Supervillain Idol System: My Sidekick Is A Yandere

Don stood at the edge of the bed, tugging the zipper of his pants into place with a faint metallic **zip**.

Just a few feet away, Trixie was sitting on the edge of the dresser again, her legs swinging back and forth lazily. Each playful kick caused the hem of her skirt to flick upward, offering teasing glimpses of her panties that she was undoubtedly aware of.

She rested her cheek in her palm, her pout exaggerated for effect. "Are you sure you don't want to do some more… exploring?" She offered in a voice full of mock innocence, her pink tail flicking mischievously behind her.

Don exhaled through his nose, turning to face her fully after zipping up his pants. "Nope." His tone was flat, dismissive. "You were already loud enough with your throat stuffed full of cock. I don't want to risk it."

Trixie gasped, clutching her chest like he'd insulted her honor. "Hmph! You're no fun." She crossed her arms beneath her petite breasts, causing the frayed edges of her cropped hoodie to ride up slightly.

The exposed underboob was no accident—she clearly enjoyed weaponizing her figure.

Don shrugged, as if unfazed. "Are all succubi like this?"

Trixie's eyes widened in mock offense. "Hey! That's racist." She straightened, hand pressed dramatically to her chest. "Not all succubi think about cock all day… Some only think about it most days."

She leaned forward, eyes narrowe, as she went to add, "And every Succubi has their own fetish. Some like 'em young, others old, others unalive—" she wiggled her fingers as she spoke, as though casting a ghostly hex or spell— "and some prefer beasts, toys, or beasts with toys. We're all different."

Don blinked, genuinely unsure if she was messing with him or dead serious. "...Which do you belong to?"n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

With a proud smirk, Trixie crossed her legs, causing her skirt to ride up again. "The one that wants to be pumped full of spunk every day." She tilted her chin up, striking a regal pose. "I thought becoming Elle's familiar would land me a master who'd fulfill my childhood dream—getting tied up naked, bound over a bed while—"

Don raised a hand abruptly. "Yeah, I don't need to hear about your weird childhood dreams."

Trixie frowned and then disappeared in a swirl of pink smoke **poof!**, reappearing on top of the dresser. Now towering over Don from her elevated position, she planted her hands on her hips and declared proudly, "They're not weird. They're works of art. You are the brush, and I'm the canvas."

Don rolled his eyes, already regretting entertaining the conversation. "If you just wanna try more kinky stuff, just ask."

Trixie's entire face lit up, her eyes suddenly so full of excitement. She vanished again in a quick **poof!**, reappearing directly in front of Don, looking up at him with boundless enthusiasm. "Really?! Then can we try the helico—mmfph!"

Before she could finish, Don pressed a firm hand over her mouth. "I didn't mean now. I meant in general. Besides…" He arched an eyebrow. "Aren't you satisfied for now?"

Trixie pulled back from his hand with a disdainful scoff, her expression unimpressed. "Hmph! A real succubus never gets enough spunk." She folded her arms again, glaring up at him defiantly. "If you ever visit my world, I'll take you to the Gangbang Olympics and you'll see what I mean."

Don's eyes narrowed as his brain conjured an unwanted mental image—flags waving, judges holding up scorecards, the "national anthems" likely moaning-filled symphonies. He immediately shook his head, banishing the thought.

"Nah," he said, deadpan. "I'm good."

Don crossed his arms, his gaze narrowing. "Tell me you're not into that."

Trixie's eyes widened, her mouth falling open like she'd been accused of murder. "The fuck?! Do I look like a classless succubi who'll settle for any cock?"

She jabbed a finger toward him, her expression fierce with fake outrage. "I'll have you know, it's scientifically proven that sex is better when dedicated to one cock. Too many, and you lose sensation."

Don blinked, half-wondering if she was serious or pulling his leg. Before he could process, she continued her tirade. "Why the accusation, huh? You don't see me calling you a gangbang junkie!"

His thoughts wandered for a moment. 'Maybe because I don't appear in people's rooms begging for spunk… but sure, I'm the bad guy.' He suppressed the urge to roll his eyes, realizing she was oddly sincere despite the absurdity of the conversation.

With a resigned sigh, he raised his hands surrender. "Fine. You win. It's an art, and you don't look like a… gangbang junkie."

Trixie nodded with self-satisfaction, crossing her arms and tilting her chin proudly. "Hmph! And don't you forget it."

With that settled, she stretched lazily, her cropped hoodie riding up just enough to show the edges of her perky nipples. "Anyway, I better get going. I'm pretty sure Elle's done with her alone time at your shrine."

Don frowned. "Wait, what shri—"

**Poof!**

Before he could finish, she vanished in a swirl of pink smoke.

Don could only exhale slowly, muttering, "Well, at least I know she's not a complete sex maniac."

With the room finally quiet, he stretched his arms over his head with a satisfying **pop**. "Well, better get to bed."

———

The following morning…

A soft **knock-knock** echoed through Don's room door, followed by faint shuffling just beyond it. His superhuman senses picked up every shift and breath outside, stirring him from his light sleep.

He groaned, lifting his head from the pillow and squinting toward the dresser. His phone's lock screen glowed faintly, the numbers 4:03 AM blinking back at him like a cruel joke.

"Seriously?" he muttered, rubbing a hand down his face.

Still half-asleep, Don swung his legs off the bed, the cold floor sending a sharp jolt of awareness through him. His bare feet padded softly as he crossed the room, reaching the door with sleepy slowness.

With another soft **knock**, he grasped the doorknob and twisted it open, ready to scowl at whoever thought waking him this early was a good idea.

Instead, he paused with a brow raised.

Standing there, hand raised mid-knock, was Summer.

Her outfit didn't help his drowsy mind—pink booty shorts that hugged her hips and a loose, low-cut vest that hung off one shoulder. Her skin caught the dim hallway light, smooth and sun-kissed even in the early hour.

Her soft blue eyes blinked up at him with hesitant warmth, her lips parting slightly as if she hadn't expected him to answer so quickly.

Don stared for a moment, still half-asleep. "…Summer?"