like a god? His broken little yandere mind. ♡♡ Anyway, I figured this song fits the vibe super hard.

https://open.spotify.com/track/1z3ugFmUKoCzGsI6jdY4Ci?si=oDiYQRqsQaG-SPnSSzsubA

OH MY FUCKING GOD Some of these lines hit SO hard bro. Like Stone would totally listen to this on full blast just because he finds prayer to a loved one so damn relatable.

[notagayloser]

idk if im the first or the millionth

but

uh

your headcanons are everything to me and have reshaped both my brain chemistry and the meaning of toxic yaoi

thanks ❤️‍🩹

YOU'RE MY FIRST!!! Oh my, I'm like so happy. Ty bro like genuinely. Nobody's given me any asks or anything yet so this is like awesome. If you have any specific questions or requests, feel free. I crave inspiration.

Most of the things I'll be posting on this account are part of my Yandere Stone AU but I'll do anything if asked tbh <3

[notagayloser]

100 NOTES?!?!? Yall are a bunch of funky lil freaks and I love it. Ty so much 😘

EDIT: If anybody happens to be interested in seeing more of this characterization of Stone in the future it will be under the tag "saf's yandere stone au"

No, you don’t understand.

Stone is strong. He’s intelligent. He’s fiercely loyal—to a fault. (Literally. His loyalty is a fucking problem.) There is so much potential with yandere Stone. But it’s not possession in the traditional sense. Robotnik doesn’t belong to him. It’s the other way around. Stone is Robotnik’s, he knows this, and he likes it that way.

Stone exists for him. His devotion isn’t passive—it’s worship, obsession sharpened into purpose. A prayer whispered in the form of unwavering obedience. And only Stone is worthy. Only Stone gets to stand in his presence, to bask in his brilliance, to offer up his loyalty like a sacred gift.

This is what I mean when I say Stone is Robotnik’s. Not in the way a soldier follows orders, not in the way one man admires another. It’s deeper than that. Darker. It’s his faith, and no one else is allowed to share it.