Yandere! Yakuza X Reader (V)

Yandere! Yakuza x Reader (V)

In a rather unlucky turn of events, you find yourself kidnapped for being in the wrong place during a gang war. Worry not, your yakuza boyfriend is at your service. Yet another bloody reason not to mess with him.

Content: female reader, organized crime, violence, gore, obsessive behavior

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5]

"Damn it!"

The scarred man throws another tile into the pile, clicking his tongue.

"I gotta say, you're pretty good for a foreigner." A second man with an eyepatch remarks, carefully inspecting his set before retrieving a tile of his own. "Pung."

You take another greedy sip of the cheap sake and slam the little cup back on the table.

"Kind of inevitable to learn mahjong when your only friends in this country are yakuza." You look up towards your captor with a frown. "You guys ever heard of board games or something?"

"Try to explain new rules to this dumbass!" A third man angrily pours himself another glass, pointing towards the first. "Fuck, I could iron clothes on that smooth brain of yours!"

"Fuck off, you're not any better." The scarred man continues his turn with furrowed brows. 

"If I were you I'd keep quiet about being pals with the yakuza. They'll question you, too, after the office guy. Don't make it worse." The man wearing an eyepatch mentions in a lowered voice. The table suddenly goes quiet.

"When is he coming out?" You ask hesitantly, bile pooling in your mouth. You already suspect the answer.

"He's not. Bodies are discarded through the back entrance." He pats the ash off and takes another drag off his cigarette. 

You swallow. 

Being involved with the Triad was not part of your new year resolutions, yet here you are about to be interrogated by the local Chinese syndicate. At least the lackeys have taken pity on you, a poor civilian caught in the middle of their rivalry. Hence the fake sense of normalcy as you chitchat at the mahjong table with a cup of sake to ease your wrecked nerves. 

"I'm guessing they won't be as friendly back there." You nod towards the door, where they took your work superior several hours ago. 

"No." 

That's all you get and you can only smile bitterly. Huh. You wonder if this is how Daitou's victims feel, helplessly waiting for whatever is brought upon them. Having to watch him unwrap his tool belt, stuffed with rusty old tools littered in blotches of dried up blood. Pondering his questions while he eyes the row delectably, hovering his hand over the potential ways to loosen up your tongue.

Would they torture you, too? Hopefully not. It should be rather obvious you're just a mere civilian. Then again, if your work superior mentioned anything about you being Daitou's girlfriend...He's never told you anything downright incriminating, but it'll be hard to convince these fellows that you truly are clueless.

Maybe they'll let you go if you offer your finger as a token of peace. Your forehead wrinkles at the thought. Isn't it more of a Japanese custom anyways? And if they say yes, then what? Do they provide you with the required utensils or are you expected to improvise on the spot?

You remember one of Daitou's seniors describing the process in great detail during the Christmas party. You had asked him about it, purely out of curiosity, and he certainly delivered almost more than your stomach was able to handle (Daitou scolded him later for telling you too much). You take the tatami mat and preferably wrap it in cloth, to soak up the blood. Any sharp blade will do, but traditionally you'd be offered a proper tantō that can easily slice through the bone. Obviously you want to cut as little as possible, so you still have some functionality remaining. Right above the joint. You must put all of your body weight into the thrust, otherwise the cut won't be clean and it turns into a mess. 

Hell. You wipe the cold beads of sweat that have formed on your face. You can barely chop an onion. Maybe one of the gangsters has enough experience and goodwill to offer to do it for you. Then you only have to clench your teeth and prepare for the blow. It can't be that bad. Surely the shock will be too great, and your brain won't even register it. Before you know it, they'll dip your hand in ice and rush you to someone fit to perform the aftercare. Yeah. That should to the trick. 

"Hey, foreigner. It's your turn."

"Leave her be, can't you see she's pale?"

You glance up and notice the men looking at you expectantly. They've already showed you plenty of kindness from the moment they shoved you in that black van with the rest of the office workers. Perhaps you can rely on them one final time. You suddenly bow, head pressing against the table. They're somewhat startled by your gesture. 

"I'm deeply sorry to ask, but might any of you be knowledgeable in blades?"

"H-huh? What for?"

You ceremoniously slam your hand onto the table, rattling the mahjong tiles. You struggle to let the words out, but try to maintain a straight face, picturing Shozo Hirono's cool attitude when he performed the deed himself in Battles without Honor and Humanity. 

"Would your Boss be satisfied with a yubitsume? I cannot offer anything else of use."

You feel a harsh hand smack against the back of your neck and you cough, taken out of your focus.

"Dumbass! What the hell are you talking about? Why would our Boss need the finger of a civilian, and a woman on top of that? 笨人!" The man with an eyepatch is red and flustered as he scolds you. The other two are holding back their snickers, amused by the scene.

"Let her! I have a knife on me right now." The scarred man comments with a grin. "Whaddaya say, kid? Or have you changed your mind already?"

"A man never goes back on his word." You bark and straighten your back, crossing your arms imposingly. 

The eyepatch man smacks you again and the other two begin clapping, terribly entertained by your tomfoolery. 

The spectacle doesn't last long. Within seconds, you jump out of your seat at the sound of rapid gunshots and scattered, erratic shouts.

Daitou bows before his Seniors and mumbles a polite, monotonous greeting. It's highly unusual to have the Lieutenants gathered at the office like this. Kazuya is fidgeting in his seat, Boss is away on a trip. What else could require everyone's immediate attendance? He makes his way to the blonde man and drops himself on the sofa, awaiting the details. 

"Wakasugi has been taken."

A chaotic murmur ensues. 

"He's been making offers for a building in a neutral area. That's where the Chinese sell their drugs and they claim it to be their turf. I hear some of our newbies got caught dealing that shit as well. Boss has been at their throats for some time now and this is their way to say fuck you."

Ah. More gang rivalry drama. Daitou presses his lips together, trying his best to hold back a yawn threatening to escape his mouth. Hopefully they'll leave him out of it, he has a date planned with you and he'd rather not show up reeking of rotten flesh. 

If you get kidnapped, think of yourself as already dead. The Yakuza doesn't negotiate. They just get their revenge tenfold. Unless it's someone important, like the Boss himself, the honorable way is to die without betraying your Family. 

"Just put a few bullets in them. Should teach them a lesson." He says while stretching. 

"Yeah, we're sending Oota and his men to deal with it. Just be on the lookout." One of the Seniors responds. 

"Still, the fucking guts on them. To show up at the office, right before our eyes-" Another man cries out, frustration in his voice.

"What did you say?" 

Kazuya flinches. He knows where this is going and he glares at the outraged yakuza, trying to silence him. Sadly he doesn't take the hint.

"Right? They just waltzed in, shot some of our guys and took Wakasugi and whoever was nearby. Heh, what are they gonna do with a bunch of office assistants? Extra weight to carry to the dump."

"Enough!" Kazuya's exasperated yell causes everyone to quiet down.

There are several confused looks being exchanged before everyone's eyes eventually rest on Daitou, now staring ahead motionless. Didn't his girlfriend work at that office? The Senior giving out the initial order has realized the mistake. He quickly clears his throat and is about to speak, but Daitou abruptly stands up and heads for the door.

"Oi! I said we're leaving it to Oota. This isn't your job." 

He tries to repeat his words with confidence, but his voice falters towards the end when faced with Daitou's massive frame. Particularly the barrel that's now pressing into his forehead.

"Mind your fucking business or I'll kill you right here." Daitou threatens.

"D-don't think Boss will help you out of this one, brat. If you go, you're disobeying your Senior."

The tall yakuza smirks mockingly. 

"See if you can run for Boss with your skull split open, bitch."

Kazuya slaps the gun aside and steps between the men.

"Just let him go. I'll take responsibility." He pleads, his friend already slamming the door behind him. 

Once the aggressor has left, everyone exhales discreetly in relief.

"He'll get us in trouble with the cops." The Senior retorts to the blonde in a berating tone.

"What else do you suggest? You know there's no way around it if he's pissed."

No one replies to what seems to be an universally agreed upon truth.

He blows out the smoke and crushes the cigarette under his foot. Fuck. He needs to calm down. They most likely haven't killed you, but if they laid a single hand on you...He's blacking out again. Whatever blinding rage possessed him back in his youth, when his Boss got wounded, would now pale in comparison. His ears are ringing and his vision is foggy. He can't even recall how he made it to their building. Or how he got past the guards. Although that one's easy to figure out, judging from their twisted throats. 

He checks his rounds one final time and kicks the heavy metal door open. Only about a dozen of them, but no sign of you yet. Should take a minute. It is time for him to pay his respects. 

"What the fuck was that?" the scarred man swiftly takes out his weapon and knocks the stool over with his foot.

If it is who you think it is...Your face twists in fear.

"Listen, you've been nice to me so I don't want to see you dead. Could you...could you leave, please? It might be someone I know and I promise you there's no point in fighting back."

The noticeable quiver in your speech might lead one to believe you're awaiting your executioner, not your savior and boyfriend. But you've seen Daitou angry and the ordeal flooded the very marrow of your bones with terror. Naturally he could never be upset at his darling for any reason, ever. Whoever poses a threat to you, however, can't say the same thing. You remember trying to pull him back from a random drunk that had groped you during an outing, and he tightly gripped your jaw with a bloodied hand and nearly ordered you in a ragged growl: "Hey. I said I'll be done in a moment. Be a good girl and close your eyes." 

Thus, from experience, you know he'd never listen to your pleas. Maybe if he was lucid enough, but not in this manic state. The man wearing an eyepatch scans your expression attentively. Your worry is genuine and the other room is gradually becoming quieter, but not in a way that'd inspire him confidence. He certainly doesn't feel like dying today and there's nothing honorable about throwing yourself into a senseless battle. He nods at the other two men and he asks you one last time if you'll be fine by yourself, to which you shake your head vehemently. Please go away already. 

The final obstacle crumbles under Daitou's weight and you fiddle with your glass, alone, at the mahjong table. He seems to be taken aback and once he confirms you're not in any pain or discomfort, his demeanor switches within an instant. 

"Where's everyone?"

"They ran away."

"Just like that? And left you here?" He stares at you, baffled.

"Maybe there's some still in the back. These ones left because I asked them to."

He approaches you, still bewildered and confused. He looks like a lost dog.

"What? They were nice to me and I didn't want you to kill them. You never listen when I tell you to stop." You huff, pouting and folding your arms.

"Sorry. I got a little bit anxious." He kneels before you and extends a hand apologetically. "Friends again?"

"Wash your hands at least, I don't want to know what organ remains you have stuck through your fingers."

He chuckles and wipes the palm against his shirt. You follow his movements and notice the bullet wounds near the ribcage. This madman. You speedily bend to his level and remove his jacket to inspect the injuries.

"Christ. Take off your shirt and let's at least stop the bleeding before we leave. How the hell can you still stand with all these holes in you?"

Daitou unbuttons his shirt obediently and you try to wrap it around his abdomen. You notice the thick, wide scar crossing his stomach, presently smeared with blood. Either his or someone else's. 

"Now that I think about it, how did you get this scar? From a gang fight as well?"

"Oh no, I got this in prison. I was supposed to serve many more years, but one of the Seniors rang and said Boss needs me for something. They were in talks with the police chief to maybe bribe my way out. 

But I felt terrible knowing that Boss would be wasting money on my mistakes. At the time the place was overcrowded, so I figured they'd let me out for medical emergencies. So I cut my stomach open and they counted it as a suicide attempt." He responds with a proud grin. 

You grimace a little at the mental image. 

The cloth has been tightly, albeit clumsily secured around his gashes and you both get up. It occurs to you that throughout this mess you haven't feared for your life once. It feels like Daitou is always there to get you out of trouble. Despite his unorthodox methods.

You gaze up at him and notice the prosthetic eye has rolled inwards, so you adjust it slightly with your finger. He follows your romantic gesture with a quick peck on the lips. 

"You'll get yourself killed one day." You whine, tired.

"And leave you alone? Never. You're stuck with me for life."

He flashes you a wide smile and pats your head.

"Can we still go on that date?" The yakuza suddenly remembers, guiding you as you zigzag your way among fresh corpses.

So he hasn't forgotten. A faint blush dusts your cheeks.

"Sure, but I'd like to have a bath first."

"Then let's have one together." He suggests cheerfully, completely unbothered by whatever just happened.  

Tags: @yandere-city2 @lokiofasgard12 @zeniiis @lucienbarkbark @channelinglament @your-next-daydream @bath1lda @murder-hobo @zanzie

(hopefully I didn't forget anyone)

My early Christmas present to you:

The brothers letters, you’re welcome~ :3

HQ BOYS MEETING A BEAUTIFUL FAN

⟶ ft. kuroo, suna, ushijima

♡ kuroo

"kuroo? kuroo testurou?"

kuroo whips around, ready to apologise to whoever that the nekoma volleyball team is currently rushing to catch their bus back to school, when he's suddenly hit with...

kuroo's jaw drops.

he doesn't even know how to describe what he's seeing. all he knows is that he's currently staring at the girl of his dreams.

"um, could i take a video with you?" you give him a tentative grin, before rocking back on your heels, adding, "and if it's okay, could you wish my friend to get well soon?"

kuroo immediately closes his mouth, aware that he looks completely stupid in front of the cutest girl he's ever laid eyes on. he gazes at you with his iconic half-lidded eyes, hoping he sounds more confident than the way his heart is clenching in his chest, "oh? a video? and what's your friend's name?"

"misaki! she's your biggest fan but she couldn't be here because she's sick today." kuroo nods empathetically at your explanation, internally swooning because you're going to such lengths for your sick friend? that is so cute.

"sure! a video's nothing! hang on - kenma, help us take a video!"

kenma turns around, about to protest how they have no more time to entertain fangirls when he sees kuroo slinging an arm around you. kuroo shoots kenma a pleading look and kenma finds himself sighing because, of course, kuroo is absolute putty for pretty girls.

when coach nekomata calls for kuroo and kenma, kuroo frowns as he removes his arm around your waist, before he gets an idea.

he leans in closer to you, pressing something into your hands, smirking, "return this to me in school."

before you can even open your mouth and protest, kuroo's gone.

you look down in your hands and see his nekoma jacket crumpling between your fingers as you giggle to yourself.

♡ suna

suna is normally cool as a cucumber, eyes glued to his phone nonchalantly whenever a group of fangirls approach his teammates and gush animatedly.

normally.

he thinks he's being slick when he sneaks a few glances your way, heart clenching in his chest as he sees you move closer - or rather sees your friends drag you towards...him?

suna quickly assesses his situation and scans the area around him - no, the miya twins were not around him. this could only mean one thing - you're headed straight in his direction.

before he has the time to really freak out about an angel of a girl approaching him, you're already getting pushed towards him, with your friends' soft snickers in the background. and you're beaming up at him softly.

he feels his heart in his throat when he hears you repeat, gesturing to your friend who's holding up a polaroid camera, "are you okay to take a photo with me?"

okay? fuck. he is more than okay.

suna blinks, regaining a little composure. straightening his jersey, suna nods at you silently and wraps an arm around your shoulder, hoping you don't hear the way his heart is hammering thunderously against his chest.

holy shit. how do you smell amazing too? what was that - vanilla or something floral?

as suna tries to figure out what exactly is the intoxicating scent wafting around him, the photo is over, a little too fast might he add. he feels you pulling away from him and his arm drops back to his sides.

he knows he sounds uncharacteristically simp-y and even cringes a little at himself, but he knows he will forever regret it if he didn't ask you.

"do you wanna have another photo? with the polaroid camera, i mean."

suna may or may not have left his number behind the second polaroid.

♡ ushijima

"hi!"

ushijima feels a gentle tap on his shoulder right after he hears you. he turns around slowly and -

there is no way you are real.

"hello." he greets, looking stoic in contrast to the way he's internally panicking.

ushijima feels his grip tighten on the volleyball he's holding, taking in the way your eyes shine under the harsh gym lights. he listens to you ramble something about being a fan of his and a reporter as his eyes continue to glaze over your angelic figure, only snapping out of it when he feels kageyama nudging his side.

"so ermmm, what do you do in your free time?" you repeat helpfully, prodding a pen against your notepad.

"uhm." ushijima feels his face heating up. "i take care of my plants."

you're immediately gasping, "no way! i'm a plant mom too!"

"oh, uhhh," ushijima swallows, growing impossibly redder at the revelation of your shared hobby, "what do you grow?"

"roses!"

of course. that suits you, he thinks, pretty flowers for a pretty girl.

before ushijima knows it, he's spluttering nervously, "there's...actually a nursery around here..."

you look up from your notepad, eyes crinkling excitedly as you listen to ushijima explain how to get there. but after a couple of failed descriptions, ushijima scratches his head, "i-if you're not too busy afterwards, i could take you there?"

your eyes widen at the insinuation, before you nod shyly and give ushijima a small smile, which he finds himself melting at.

did ushijima just score himself a date? maybe.

is he complaining? oh hell no.

🤍 reblogs are very appreciated!

stay

tsukishima kei x reader

warnings: afab! reader, mentions of unprotected sex, unclear relationship between reader and tsukki, kei is bad at feelings

you hear tsukishima shuffling in the bathroom as you lay on his bed.

looking up at his ceiling, you try to figure him out: is he the kind of guy who’ll kick a girl out after he sleeps with her? will he let you stay? should you get dressed and make a run for it while he’s busy?

instead, you stay where you are, only choosing to drape your arm over your face, the crook of your elbow resting over your eyes. you close them. you’ll leave it up to him to decide what he wants to do with you.

would he walk you home if he kicked you out?

eyes still closed, you hear him come back into the room. you brace yourself for rejection and the eventual walk of shame.

the bed dips as he kneels on it, inching closer to you.

you feel him tap the side of your naked thigh, “open your legs,” he says

you do so, choosing not to remove your arm from covering your face until you feel him clean the mess in between your thighs with a damp hand towel. you guess it’s the least he could do before kicking you out— given that most of the mess is his.

he sighs once he’s finished, discarding the rag, eyes still not meeting yours as he makes his way to the dresser across the room.

“you…” he drags the question out as he rummages through the top drawer.

“want a shirt?”

you hum, and he throws it over to you.

he’s pacing the room again, picking up the various clothing items you were each wearing before the night’s encounter.

you see him fold your pants, the shirt you were wearing, and your bra. he picks up your panties and finally, shyly, meets your gaze, cheeks coloring.

he throws these at you, too. you to put them on.

he’s back to his drawers, pulling out a clean pair of sweatpants for himself. the waistband rests low on his waist as he finally, finally, comes back to bed.

“umm,”

you take this as your cue to leave, sitting up and moving to the edge of the bed, searching his room for your phone, your keys, your wallet.

“i tend to run pretty cold at night,” he begins, clearing his throat, “do you want an extra blanket incase-

“are you leaving?”

he cuts himself off when he realizes you’re collecting your belongings, your pants already in hand, waiting for you to put them on.

you feel like a deer caught in headlights. your mouth falling open into a soundless oh.

“you want me to stay?” you ask him, unsure

immediately, tsukishima gets defensive, closing himself off, “i mean, no one’s forcing you to.”

he looks away, and you feel like hitting yourself with a hammer repeatedly.

“text me when you get home.” is all he says, still not meeting your eyes.

“tsukki-”

“what.” his tone is harsh. he’s furiously picking at the skin around his cuticles.

“i-i want to stay,” you tell him, nearing him where he is sitting on the edge of his bed. while he still pretends to be upset, he’s readily parting his legs for you to nestle in between them, burrowing his head in your stomach as you stand in front of him, your fingers immediately moving to scratch his scalp the way he likes. his hands gently cup your ass, bringing you closer.

tsukishima breathes in the scent of you and him mixed together through his shirt. you’re good to him. too good sometimes.

the truth is he wants you to stay in his bed (and his heart, and his life) forever.

“call me kei,” he tells you finally, softly, “s’the least you can do after asking me to cum inside you.”

“kei,” you say, smile on your lips, savoring the syllable, “can you get me an extra blanket?”

he huffs, pulling you down to lay beside him, “you won’t need one after i’m done with you.”

A Sacrificial Game

King!Dragon x Reader

This is my first post since deciding to kick off this new account. It’s rewritten from an old story I had posted on here long ago once upon a time. I hope you enjoy~

CW: ♢ Mention of Near Drowning ♢ Blood/Injury ♢ Abduction ♢

The coos of morning doves and the gentle brushing of branches against your bedroom window were quickly drowned out by the boisterous laughter and squabbling of your many siblings. Your attempt at trying to drown them out via the trusty quilt-over-head technique was quickly plundered as they burst through your sacred doorway. With energy only children can manage to conjure from the depths of hell at 8 in the morning, they jostled you around roughly, stealing away the comforting warmth you'd had. Surely, you'd thought, this was an act of merciless torture. Your skin prickled with goosebumps and, irritably, you managed to croak out a yip. "Ow! Off!" Your anger did nothing more than make them giggle as they lightly bruised you with their rough play. "Lemme sleep, dammit! Off! Get off!" Taking evident joy out of your misery, the damn gremlins only gave you a round of smug looks. They did relent, however it was truthfully only to avoid your flailing swats at their heads. “Momma said we ain’t eatin’ breakfast till you get up. So get up lazy" A chorus of agreements and more jostling only drew a strong eye roll from you. But, nevertheless, you shooed them off and sat up, groggily rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

Normally they'd just eat without you, leaving the leftovers warmed in the oven to be picked at by whoever passed by, but today was a special occasion. It was your birthday. Normally birthdays were happy events full of gifts, smiles, and all things merry-making-- but this one was different. While the younger whelps scurried off to the old wooden table, none the wiser to the fate that you now had to face, a heavy weight hung over the heads of the adults in the house. The thickness of the air palpable as you stepped into the kitchen and saw the grim look on your mother's face.

The saying goes that a starving savage is less likely to ravage your home if you give it a single meal-- and such began the gruesome, superstitious tradition... Once a year, one unlucky village that bordered the human kingdom would be chosen to place the names of all it's unmarried, of-age residents into a box and perform a drawing. Whichever sorry soul was picked would be ripped away from their homes by the temple, never to be seen again. The nobility liked to call it one of the "highest of all honors" a commoner could receive. The common people? You call it human sacrifice.

At least, most of your people do. Despite that being so, the vast majority of the population feared the very notion of abandoning the ritual. Why? Because the entire purpose was to "sate the otherfolk's thirst for human blood." One sacrifice, one year free from their wrath.

Your skin crawled at the very idea of it all as you leant down, clumsy hands tying up the laces of your worn leather boots.

As a child, you believed every word that hung off of the elders' tongues down near the pub. The fascination and wonder of another terrifying world outside the kingdom's tall, stone walls ignited your naive little heart. But with age, it grew evident to you that they were no more than simple old widows and drunkards with nothing better to do with their remaining time than talk stories and scare little children with tall tales. How were you supposed to believe beasts, much less entire civilizations of them, would be satisfied by the blood of one person if they truly wanted to attack a meager village, much less an entire country? Who decided they even wanted that blood? It was an argument you’d tried to raise countless times with your village council only to have it shot down with a simple “Well the Chosen never return, do they?” It pissed you off to no end. It didn't even take two wrinkles in the brain to conclude that it was more likely the animals of the woods, the elements-- or worse, other humans that caused the sacrificed to meet their demise; but no point you made would ever change their stone cold hearts.

And as though your age wasn't enough to make this birthday sour, the drawing was to be held this evening. The irony of someone losing their life on the day of your birth was palpable. Taking your usual chair at the kitchen table, you noticed the way two of your brothers squabbled over the last roll. With spiteful retaliation, you plucked it from between them taking a slow, mocking bite right in front of their faces. Maybe next time they'd think twice before ganging up to practically assault you out of bed.

"(y/n)?" Your head snapped up to attention, meeting your father's gaze. "How are you feeling?" You swallowed the fluffy bread quickly shooting a quiet reply. "I'm alright. Would feel a little better if you guys would stop lookin at me like I'm headed to the gallows." The laugh you were awarded from him was dry, but it eased some of the tension in his weathered shoulders nonetheless.

"I suppose it is a bit stuffy in here for a birthday, huh?" Your mother piped up sheepishly, wiping her hands on the dishtowel that hung from a belt on her hip. "Say, why don't you go visit Alikar? Trade some of our tomatoes for a basket of peaches-- bring those back and I'll make a pie we can all have after the drawing, how does that sound?" The little heads in the room visibly perked at the idea of getting their grubby little paws on something sweet. It wasn't often you had the sugar for such things after all.

Dismissing the idea of having to attend the black box event, you gave her a gentle nod. "Sure, I can do that. Need anything else while I'm out?" You inquired, stuffing the rest of the bread into your mouth before your youngest brother could snatch it from your hand. "No, dear. Just finish your breakfast and we'll handle the rest."

After practically beating your siblings off the table with a stick to get your fill, you quickly washed up and plucked the basket from the floor. “I’m off!” You called, getting no discernible acknowledgement as the chaos in the house never ceased. No matter to you-- the pie would be well worth the trip ahead.

Uncle Alikar.

The man was a huge part of the reason you didn’t believe a lick of all that ‘savage otherfolk’ nonsense. As your feet scuffed along the well worn path, old memories bubbled up to the surface like froth from the babbling brook that ran beside you.

You were the eldest of your siblings which, consequently, meant that when you'd been a rumbling little runt there were no older kids to show you the ropes and your parents' first trial run at raising a whole little person. This always resulted in you tumbling headfirst into trouble, but one day it had gone a little too far. Your tiny body approached the ledge of the stream. The same edge you would use every summer to hunt tadpoles. But, unbeknownst to you, the soil that was far too saturated with yesterday's rain to hold your weight. Without warning, it crumbled beneath your little feet sending you hurtling down into the rushing waters below. The merciless current carried you faster downstream than your father could run and just when your little head was wrenched under the raging current, a large beast sprung into the water after you. Before you could even process what had happened, your little lungs were hacking up the water they're inhaled, the coughing doing little for the burn in your lungs.

At first it was all a blur, you could hear your parents shouting as well as another rumbling voice above you responding back to them. Your little legs dangling far above the ground as a muscular arm stayed firmly wrapped around your waist. Someone was... holding you? You blinked away the tears, looking up to be met with a mouth full of razor-like teeth, thick sopping wet fur, and bright, slitted eyes. Misunderstanding what was going on, you began to cry out in fear. You were absolutely terrified you were about to be eaten by the ravenous river monster your mother warned you about countless times in attempt to dissuade you from wandering near the water when they weren't watching you. Only when those large paws handed you off to your mother ever-so-gently did you begin to quiet back down "Are you alright now, sweetpea? Ol' Alikar didn't mean to spook ya. Poor thing." He was some kind of rakshasa or tabaxi, evident by the sopping tail that swayed in the water behind him and round, fluffy ears that tilted back with concern. Speaking of...

Your knuckles rapped against the wooden door, sending warm clunks into the cottage. It was a serene place far from the human village which was always surrounded by the sweet smells of fruit and scents of warm, freshly made bread. Not but a few seconds later the upper half of the door swung open and there, in all his striped glory, was Alikar himself. “There’s the birthday girl!” He greeted you, his smile full of sharp teeth. A sight that originally took some getting used to but was now synonymous with a second home. “Hey Uncle Al. Mama sent me down to get some peaches for a pie.” You raised your basket of tomatoes.

He only chuckled in reply. “Oh, I know, how else was I supposed to give you your gift?” His paw pushed the lower part of the door open, welcoming you inside-- the scent of herbs and butter wafting much stronger from within. Surprised, you could only follow dumbly after him at first, setting the basket down as you took a seat on his kitchen table.

“A gift? Since when do you have the extra funds to get me gifts?! Aren’t you saving for the wedding? What about--”

    “Would you hush, child?” He laughed, taking amusement in your fretting. “You’re still new to the whole womanhood thing, what do you know about adult troubles?” You gave a halfhearted growl at him but had no argument to fire back at him. Even though you'd been considered an adult in human standards for quite a few years, Alikar did have more experience than you in that department.

"You get onto me about my finances but I don't see you moving out of your parents' home yet." He teased, carefully unloading every piece of fruit from the wicker basket with care. "Don't bully me! I'm plenty experienced in other things!" You whined. Snatching one of the many apples he'd left unattended. The crisp sweetness did little to nurse your slightly bruised ego but the coolness of the juice as it dribbled down you chin quenched plenty other, more satisfying needs. "Yeah? And what would your area of foreign expertise be? Apple thieving?"

You glared at his back, cheeks tinting "No! Like conversation! And courting."

"Pah!" He scoffed, soft paws stacking the soft, pink fruit into a neat arrangement. "Much good your 'experience' has gotten you, I am the only one getting married here out of the two of us." Okay. Ouch. "And I converse plenty well, thank you very much!"

The afternoon passed with similar banter as you stuffed yourself with whatever fruits Alikar let you get your hands on. In the end he had given you a carefully carved wooden totem of your favorite animal, peaches, and sent you on your way. Whatever wood the little figure was made from gave a faint, sweet scent when wet with water. A bit ironic considering how you met all those years ago but you appreciated it nonetheless.

You had asked him if he’d have wanted to come and celebrate with you and your family but, regretfully, he had to decline. As charming and kind as he was, the path to your home was far too close to the village for his comfort and the idea of one of your acquaintances or friends coming to celebrate as well and reporting him sent the hairs on the back his neck straight upward. It was no secret the village wasn’t excited about strange, new creatures given the black box tradition, so it was doubtful Alikar would be in the public eye anytime soon, as unfortunate as that was…

   You didn’t realize how much time you’d wasted until the shadows began stretching longer, snuffing out much of whatever light the day had left for you. “Ah shit.” You mumbled. You'd definitely missed the drawing, and at this rate you wouldn't be able to eat sweets till the next morning. Speeding up from a mozy to a quick trot back up the hill was unpleasant to say the least, but damn if those thoughts of peach pie didn't motivated you to haul ass.

However, as you drew closer your eagerness was smothered.

Hunching down, you quickly used the cover of the thorny brush to peer out at the scene below-- The terrified cries of your siblings pierced through your chest.

“Where’s the girl?!” A man demanded, spear to your father’s throat and eyes unwavering as your mother pled, voice breaking with fear as her children clung to her skirts.

“Dunno what you’re talkin’ bout.” Your father replied curtly, looking the assailant back in the face with matching fury and anger. “I've only got sons.” The hair on the back of your neck stood up. Only once before, in your entire life, had you heard such a chilling tone come from that man. You'd been no older than 12 when a suitor equal to your mother in age offered to pay a hefty sum for your hand in marriage. The cruel chill in his voice as he sent the man away stuck with you-- but it didn't seem like this scenario would have the same outcome.

“Have it your way.”

A pit knotted itself in your breast as your family’s pleas turned to screaming cries, the spear cutting into you father's shoulder without mercy. Everything seemed to move so slowly after that...

First, you'd prayed he'd give in, relenting your location to the angry mob that surrounded him-- but your father stayed silent. That same fury in his eyes unwavering as he stayed on his feet.

Second, you though, maybe, the crowd would believe they'd truly made a mistake. Maybe a (y/n) didn't live in this village. Perhaps they'd been mistaken-- but that hope was quickly snuffed out as the spear-wielding man reeled the weapon back again, poised to strike.

You hadn't even known what you were doing as you pushed through the thorny brambles. Didn't even register as your fingers curled around a plump peach from your basket. And certainly didn't realize the strength you'd shot through your arm as you slung the fruit straight into the back of the man's head.

The hard impact followed by the splatter of sweet juices dripping down his neck was followed only by a second of silence.

Then two.

Then three.

All heads turning in your direction....

Run.

It was nothing more than instinct as you dropped the precious wicker basket your mother had weaved to the ground-- Alikar's carefully nurtured peaches bruising in the dirt. You shot back through the thorns. Dress skirt shredding, legs practically minced as you rushed through the uncaring wild.

Everything blurred.

Heart racing, the sound of shouting, the thundering of feet right on your tail. It was so much, too much-- too soon. There was no where else you could go. You didn't even know where you were going. Run. Run. RUN.

And run you did, even as your calves burned and blood dripped down your skin, you flew through the woods in a desperate flurry. It was fruitless though. Your wreckless abandon being brought to a halt with a blistering pain that shot through your ribs. The last thing you saw was the sight of the ground coming right at you, and then? Darkness.

I was going to wait till I finished part 2 to post this part but I'm too excited and part 2 is about halfway written anyway :) Stay tuned!

next to you

“rin, is something wrong?” you look across the table at your boyfriend of 2 weeks. “…no,” he focuses on eating his cheesecake but the small pout on his lips says otherwise. “hey, you can tell me,” you say. “it’s nothing…” he trails off. 

you think he looks kind of cute like this, hesitant and embarrassed. but you aren’t able to help him if he keeps quiet like this. “i can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong, rin,” you gently nudge his leg with yours under the table. 

after another beat of silence, rin finally opens up. “the distance,” he says, “is too…far.” “what?” you ask, confused. “i…want to sit closer to you,” he mutters shyly, avoiding your gaze. “o-oh…” you stutter at his confession. “it’s stupid, i know,” rin pokes his cheesecake again. “no rin, that’s not stupid,” you smile, getting up from your seat. 

“hm?” he looks up at you with those wide teal eyes that make your heart palpitate. you round the table and plop down on the seat next to him. “happy?” you look over at rin whose cheeks have turned a pale pink. 

“closer,” he mumbles. you scoot a tiny bit closer to rin. “closer,” he voice comes out close to a whine at this point. “rin, we’re literally right next to each other,” you chuckle at his clinginess. rin gently grabs your arm and pulls you impossibly closer to him. you two end up so close that half your leg ends up resting on his chair. rin takes it a step further as he intertwines your hands together under the table. 

“there,” rin’s lips upturn slightly as he goes back to eating his cheesecake. cute, you think giddily as you go back to eating your dessert as well.