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allfearstofallto · 10 months ago

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The Sweetest Spoil of War

Yandere! Demon King Kirishima x Fem! Reader

Word count: 5k

Synopsis: a war ended with an unwilling marriage. The fighting ceases, but at the cost of your hand.

TW: Forced marriage, NSFW implications, size difference, mentions for Dub/Non Con, virgin! Reader, yandere/obsessive themes

AN: another one that has been sitting in the drafts for years!! But I finally finished this first part. Hopefully I'll have the second, more smutty part written up soon!!

A brush of blush across the cheeks. A swatch of color on the lower lip. Many swipes of a comb through your hair. The tightening of your bodice fixed your posture, and you were adorned with heavy jewels and rings. All the while, a celebration was happening outside.

It wasn’t a celebration you could see, you weren’t allowed to move a muscle, couldn’t even turn your head to look out the window, in fear that you may disrupt the many people who were spending their time making you beautiful. But it was one you could hear. As the maids picked and prodded at every part of your body, cleaning you here, applying makeup there, covering this, uncovering that, you listened to the happiness of the people. Your people. Well, technically not your people any more.

They popped fireworks and sang songs. Their cheers grew louder and louder as the minutes went by, as you got more and more dolled up. Street vendors loudly advertised their wares and you could hear children playing in the streets again. It was probably the first time they’d left their house in months, it was probably the first time it was safe enough to do so, they had every right to celebrate. But at what cost?

If they knew the price that was paid for their safety, the price they paid for freedom from the war, the war that they were losing, would they still cheer? Would they still dance and sing? Would the celebration still continue?

The price was you, of course. The second daughter of the King of the land and the gem of the nation, or so you were called. Good deeds came like second nature to you, they were as easy for you as breathing. The way you donated and volunteered was like nothing the royal family had seen. Your kindness was a tall tale spread around like wildfire and marriage proposals were in abundance for you. You were like a tourist attraction. Rather than coming to visit your country for sights, people would visit to meet you, as if you were some sort of celebrity.

Your nation was small, but what it lacked in land, it made up for in stocks and trade. It was a modest business that made more than enough money. But greed is a drug, one that your father was heavily addicted to. Expanding was a bad option, you always told him so, but your words fell on deaf ears, and as the farmers marched further and further upon land that wasn’t theirs, the true owners of it fought back.

For a year, your father insisted that the war with the rival nation could be won. You always wondered why he thought that. The land that he’d intruded on belonged to none other than the demon king himself, a man feared but rarely ever seen. His endeavors were like horror stories spread across the nation, and your tiny little country didn’t even have an official army. Rather, there were a few patriotic men who were sent off to fight first. There wasn’t much of them left to bury when they returned. Then who left was decided by draft. The first men were a warning for what was to come and everyone knew that. Moral dwindled when people began running away from their own country, rather than fighting for it.

Negotiations started when the supply chain got cut off by the demon king’s army and with a nation as small as yours, no other kingdoms were offering help. The talks were started through letters at first. Your father sat at his desk, lips in a tight grimace as he read the sheet of paper over and over again before writing his response in return. Things went on this way for months, the writing back and forth as war raged on right outside your door. Until the day he showed up.

You didn’t think that the demon king himself would come, but you watched out from your front door as the carriage pulled into the town. It was large and ornate, covered in shiny stones and what appeared to be bone as well. It was a mixture of the high class of the aristocrats and the barbarian ways of life of the demons. The hoofs of the horses clopped down the road and the carriage swayed ever so slightly side to side. The windows were covered so you couldn’t see him, but you knew he was in there.

The driver of the carriage himself was also a demon. A burly blond one with piercing, blood red eyes and horns like a ram. When he snarled at one of your citizens, you could see his teeth. They were sharp like the heads of arrows, like they could bite through the flesh of a mere human at any time. It made your skin run cold as you realized that all demons shared the same few traits, long nails, horns, and sharp teeth. You could only imagine what those natural advantages were doing against the measly weapons the army was given.

You could already feel your palms sweating as the carriage stopped in front of your castle. The entire family had to come out to greet guests, as were the rules, but all you wanted to do was slink back into your room and pray that the war would end naturally. And you weren’t the only one silently wishing to leave. You spared a glance out of your peripheral to the rest of the family and saw that they too stood stiffly, or did everything they could to avoid eye contact with the large carriage that casted an almost laughably ginormous shadow over your family.

The blond boy pulled at the reins of the horses, stopping them in front of the castle, before stepping down from his seat in front of the carriage. Even for a demon, his face was easy to read. He didn’t want to be here, and he most definitely didn’t want to have to be cordial. You could see the hatred for your father in his eyes, the way he wanted to just lunge at him and end things in this very spot, but he didn’t.

“His Highness, King Kirishima Ejiro,” he said almost sarcastically. Then he opened the door to the carriage behind him.

Big didn’t even begin to describe the man. He was humongous. Not only was he tall, but he was also thick with muscles and hands that looked like they could crush your skull with ease. You looked at him and you saw a demon. His hair was long and spiky, and unlike the companion he’d brought along who had curled horns, he stood straight up, only adding to his monstrous height.

The suit he was wearing was still adorned with demon-like paraphilia, bones and bottles filled with what you could only assume were potions. His scarred hands were covered in rings and the sly smile he gave your family showed you enough of his teeth to prove to you that you’d rather die than go near his mouth.

You didn’t know where to look, you could barely even think as he stood before you. His eyes weren’t red like his subordinate, rather, his were a beady, inky black color that scanned across your family. They were taking in every single sorrowful and fearful face, until they landed on you.

You felt your heart stop beating completely when he looked at you. Your breathing became shaky and you felt yourself about to lose consciousness from his gaze alone. Why was he still looking at you? The rest of the family only got a glance, but you, it seemed like he had to forcefully peel his own eyes away from you.

“You have a lovely family,” he said. His voice was deep, yet booming, it felt like your ankles were shaking, just from hearing him speak. If not for the fact that he scared the life out of you, you would’ve scoffed at him. A beautiful family that he was going to ignore when negotiations started. But maybe that was for the better.

He was led inside, following behind your father who was shaking in his boots. He had to duck to get through the door and his footsteps on the tile floor sounded more thunder cracking inside the walls of your home. He looked around with a strange look on his face, one that seemed almost enthusiastic, but that couldn’t be right. He couldn’t be happy while he was in enemy territory, not while he could easily be killed.

And that was the plan at first. Lure him in and have the army raid the palace, he’d be powerless since he expressed through his letters that he’d only be bringing one guard. Your father thought he was stupid or naive, but casting eyes upon him showed you that one guard was enough. Anything else would’ve been overkill.

They were in talks for what felt like a few mere moments and he was coming back down the stairs with a smile on his face. You’d long since hidden in your room to keep from having to entertain the blond demon that was sitting in your living room, but curiosity made you peek your head out when you head the door to the office open. Your father was aggressively shaking the demon king's hand, but you could see the horror in his face. There was sweat pooling on his forehead and he looked like he would throw up at any moment. You later found out why he looked that way.

At the dinner table that very night he announced that the war would be ending and the supply lines would open back up. There was a unanimous cheer from the family as you and your siblings argued over who would get to tell the people of the nation that they were free to roam the streets again. You were so ignorant. The way your father looked at you should’ve told you enough. It should’ve told you that the war wasn’t going to end with a trade or an apology, it was going to end with a wedding.

The fireworks continued to boom and crackle as they filled the night sky, while a little more blush was applied to your cheek. No one else in your family knew, they thought you were getting married to some commoner who you’d fallen in love with. Only you and your father knew the truth, and resent didn’t even begin to describe what you felt for him.

Your dress was too heavy, your hair was uncomfortable, you had to stand a certain way, or makeup would get on your collar and the entire look would be ruined. You looked beautiful, that’s what they said to you, but could they not see the hurt on your face? Or the fear? If they saw, they didn’t care, and you were guided down the stairs.

Past the home that you grew up in, the walls lined with family portraits, and your family themselves waiting for you at the bottom of the steps. Your mother was crying, dabbing her eyes with a tissue. When she found out the truth, she’d be crying for real. They were going to find out eventually, you knew they would, you just wished you could see the aftermath of it.

A carriage was waiting for you, one of your family’s own. Normally in an aristocratic wedding, the carriage from the family of the groom would be sent to pick up the bride, but the story your father spewed gave an explanation. The man you loved was too poor to even afford his own carriage, but love doesn’t know money. You scoffed, but held your tongue. If it were for the sake of your family and your country, you’d go along with it.

You would ride your family’s carriage into the forest, about halfways to the demon king’s palace, then you would switch into one of his. That way, your family wouldn’t catch on, that way, they didn’t have to watch in horror as you were given away to a demon, even though your father knew that they wouldn’t allow something like this, but he did it anyway.

It was an unpleasant ride. People rarely ever traversed through the forest so the carriage shook and jolted. You were getting farther and farther away from the noises of celebration, farther and farther away from your people. If only for one night, you would like to celebrate too, the war was a horror that you were living in as well after all.

You pressed your lips together to keep from crying. You’d already cried enough and you truly didn’t know him or how he’d respond to your tears. You spent hours sitting in that chair getting ready for him, what if he were the type to get angry if just one thing was off? If your make up was smudged or your eyes puffy, would he kill you where he stood? You held it in and pretended to be strong.

The carriage stopped and your door was opened, the second he did. The driver gave you a knowing look as he offered you his hand to help you step down. His fingers were cold, that’s all you could think about as you looked over to see the new carriage that you’d be riding in. The same one that had pulled the demon king into your family’s palace. Your heart sank as you realized that he might be in there. You weren’t ready to meet him up close, not yet.

The blond demon was here again, standing at the side of the carriage. Horses from the demon kingdom always felt much larger. Like they were eight foot tall monsters and not animals. You couldn’t believe you were focusing on the horses, you were trying to look at anything, anything, that would keep you from having to get into that carriage. But he was already opening the door and the carriage from your nation had already turned and pulled away, not even waiting for the transaction to be completed.

That felt like the final straw. Being left behind by one of your own and stuck with a demon. A demon who was obviously sick of waiting for you and who looked like he was just going to force you inside himself.

“The king doesn’t like waiting,” he said, gesturing towards the door. With a meek nod, you walked towards it. Dead leaves crunched beneath your feet and the sound of an owl made the entire ordeal more ominous.

You looked to the demon, then back to the carriage door. He didn’t expect you to go in by yourself, did he? Even in your home nation, the gentleman would offer the lady a hand and help boost her up the step, a boost that was much needed, since demons were naturally taller and the step was too high for you to even reach on your own.

“What is it now?” he grumbled, eyes having already practically rolled into the back of his head.

The step seemed as if it came up to your waist in height, yet he asked you what you needed. “I obviously can’t get up there by myself,” you spat, holding your hand out for his help. You’d never felt the skin of a demon before and honestly, you didn’t want to now, but there was no other choice. The deal had already been made.

He didn’t even pass a glance at your hand, stepping closer to you, he placed his large palms around your waist and hoisted you up with little effort. You tried not to squirm in his hold, afraid that he might drop you. Even for a moment, you were so high up, before you were placed into the carriage, with the door being slammed shut in your face.

The carriage began to move before you were even fully seated and you were thrown back. If this was the way the demon kingdom treated their royalty, you could only imagine what was going to happen to you. But you tried not to dwell on it. Your chest was already tight with fear and sweat was beginning to bead on your forehead.

This was it, you thought to yourself, even as you gazed out the window, all you could think was that this would be the end of you. All alone, all by yourself. You wondered what your siblings were doing, what your mother was doing, if anyone was even thinking about you at all, of if the celebration was just too much for them to care.

The carriage swayed and thumped against the ground for what felt like hours. The pretty dress you were in had grown a bit damp from your sweat and you tried to fan yourself. You were nervous. Hot and nervous and all you could do was listen to the hooves of the horses as they hit the ground and wait for your eventual marriage.

Then everything stopped. Of course the carriage driver demon was rough with this as well and you were thrown off of the seat and onto the plush floor of the vehicle. You barely had a moment to catch your breath and regain your bearings before the door swung open quickly, making the whole carriage shake from the force.

Still on the floor, still a bit sweaty, with fearful eyes, you came face to face with the demon king. His teeth were once again what you noticed, those big, sharp teeth that were held in a mouth that was grinning at you cheerfully. He looked overjoyed to see you, even in your crumpled up, terrified state.

“By the gods,” he whispered quietly while still looking at you all over. It seemed like his eyes couldn't focus on one place. Your face, your hair, the swell of your breast, the small of your waist, from your heel clad feet, to your hair that was put into an ornate updo, he couldn't get enough, “You're even more beautiful the second time around.”

You were shivering. God you were shivering like you were freezing. Your stomach was in your ass and your heart felt like it was going to leap from your chest. All that time, all the time you spent being picked and prodded at in that chair, being made to look good for him, all that time and it just now hit you what was happening to you. It started before you could even think to stop yourself and while he looked you over like you were a gift from heaven itself, you began to cry.

Tears ran down your pretty cheeks, smearing your makeup in their wake and you started to hic and sob. You had no control over it and the way his smile fell when you began to weep, made you cry even harder. You were going to die by this demon's hands. You were going to die because your father, the coward that he was, sold you off.

Kirishima turned to look at his subordinate, his face a mix of emotions. So quickly, you could barely see it, he grabbed the blond male by the collar of his shirt and lifted him, “I thought I told you to make sure she was taken care off,” he growled those words between those closed sharp teeth.

“I did,” the blond male muttered back. His tone, his attitude, even the way he was looking at the demon king was disrespectful. He didn't seem the least bit afraid or even bothered by the fact that he was being scolded. If anything, he looked annoyed.

“Then why is she crying, Kastuki?” He spoke the words slowly before dropping the man back down onto the ground. He landed with a thud, but didn't protest, “I've told you about your driving. Humans are fragile! They can't handle something like that!”

He merely scoffed and rose from the ground, “Then do it yourself next time.”

Kirishima opened his mouth to speak, but stopped before he said anything. Instead, he focused on your trembling form, still sitting on the carriage floor, “Are you alright, darling?”

He tried his hardest to be gentle with his voice, to be quieter so not to scare you. He reached a hand out to you, but you flinched away from it. You didn't know what to say or even what to do. A part of you felt like the second you left this carriage, it would all be real, you'd really be engaged to this demon, you'd really be with him for the rest of your life.

He tilted his head at you, trying to give you a reassuring smile to the best of his ability, “I'm sorry if Katsuki scared you, but I promise nothing will hurt you.” He reached into the carriage and grabbed you by the wrist, pulling you closer to the door with ease, it was like you weighed nothing to him, “but we should really get you inside the castle and into something more comfortable.”

Your body was tense and you tried to think of what to do. A way out of this. How would you be able to run away from a demon, in the whole nation of demons? Would you even be able to go home? Would you getting away make a war start?

You couldn't even think about it to yourself, couldn't even respond before you were picked up by him and held against his firm chest. He was so much bigger than you, so much taller, being in his arms made it feel like you were fifty feet above the ground and all you could do was shiver.

He carried you into the castle. It looked nothing like your own home. It was more worn down, but somehow it was bigger. The tallest tower looked like it was piercing the clouds and the windows were the size of the doors you had back home. You sniffled and sobbed the whole time you were carried up the stairs, and when he finally reached out to open the front door, you finally managed to say something.

“P-please,” you managed to stutter out between your pathetic little hics.

“Oh, so she can speak,” he replied back a little too happily, “and here I was thinking you were mute. That wouldn't have bothered me though, you're still gorgeous.”

More tears ran down your face as you tried to regulate breathing, to get more words out, to hopefully beg for return home before the marriage was consummated, “My father…he…he made a mistake. I didn't want this,”

He kept walking into the castle as you spoke, the sound of his feet hitting the floor echoed off the walls. You were brought to a day room where he sat you down on a rather large couch, so big your feet just barely managed to touch the ground. He kneeled in front of you while you sat and cupped your cheek in one of his large hands, the more he touched you, the harder you seemed to cry, soaking his thick fingers with tears. He knew you were scared of him, but he just couldn't stay away.

“I know you didn't want this,” he cooed, his breath hitting your face, “I wanted this.”

Before you could speak, he leaned forward and pressed his lips against yours. The kiss was wet and suffocating and all you could do was sit there limply as he engulfed your mouth with his, tasting every inch of your mouth with his tongue.

He tasted of meat and alcohol, typical dishes for demons who were celebrating and his grip on you was firm. His hand had slithered down from your cheek to your shoulder, then to your waist. You couldn't pull away if you wanted to. Your strength and size was nothing compared to him, just one of his hands was almost enough to completely hold your back. You'd hurt yourself more if you fought back.

When he pulled back, you were panting, breathless. Your first kiss and it was so brutish and even worse than that, it was taken by a demon. Your eyes were still wet with tears and lips moist with saliva, but he was looking at you so longingly. The way you makeup was running from the sweat and tears, your hair disheveled from the kiss, the way your chest was rising and falling, he thought you were more enticing now than ever before.

“Such beauty doesn't exist amongst the demons,” he whispered against your lips, threatening to kiss you again, “I could've slaughtered everyone in that tiny, little kingdom, you know, and I was planning on it. Until I saw you.”

He traced up your back to where the buttons for your dress began. You could feel him fiddling with them, trying to get them to pull apart, but his fingers were too big and his nails too sharp. As more time went by with him unable to access your body, he grew frustrated until he just ripped the dress apart in the back. The fabric gave way easily to him. It was probably no harder than ripping paper.

“Your father didn't hesitate when I asked for you,” his hand was warm, almost hot, against your bare back as he kept ripping the fabric away, “a part of me was angry about that. His own daughter, his blood. He gave you away so easily. But I was also ecstatic. Even if you don't want me, I want you. I know how you feel about me, how I as a demon scare you…” the dress was pulled forward, over your shoulders, but he stopped there, “The war may be over on paper, but if you ask for it, I can kill him.”

You gasped, “Why would I want that? Why would anyone want that?” You were shouting and you didn't know why. Maybe it was because of how scared you were. Or how easily he mentioned killing someone. Or how a part of you actually wanted it. A small voice in your head wasn't upset about the idea of him killing your father for putting you in this predicament, and that scared you.

“He gave you away,” he stated plainly, “You have every right to be angry. Angry at him for giving you away,” he pulled the dress down so that it was sitting around your waist. His tongue, that large, hot tongue licked down from your neck to your now exposed breast, making your breath hitch, “and angry at me for taking you.”

“You could still give me back,” You begged quickly, hoping that maybe if he was showing some empathy, some care for what you were feeling, he would let you go.

He shook his head and gave you a knowing look, “I wish I could, but I know how you humans work.” He didn't hesitate to reach his hand up beneath the ripped fabric and tulle that was once the skirt of your dress, “you wouldn't be wed again anyways, not after what I'm gonna do to you.”

Your sobs grew even louder at the words. Despite your abstinence, you knew the implications of those words, you knew what he meant. Despite your lack of experience, you knew why he was spreading your legs and easing his body between them, you knew why he was ripping away at your bloomers, exposing your wet core to the cool air.

“I told myself I'd wait till the night of our wedding, but I fear myself slipping with need for you,” this “need” made itself known when he began to grind his hips against you, the fabric of his pants spreading your lips and rubbing directly against your clit, “They sent you here looking like this, and I'm supposed to contain myself?” he bit his lips with those sharp teeth of his, gripping the fabric of the couch so hard that he was ripping holes in it.

“I won't take you without your permission,” he stated, but he was still grinding his clothed cock against you,like his mouth and his body were two completely different entities. He was speaking one thing, but actively doing the opposite.

You whimpered as you felt him, your eyes just leaking tears. You couldn't speak a word, your labored breathing wouldn't let you. Your chest was heaving as you tried to open your mouth, with only sobs and pleads coming out. Instead you just shook your head, praying that that would be enough of him to stop.

Despite your begging he still pressed his lips to yours once more in another passionate kiss. This time he felt even more roughr than the last. Was this a game for him? You thought to yourself. Did he get off on watching you beg and plead, just to take you anyways.

But he stopped nonetheless and pulled away. It seemed like he was straining to even do that, the way he was looking back at you like he could pounce on you again. He let out a shaking, sigh and clenched his fist together before stepping back and finally giving you space away from his large form and body heat.

“The wedding will be held in three days,” he said with a forced smile. He picked up a blanket from the other couch and tossed it over you, covering your modesty. You held onto that blanket as if it were your life line, hiding your nude body behind it as you shivered and looked at him, “I can guarantee I'll stop now, but I'm not so sure about then.”

And with that, he was gone. He closed the door to the day room, leaving you alone in this large demonic mansion with only the ticking of a clock as your company. You were too afraid to move, too afraid of what was to come next. You didn't know where he wanted you to go or even if he wanted you to move at all.

But you did know what he wanted from you, and the thought sent a shiver down your spine.

#my hero academia #yandere my hero academia #yandere my hero #yandere my hero academia x reader #yandere kirishima #kirishima eijirou #kirishima x reader #yandere kirishima x reader #yandere my hero x reader #yandere x reader

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narumi-gens · 1 year ago

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Traditional Values

yakuza!Kita Shinsuke x f!Reader

summary: You’ve never known a yakuza to be boring. But what else could they mean when they say that Kita Shinsuke, the head of the most powerful yakuza group in Kansai, is traditional?

warnings: 18+, smut, yakuza au, arranged marriage, inherent sexism and misogyny, smoking, mentioned drug and alcohol use, violence (sorry to the oc in this fic lol), blood, spit, oral (f receiving & mentioned m receiving), mild exhibitionism, orgasm control, possessive!kita, hinted yandere-ish behavior, implied dom!kita, fingers crossed he's not too out of character 🤞🏽, reader is a spoiled little yakuza princess, idk if reader is all that likable but I like her and that's all that matters

notes: I feel like I'm starting to specialize in chaos characters bc while Kita is not one in this fic, the reader certainly is. but a different kind of chaos.

words: 5.9k

minors, ageless, and blank blogs do not interact

The one word you hear over and over again when people talk about Kita Shinsuke, the head of the Inarizaki, the largest and most powerful yakuza group in Kansai, is traditional.

Despite his current position, he comes from a long line of traditional rice farmers. Once he took power over the Inarizaki, he put in place a stricter, more traditional code of conduct that all members were expected to adhere to. Instead of partying away his nights in Kobe’s clubs and brothels, he spends his evenings in a traditional house in the Hyogo countryside.

And he has traditional family values, with traditional expectations of what he wants in a wife.

But you know that traditional really just means boring.

Unfortunately, a traditional and boring life seems like all you're destined for because your father, the head of Kanto's largest yakuza syndicate, the Fukurodani, has decided to seal an alliance with the Inarizaki through marriage.

Specifically, your marriage to Kita.

After all, you're a woman and a woman can't lead the yakuza. Your only value comes from how useful you can be as a tool to build alliances and cement power. You had at least just hoped that your father would have chosen someone more exciting for you to spend the rest of your life with.

While he would never stomach seeing you at the head of the organization, he could easily have married you off to his right-hand man and hand-picked heir, the Fukurodani's young and wild wakagashira, Bokuto Koutarou. After all, nothing would ensure an eventual smooth succession better than a marriage to his only child.

And even if he decided you were more useful as a means of building his power rather than ensuring his legacy, there were still other options.

There were plenty of crazy yakuza out there who would have kept your interest piqued if only your father had chosen to further consolidate his power in Tokyo or to look for an alliance up north rather than out west.

But your father has made his choice and Kita has agreed and you have no say in the matter. It's not long before the young yakuza kumicho, along with his most trusted men in the Inarizaki, arrives in Tokyo to negotiate the finer details in person.

And when you finally meet him at dinner with your parents, you can't say that you're impressed.

He's polite. He's soft-spoken. He's respectful. He's so. utterly. boring.

As you sit next to him in a private room at one of Tokyo's finest restaurants, listening to him as he genially answers your mother's questions about his own upbringing and tells her about his close relationship with his grandmother, all you can think is, 'what a waste.'

Regardless of how handsome he is and how much his men seem to respect him and how powerful his position is, he's missing that wildness inherent to every true yakuza.

By the time the plates are cleared and the manager of the restaurant is falling over himself to thank your father for his patronage, you’ve made your assessment of your new fiancé.

Kita is dull.

It’s all you can think as he cordially thanks your father at the end of the evening.

‘You’re so boring.’

It’s all you can think as he humbly accepts your mother’s compliments and adoration.

‘You’re so boring.’

It’s all you can think as he politely bids you goodnight with a bow, telling you softly how nice it was to meet you.

‘You’re so boring.’

You have to bite back the urge to say the words aloud, directly to his face, just to see what he would do. Would he drop his courteous smile? Would he clench his fists? Would he slap you?

‘You’re so boring.’

He would probably just look slightly taken aback before doing his best to laugh off any offense.

“It was nice to meet you too, Kita-san,” you finally reply, your tone suggesting anything but. You feel the disapproval rolling off of your parents in waves and can already hear the lecture that awaits you once you’re alone with them.

Your father will chastise you for the disrespect that you’ve shown to a new ally, and by extension him. He’ll sternly remind you that this is your duty as his daughter. If he’s really feeling irritable then he’ll light up a cigarette and grumble about how he’s spoiled you for too long and hopes that Kita has a firm hand.

Your mother, however, will almost certainly turn so shrill in her anger that you’ll want to cover your ears. She’ll berate you for insulting your husband-to-be. She’ll scold you for your clear disinterest and boredom through every course of dinner. She’ll then blame your father for being too lenient with you over the years, to which your father will respond by simply taking a long drag of his cigarette.

But in the present, Kita simply gives you a polite smile in return and the chorus continues in your head.

‘You’re so boring.’

Just because you’re now technically engaged doesn’t mean that you need to change how you live your life. If anything, you need to savor all the fun you can before you’re shipped off to Hyogo to spend the rest of your days popping out kids and taking care of some big, empty, country house with a man who’s less interesting than the rice his family grows.

It’s not even an hour after you get home from dinner before you’re leaving once again. Only this time, you’re wearing something far more revealing and decisively less conservative than the formal kimono that your mother forced you into for your meeting with Kita — something meant to appeal to his traditional taste.

Your current outfit is one that’s perfectly suited to the high-end clubs of Roppongi. Not that it really matters considering you’re tucked away in a private VIP room, away from the large crowds and deafening music and prying eyes.

Normally, you would be surrounded by a group of your friends. But after being confronted with the man that you’ve been sentenced to marry and seeing the unending boredom in your near future, you've recognized that it also applies to your sex life.

You’ve only spent a couple of hours with Kita, but it was more than enough to know that he probably prefers fucking in missionary with the lights off. The only orgasms that you can expect as a married woman will probably come from your vibrator — unless he decides that a vibrator isn’t traditional enough, in which case you’ll have to rely on your fingers exclusively.

So, instead of the VIP room being filled with your friends, it’s just you and the man whose face is buried between your thighs, Ito Tatsuya. While your feelings towards Tatsuya tend to lie closer to ambivalence than anything else, his skilled tongue is more than enough to make up for it.

With the way his lips are wrapped around your clit, it’s easy to ignore how he acts tougher than he truly is. He talks a big game but has refrained from acting on all of his talk and joining a yakuza group. Ultimately it works in your favor as no yakuza would dare lay a finger on the beloved daughter of the Fukurodani’s feared kumicho, knowing that doing so would bring the wrath of the entire criminal organization down on their heads.

Tatsuya is the closest that you’ll get as he’s only tangentially affiliated with one of the few other powerful yakuza groups in Tokyo, the Nekoma organization. Although their power will never come close to the strength of the Fukurodani, your father has a good relationship with their kumicho, Nekomata Yasufumi. The two yakuza groups have had a strong alliance for decades.

Likewise, Bokuto has his own sense of camaraderie and friendship with Nekomata’s wakagashira, Kuroo Tetsuro, whom you’ve had the pleasure of meeting on multiple occasions as you run in the same circles. Unfortunately, it’s never turned into anything more, despite your best efforts.

Kuroo Tetsuro. That’s a man. That’s a real yakuza.

If your luck was better and if relations with the Nekoma group were worse, you probably would have been married off to him rather than the snoozefest that you’ve ended up with.

It’s easy to slip into the fantasy that it’s Kuroo whose grip feels scorching on your thigh, whose fingers are pumping in and out of your dripping cunt, whose tongue is lapping at your needy clit. The image in your head pushes you closer to the edge as your hips buck in time with his fingers.

But just as you can see your orgasm within reach, your attention is yanked away from your pleasure when the door to the VIP room opens with a BANG! as it’s kicked in. You protest with a whine as Tatsuya lifts his head from between your thighs, pure murder written across his face at having been disturbed.

Unaffected by the interruption, you use your grip on his hair to try and tug him back to his original task, but it’s of no use. He’s already removing his arm from around your thigh to reach back and pull out the gun that’s been tucked in the waistband of his pants.

You're momentarily impressed that he would flaunt the country’s severe firearm restrictions. Although the effect is lost a few moments later when he sits up only to freeze, his features going slack.

When you finally turn your head to see who’s behind the disruption, you frown unhappily.

“Kita-san,” you greet with an irritated sigh. And even you know that you’ll never get Tatsuya’s mouth back on your pussy at this point and you release your hold on his hair with a resigned huff.

Tatsuya scrambles to remove himself entirely from between your legs, carelessly dropping his gun onto the low table before the couch that you’re sprawled out across. He lifts his hands to show that they’re now empty and he’s not a threat, as if anyone would ever believe he was one.

You wonder if his panic stems from knowing exactly who it is that’s found you both in such a compromising position or if it’s solely due to how intimidating Kita and the two men on either side of him look.

For as boring as he is, you’ll give him credit. The sight of him standing in the doorway, the black jacket of the same suit he wore to dinner draped across broad shoulders, his arms crossed casually over his chest, his expression giving nothing away, is impressive. Even if he didn’t have two of his underlings with him — one with grey hair and one with dark hair, both of them wearing similar looks of apathy — it would be more than enough to put the average person on edge.

However, you’ve spent your whole life surrounded by dangerous men, with dangerous men at your beck and call.

So, as Tatsuya begins to babble, making excuses and insisting that he doesn’t want any trouble, you simply roll your eyes and push down your skirt just enough so that your pussy is no longer on display. But even in the low light of the VIP room, the insides of your thighs — and how they shine with the evidence of your rapidly-cooling arousal — are clearly visible.

“Suna,” Kita says, his gaze fixed on you. The dark-haired man needs no further instruction before he’s moving past his oyabun towards Tatsuya.

He easily grabs the cowering man from the couch by the front of his shirt and roughly shoves him to his knees on the floor, keeping him in place with one hand fisted tightly in his hair, just as yours had been only a few minutes earlier.

Kita slips his jacket from his shoulders and in doing so, you catch a glimpse of the blood-red lining on the inside. He passes it to the man still at his side, who carefully folds it over his arm in a way that won’t leave any creases. He then methodically begins to unbutton and roll up the sleeves of his crisp white shirt, exposing his forearms and the large swaths of tattooed skin that extend almost to his wrists.

Part of you is surprised. Kita seems too dull to have even the smallest tattoo, let alone full tattooed sleeves. But another part of you knows how much significance tattoos have historically held to the yakuza and he’s nothing if not traditional. Your thighs unconsciously squeeze together as you imagine how far they spread over the rest of his body.

The action doesn’t seem to escape his notice because he raises an eyebrow at you but makes no further comment before he turns to Tatsuya, who continues to plead for mercy.

“Enough.”

Kita doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t put any force behind the single word. Other than ensuring his sleeves are snugly held in place just below his elbows, he doesn’t even move. But there’s a danger to him that Tatsuya is quick to pick up on and his blubbering comes to an immediate halt.

He fearfully waits for the silver-haired yakuza to go on and when he does, it’s probably not in the way he was expecting. Because rather than explaining who he is or why he’s there — which Tatsuya has probably figured out on his own by this point — Kita places a hand on the back of the kneeling man’s head. The other man, Suna, releases Tatsuya altogether, wordlessly deferring to his oyabun and taking a step back to give his boss space.

The tension in the room is thick as Kita looks down at the trembling man on his knees, his face still as blank as it’s been since his sudden arrival. It snaps in an instant when he sharply yanks Tatsuya’s head down and his nose meets Kita’s raised knee with a sickening crunch! that would leave a less seasoned group of onlookers feeling queasy.

As it stands, both Suna and the other Inarizaki man appear to be amused, entertained even. You get the sense that displays of this nature from the yakuza boss aren’t common.

But as you see the blood pouring from Tatsuya’s nose and hear his howling and watch as your fiancé’s fist repeatedly makes contact with the man’s face, you feel none of that same amusement. You also don’t feel afraid or disgusted or concerned.

You’ve long grown desensitized to the violence associated with the yakuza. If anything, you can feel the boredom setting in once again.

You reach out to the table in front of you for the ashtray where your cigarette rests, having set it down when Tatsuya buried his face in your pussy. However, as soon as you pick it up, a long column of ash falls from the end and you realize with a pout that it’s already burned down to the filter.

The little noise of irritation you let out can’t be heard over Tatsuya’s pained cries or the brutal sound of fist meeting flesh again and again. You pull a new cigarette from the open pack on the table and perch it between your lips before grabbing your cheap lighter.

Once it’s lit, you take a deep, contented inhale of smoke before exhaling a large cloud that sits atop the room before dispersing. You glance back to Kita and Tatsuya to find that the scene looks exactly the same as when you looked away — except for Tatsuya’s face is completely bloodied and already swelling, and he seems on the verge of passing out.

“Really, Kita-san?” you finally ask with a yawn as you roll onto your side, your head pillowed by your bicep.

He pauses, his fist raised mid-air, and looks over at you, his eyes roving over your lackadaisical sprawl across the couch. He wordlessly releases the front of Tatsuya’s shirt from his grasp, who then drops to the floor in a bloody mess.

Suna immediately steps in to harshly kick the man over onto his stomach and places a heavy, threatening foot right on his spine. Not that it matters considering Tatsuya seems to be in and out of consciousness by this point.

But your attention isn’t on Tatsuya; it’s on Kita as he approaches you, his pace unhurried. You’re slightly impressed that he’s barely out of breath from the beating he just delivered. He picks up the discarded gun from the table and in one smooth motion, pulls back the slide to look at the chamber before releasing the magazine to check it as well.

“It’s empty,” he notes before tossing it to the man holding his jacket, who easily catches it and claims it for his own. A loud bubble of laughter escapes you at Tatsuya’s expense, finding it hilarious that the only marginally cool thing that you’ve ever seen him do was all for show.

You slip your cigarette to rest between your smiling lips as your gaze flits between the other Inarizaki men and find that they too appear to think it’s funny. Suna even presses his foot harder into Tatsuya’s back with a smirk that only grows wider when he receives a groan in response.

However, the yakuza boss doesn’t seem to share the humor that you and his men are feeling. He grabs the edge of the table and lifts it up just enough to tilt it and send everything on top of it to the floor with a dull crash. You frown at the waste of a barely touched bottle of champagne, a top-shelf bottle of whiskey, and Tatsuya’s small, unopened bag of cocaine.

Kita pays none of the mess any mind as he takes a seat on the edge of the table’s now cleared surface, directly in front of you. With you still laid out on the couch, you’re eye level with his knees.

You look up at him and raise a challenging eyebrow, daring him to make his next move, daring him to keep you interested. You’re sorely disappointed when the first thing that he does is tug down your skirt to protect your modesty, something you find truly pointless considering the three men walked in on you in the middle of having your pussy eaten.

The sensation of the backs of his fingers running along the skin of your thigh as he pulls on the fabric sends a small shiver down your spine and reminds you that you were interrupted before you could cum. You shift your leg to expose your inner thigh to him in a tempting invitation for him to finish what Tatsuya started, but he simply ignores your provocation and gives your skirt one final tug to ensure it’s in place.

With a displeased roll of your eyes, you take another deep drag of your cigarette. But before you’ve finished, Kita plucks it from your lips and holds it aloft. He ignores your cry of protest as he waits half a moment for Suna to take it from him. You sit up in an effort to try and grab it back, but Kita’s fingers suddenly grip your chin hard enough that you think you’ll still feel them tomorrow.

He’s grasping you with the same hand that he used to pummel Tatsuya and you can feel how his fingers are warm and sticky with the man’s blood. It only takes a quick glance down to see that his knuckles are drenched in it.

With his hold keeping you in place, you’re unable to see what Suna does with your cigarette. However, you soon hear Tatsuya let out a low moan of pain and you have an idea.

“That’s a filthy habit,” he says. His tone is rather benign but you’re certain that you’re being scolded. “I won’t have ya keepin’ it up as my wife.”

You let out an unattractive snort and hope your expression conveys just how unimpressed you are.

“They’re my lungs. If I wanna turn them black, that’s my right.” If he didn’t have your chin held so firmly, you would probably have stuck out your tongue and pulled down on your lower eyelid to taunt him.

“Yer rights extend only to the ones that I allow ya to have,” he comments and from any other man, there would be a threatening weight to his words. Kita, however, speaks them so casually that it sounds like he’s making nothing more than an absent observation of an indisputable fact.

You can only pout in return and he releases his grip to give your cheek a gentle, condescending pat. He then lifts his unbloodied hand out at his side with his palm facing up.

“Osamu.”

The Inarizaki man with the grey hair is quick to come forward, his hand slipping inside the jacket that he’s still carrying to pull out something from the inner pocket and place it into Kita’s patiently waiting palm. He then returns to his previous spot near the door, ensuring that there’s a respectful distance between himself and Kita and you once more.

The small, carefully polished wooden box that he’s been given piques your interest. When he opens the lid, your eyes widen at the ring sitting inside of it. It’s elegant and beautiful — a traditional round diamond set atop a thin, pavé diamond band. It manages to avoid being ostentatious while still leaving no doubt about its expensive price tag, and therefore the status of the man who gave it to you.

For such a boring man, he apparently has good taste.

Your left hand moves on its own as you lift it for him expectantly. There’s the briefest flash of amusement in his eyes — the first real emotion that you’ve seen from him. But he wordlessly takes the ring from the box and slips it onto your third finger.

The first instinct you have as soon as you feel the cool metal on your skin is to bring it to your face so that you can examine your new engagement ring more closely. But he grabs your hand so suddenly to keep it in place that it startles you.

You raise your gaze to see that his own is glued to the ring that you’re now wearing. His thumb gently sweeps across the band and the gesture is a sharp contrast to how tightly his fingers are clasped around yours.

“See this?” He nods towards the ring, as if there were anything else that he could be referring to. “It’s not just a beautiful ring on yer pretty finger. It's a symbol of our commitment — yer commitment to me.”

It’s slight, barely even noticeable, but there’s an edge to his tone that’s been missing all night. You can suddenly imagine how it is this young, unassuming man with his calm and collected temperament worked his way to the top of the most powerful yakuza syndicate in Japan.

He takes a long moment to pause thoughtfully and it seems so natural that you wonder if this is a common occurrence when he speaks. You suppose you’ll have the rest of your life to figure it out.

“I have a lot of respect for yer father,” he breaks the silence, confusing you with the direction that he’s chosen to take your conversation. “He’s built one of the most sophisticated operations in the country. He’s a smart man who’s surrounded himself with people he can trust, who would take a bullet or a prison sentence for him without question. I won’t hesitate to say that he’s earned his reputation.”

He sounds sincere, but you still have no idea where he’s going with this. If this were anyone else, in any other situation, you would ask if he was more interested in marrying your father than interested in marrying you. You have enough self-awareness to know that doing so with Kita wouldn’t go well — but only just.

“He’s a man of honor and I don’t mean to insult him.” He pauses again, this one shorter than the previous one. However, something about it feels heavier and when he finally looks back up at you, his eyes are much colder.

“The Fukurodani may be the most powerful syndicate in Kanto, but when it comes down to it, no one can match the power and numbers of the Inarizaki,” he states.

Maybe it’s the matter-of-fact way he says it, maybe it’s how composed his expression is despite the events of that evening, but you’re suddenly incredibly aware of how his grip on your fingers has slowly tightened over the last few minutes, almost bordering on painful.

“I already own everythin’ from Kansai to Kyushu. If I wanted Tokyo, I could come and take it.” You believe him. While your father won’t let you in on his operations, you’re far from clueless about the politics of the criminal underworld, including who has power and how much.

And Kita is right. The Fukurodani are the most powerful group in Kanto, one of the most powerful groups in all of Japan — second only to the Inarizaki. If a war broke out between the two over control of the country’s capital, it would be a hard and bloody conflict but the Inarizaki would undoubtedly be the victors.

This marriage benefits your father more than it does Kita.

“Maybe one day I will. The alliance doesn’t really matter,” he tells you. But while he looks slightly pensive as he speaks, the corners of your lips begin to slowly turn upwards.

“Then what is it you want, Kiiiiitaaa-saaaan?” you ask, playfully stretching out his family name — what will soon be your family name.

The coldness in his demeanor seems to melt, although not into anything that could ever be considered close to warm. If you had to describe it, you would probably call it patronizing.

“Y’know they call ya Tokyo’s yakuza princess?” he replies and your smirk widens. It takes some effort with how tight his grip is, but you manage to wiggle your fingers just loose enough to intertwine them with his.

“Do they?” you ask innocently, as if you haven’t proudly worn the title over the years. You look at him knowingly through your lashes. “Even in the Hyogo countryside?”

“Even in the Hyogo countryside,” he answers mildly, briefly humoring you and you reward him with a pleased grin.

“Oh really?” you muse, bringing your joined hands up to your lips to lightly skim them along his bloody and torn knuckles.

His tolerance seems to have hit its limit because he quickly yanks his hand from yours to grab your jaw, his fingers digging into your cheeks so roughly that you give a small wince. His hand is large enough that it covers your mouth almost entirely.

If anyone else were in your position, they would most likely be trembling in fear. You can only smile into his palm, the mischief mirrored in your eyes.

Kita doesn’t come across as a man who often — if ever — gives into temptation. But although his patience with you has grown thin, he seems willing to allow himself just one small indulgence.

His hand shifts so that he can slowly run his thumb across your lips, leaving behind a sticky smear of blood in its wake. As his touch reaches your cupid’s bow, you slightly part your lips to press a soft kiss to the pad of his thumb before opening your mouth and catching it between your teeth.

You use just enough pressure so that he can’t simply slip it free. The metallic tang of blood is strong on your tongue as you brush it teasingly against the tip, your gaze meeting his coyly. You close your lips around his thumb and give it a light suck that would have a lesser man on his knees, begging for you to let him between your thighs.

Kita reacts with a thoughtful hum and nothing else, not even the most minute muscle twitch.

“Tokyo’s spoiled little yakuza princess whose father lets her get away with whatever she wants,” he remarks, entirely unbothered even as you continue to suckle on his thumb while he speaks. “I won’t be anywhere near as lenient with ya. And I won’t have ya makin’ a fool outta me just because we’re not married yet.”

Although the danger is there, completely unmistakable, his voice lacks the menacing tone that should accompany his words. Instead, they’re low and soft, caressing your ears like a lover’s would, luring you in seductively.

Impulse control has never been something that you’ve practiced; it’s never been something that you’ve needed to practice. In an act of utter shamelessness, you take his free hand, the one casually hanging from his knee, and place it high on your bare thigh.

When you try to slide it further under the hem of your skirt, which has already begun to ride up since he tugged it down, you find that his hand is immovable. His fingers dig into the fat of your thigh, sinking into your soft skin with the weight of both his grip and his possessiveness.

“Yer mine now,” he tells you, his voice still gentle and entirely at odds with his burning touch and the taste of blood in your mouth. “I don’t need to wait for paperwork or a ceremony to make it official.”

His heavy gaze drops down to look pointedly at how you’re thighs are squeezing together, even as he keeps one of them firmly in place. He then slowly drags it back up to meet yours, leaving a scorching trail in its wake.

“I’m not just gonna give ya whatever it is ya ask for.” The words are a threat, even if he speaks them like a promise. “If ya want somethin’ from me, yer gonna have to earn it.”

Right now, there’s only one thing that you want from him and it's at the forefront of your mind.

“But I didn’t get to cum,” you whine around his thumb, your pitiful complaint slightly muffled.

Osamu and Suna’s matching looks of disbelief go unnoticed by you and Kita, neither man ever having imagined that someone would dare to say something so brazen to their fearsome oyabun.

There’s a flash in Kita’s eyes and the corner of his mouth twitches upwards for a fraction of a second. Both happen so quickly that you only notice because he has your rapt attention and it slowly dawns on you.

He likes it. He likes your audacity. He likes your impertinence. He likes how you sound like the spoiled brat that you are. He likes that he has Tokyo’s spoiled little yakuza princess squeezing his hand between her thighs and sucking on his thumb as she pathetically pleads with him to make her cum.

His thumb is slick with your saliva as he slips it from your mouth despite your efforts to keep it where it is by trying to sink your teeth deeper into it. He leaves a quickly-cooling trail of spit on your skin as he readjusts his hold on your jaw, once again digging his fingers into the hollows of your cheeks. The action only exaggerates the pout that you’re already giving him.

“And ya won’t again ‘til we’re married. I don’t care if it’s with someone else. I don’t care if it’s with yerself. The next time ya do will be on our wedding night.” He pauses, letting the silence hang over the room so that the impact of his next words is truly felt. “If yer good.”

You let out a displeased noise in protest but it goes ignored as he uses his grasp on your jaw to move your head a bit to the side so that you’re looking over his shoulder and directly at the grey-haired Inarizaki man behind him.

“This is Osamu. He’s gonna be stayin’ in Tokyo for a bit.” He gives you a single wave in acknowledgment from where he stands. “Yer father’s already agreed to it.”

The implication is clear: Osamu is to be Kita’s eyes and ears in Tokyo. If you act in any way that’s unbefitting of your new status as the woman set to marry the Inarizaki’s kumicho, he’ll certainly know.

“You’ll be seein’ a lot of him,” he tells you as he returns your focus back to him. He then leans forward, closing the gap between you to tenderly press a light kiss to your forehead, his lips moving against your skin with his next words. “So, be good for me.”

He sits back and meets your gaze expectantly and it’s clear that he wants your assurance that you’ll do as told. You give a childish roll of your eyes and his grip tightens in warning.

“I’ll be good,” you reply, the words feeling foreign on your tongue but they seem to appease him.

However, his eyes soon land on your lips and then narrow. It’s a small movement, but the temperature of the room seems to drop with it. His next question is spoken as softly as everything else he’s said that night, but there’s a new kind of gravity to it, one that promises danger should he receive an answer that he doesn’t like.

“Did ya use yer mouth on him?”

It’s clear that Tatsuya’s life depends on your response. Luckily for him, there’s only one answer that you can give.

“I don’t suck cock,” you say and it’s only because Kita is grasping so tightly onto your jaw that you don’t physically turn your nose up at the suggestion of you getting on your knees.

But then something unexpected happens. The calm and carefully controlled expression on Kita’s face softens into something finally approaching fondness, a faint smile forming on the straight line of his lips.

“You will for me,” he promises and you raise a challenging eyebrow, even as your own grin begins to grow.

“I will?” you ask playfully and he nods.

“You will if ya wanna be good,” he’s kind enough to remind you and there’s a strange fluttering in your stomach that you’ve never experienced before.

“Yes, Shin-kun,” you smile, and despite barely having had any of the champagne that’s now spilled across the floor, you feel drunk.

You hardly wait for Kita to order his men to leave with a firm but impassive, “out,” before sliding from the couch and sinking to the floor between his parted legs. Your knees already ache from the unfamiliar sensation of resting against such a hard surface.

The weight of his hand on the back of your neck burns as you rub your cheek against the expensive fabric of the slacks covering his muscled thigh. As you reach for the buckle of his belt, you look up at him to find him watching you ravenously.

It absently occurs to you that throughout the entire evening, you never once heard him raise his voice. Even when he was brutally assaulting Tatsuya, he never seemed angry or bothered. No matter the situation, he remained unfazed.

But as you slide a hand inside of his pants to grip his half-hard cock through the soft material of his boxers, you can see it. Underneath his composed visage and mild temperament, burning bright in his shining and hungry eyes, is a dangerous flame — one that threatens to consume you and every inch of Tokyo in a devastating and all-consuming blaze.

Maybe Kita Shinsuke isn’t as boring as you thought.

#kita shinsuke #kita shinsuke x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #kita x reader #kita shinsuke fanfic #kita shinsuke fic #kita fic #kita fanfic #haikyuu fanfic #haikyuu fic #mel writes #traditional values

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oct0bra1ns · 1 year ago

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All In A Day's Work

Synopsis: A city dweller had stolen his heart Pairing: Yandere Farmer x reader Tw: manipulation, mentions of bringing harm to others, yanderes notes: ya homie is tired reblogs and comments are appreciated!

Yandere Farmer! who's a bit intrigued when his neighbour mentions their [niece/nephew] from the city was coming to visit.

Yandere Farmer! Who thinks you're nothing but a spoiled brat who's never had to get their hands dirty until they caught a glimpse of you helping out your uncle with the farm.

Yandere Farmer! Who can't help but feel something when they see you carrying heavy items and wonder what it would be like to be picked up by you.

Yandere Farmer! Who can't help but stare at you whenever you're working, flannel tied around your hips. Only turning away flushed when you catch him staring at you and flash him a bright smile.

Yandere Farmer! Who tries to act gruff when you come over to his house all of a sudden, but all his walls crumble when you walk in with fresh pie that you baked.

Yandere Farmer! Who, despite being capable, asks for your help on his farm all the time, glaring at your uncle anytime he says that you're spending too much time with him.

Yandere Farmer! Who comforts you when your uncle goes missing all of a sudden. Poor little you, having the entire land to yourself, such a burden but don't worry, he's here to help you! Why don't you stay in his house for a while till the land situation gets sorted out

#octo writes #tw yandere #yandere #yandere imagines #yandere oc #yandere scenarios #yandere x darling #yandere x reader #yandere x willing reader #yandere x you #yandere farmer

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crookedkryptonitebeliever · 2 years ago

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Language Barrier (Yandere male x reader) p8

tw: violence, blood, afab reader, infantilization , short chapter

Minors and ageless blogs you will be blocked

hi<3 thansk for readeing, i appreciate the reblogs n comments n messages very cool and very motivation

i do have a set plotline timeline vfor this, just a little iffy on how it ends,

pls dont critizwe 2 harsh on my worldbuilding i tired my best ok </3

as allways, no proofreading <3

Happy New years !!

part 1, part 7, Part 9

masterlist

"He said it's to make sure you're always in his line of sight." Said the translator.

Now you know why 2718 always carries you on his front, never giving you a piggy back ride even though it's much easier.

You looked up to the sun. It's in the middle of the sky. You swear that the entire ordeal has taken up more than a day.

The translator is lugging her own backpack, you assumed she bought it sometime before the three of you arrived home. You asked her if she's okay.

"Yeah. Nothing I can't handle. Are you?" She asked, adjusting the heavy straps on her shoulders.

You asked, how many hours are there in a day? A day in this planet, you mean.

"They considered 30 hours a 'day'. But actually, it takes approximately five thousand and nine hundred hours for this planet to complete a whole rotation- in other words, around two hundred 'accepted days' in a 'real day'. You get me?"

What.

That doesn't explain the first five days you spent here, the sun seem to set and rise at regular intervals!

"Sunlight hours here are fucked up. You just got lucky. During your three-day coma, I even saw the sun flicker. Sometimes, the sun would just disappear for a few 'days' and come back, at full brightness for a week straight."

You asked her why that happened, the translator trailed behind 2718. You rested your chin on his shoulder.

"You can rent the sun. Literally. Farmers would pay for more sunlight, nocturnal inhabitants would turn it off, corrupt business owners would manipulate it to get a higher profit, spoiled rich kids would mess around with everyone's day for fun, Oligarchs get to have longer ass-kissing dinners, normal citizens would pool money to maintain the regularity... if you have the resources, you get to play god for a while."

You asked how was that possible.

"They claimed it's controlled by magic. But I think that's bull, they must have some massive, planetary-scaled machine that made this possible- The ball of fire up there must be an artificial sun. My reality is no stranger to artificial celestial bodies, we even make our own stars too. But we use science, not some childish, made up idea." She grumbled.

Who are "they"?

"The guy your friend offed for shoving glass in your throat."

The reminder of the disgraced citizen made your blood run cold.

"Listen, he's going to be fine. In fact, you probably did him a favor."

Exasperated, you asked how was that a favor.

2718, sensing your distress, whipped around and pointed his dagger at the translator. Thinking that she was either insulting you or scaring you.

She raised her hands up and backed away, reasoning with him.

You pressed your hand against his face, gently pushing him to the direction you want him to go. He begrudgingly back turned around, letting you face the translator again. His hold on you became firmer, though.

"Trust me, I know he went out... with a bang. But he's going to be just fine."

You don't think that he is going to be 'just fine' and you can't believe that she is this apathetic. However, you decided to drop the topic for now.

"I didn't get all my knowledge of this place from that one guy, though. Most of it came from my associates living here."

You asked why she didn't contact them for help.

"I'm trying to. But it's tough when I can't go 'online' through myself. I need an external vessel, like a computer- or a smartphone, perhaps."

You asked why she didn't use the coins to buy a cheap burner phone or it's equivalent, assuming they exist.

"I'm 'offline', off grid, even. I effectively lost all my contacts... maybe even a whole chunk of my memory- I don't know, I won't know until I reconnect myself to the galactic internet again. I wouldn't know who's ID to call anyways. Might as well use it to buy stuff necessary for me to live another day."

You went onto ask what the name of this planet is and how many planets are there in this solar system.

"In English? I'm sure you can guess."

You really can't. The properties of this planet sounds... familiar. But yet, so foreign.

"I'll give you another hint. This planet spins backwards. Well, used to."

Huh?

"We're in Venus. Venus with major tweaks done to it."

Venus!? Your jaw went slack, this piece of information blew your mind. You can't believe you're in Venus! Absolute insanity, is the translator sure that this isn't actually Earth? But in an alternate universe?

"Yeah. Earth is used as a landfill now. It's still populated though. Mainly by kind volunteers and the... less-than-fortunates. It's a big mess, mind you. We aren't using tiny terms like 'international' anymore. It's Interplanetary and beyond. So the social systems and all that junk are way more complex."

You asked, what IS this solar system?! The past? The future? The present?

"It's convict central, baby!" She sarcastically waved her hands in glee. "It's prison. But worse." She deadpanned. "Because everyone is free. The strongest gets to call shots around here."

"But if you're talking about the solar system before it became a dumping ground for thugs, it's just some poor, alternate timeline where Earth is a budding Type 1 civilization. They stood no chance against Type fives."

You asked what civilization is... 'Convict Central' under.

"Type two, on their way to becoming a type three. Again, the people here claim to 'generate' their own energy through magic. Take their precious Dyson Spheres away and let's see if their whimsical magical hero powers can feed trillions every day."

You quietly noted her disdain on the matter and said nothing about it.

You went onto ask her about clocks, watches or any tool that tells the time. It seems to be nonexistent here.

She snorted.

You asked her what was so funny.

"Let's see, you're considered partially deaf, partially blind, partially mute.... and temporally disabled. I'm glad your friend got you first before anyone else."

Temporally disabled? You asked her to clarify.

"I have a chronometer installed in me, and that's understandable because I'm part metal. Your friend, has one too. But he evolved to have it, and it's damn accurate too. Down to the nanosecond."

She wiped the sweat off her forehead. It made you realize that you're not sweating, because it's comfortably cool. 2718 must be cooling you down.

"The inconsistent sunlight, the gravity, the atmosphere, the stress and generally everything else got my chronometer a little fucked up. As for your friend? You can drop him at the edge of Andromeda and he will calibrate himself immediately. He will know what time it is-- hell, it's damn impressive to even perceive time at that point!"

You brought your hands to your head, upset that you didn't get a chance to experience a world never seen before. And you never will, you're just not evolved enough to grasp it.

"Hmm. Okay makes sense... That makes sense." She mumbled to herself, scratching her chin.

You asked her what made sense.

"He could easily bring you home in a blink, if he had a glass teleporter with him. But seeing that you're still a... primate, he knows that it might screw something up in you."

That explains why you vomited after appearing at the market.

"Yep. That sounds like spatial-temporal sickness alright. Keep that up and it might cause a brain hemorrhage."

Your eyes widened in horror. Absolutely terrifying news, you're grateful that the only side effect was devastating nausea.

You shuddered, creeped out by so many things. That made 2718 stop in his tracks again, glaring at the translator from the corner of his eyes.

The translator defended herself with a whine, swearing that she didn't do anything to you.

You were curious as to why 2718 set you down.

"He's taking a water break." Explained the translator. She took out her own water bottle from her bag.

Your companion softly nudged your arm with the waterskin. You twisted your head and picked it off his hand. He patted your head.

You looked into the distance. It's still a long way to go, you huffed. You felt very demotivated, you really don't want to sit through this entire journey.

Maybe 2718 felt your demoralization too, or the translator told him in a frequency that you cannot hear, but he cupped your cheeks and stared into your eyes.

He gently squished your cheeks, forcing you to pucker a bit, before letting go. The man then pressed a loving kiss onto your forehead. You closed your eyes when he affectionately nuzzled his nose against yours.

"He's said that it's going to be okay. You're doing well and he loves you." Your eyes shifted to the woman.

This translation cause 2718 to growl at the translator for ruining the moment. He shielded you in his arms as he barked insults at her. She argued back, this time annoyance was apparent in her tone and face.

You asked if 2718 actually understands you.

"Not really. But I bet anyone would look at that-" She pointed at his house in the distance. It looked like an ant from here. "-And go 'aaaugghhh... still a long way to go...' I know, I do. He's trying to cheer you up, that's all. You had a sad face on anyways."

You leaned into 2718, tiredly resting against him as he drank some from the waterskin. You don't know why you're so exhausted. It's not like you did most of the walking.

"You have been awake for 35 hours, of course you're going to feel like shit. You're accustomed to 12 hours of daylight and 12 hours of darkness. Today someone rented out the sun and left it on longer than I liked. You better thank them, though. Dealing with creatures of the night is no easy feat."

You groan, has it really been that long? You told her to ask him; how long did it take for him to recover from his injuries earlier.

2718 uttered something to her.

"He said six hours, 27 minutes, 13.0348... Okay, I'll just round it off to the nearest second. 6 hours, 27 minutes and 13 seconds. The fight with the insect took thirteen minutes- around thirteen minutes, he's giving me a twelve digit number and I'm not saying all that."

Assuming the three of you spent half an hour at the lighthouse, that means... the journey from the house to the translator's base took around 28 hours and 20 minutes. You're way behind your sleep schedule, you're going to get eyebags!

But, how does she know that you're awake for 35 hours?

"Your friend told me. Oh yeah, he actually told me to tell you this earlier, so you would... you know, be comfortable sleeping. In his arms. Sorry. I forgot. And I'd be lonely without you talking to me, so..."

You guess you can see why he doesn't trust her to translate his words. You also wonder what else is she omitting from you for her own benefit. You would have forced yourself to stay awake anyways for her sake, she didn't need to lie or 'forget'.

You're giving her the benefit of the doubt. Maybe the language is just too complex to catch everything in one breath. Nevertheless, it does disturb you that the translator could easily manipulate the situation to her favor if she wanted to- by giving false translations.

2718 probably won't buy into her tricks as much. But you know you would, because she's the only one you could understand. And you have no choice but to rely on her.

It made you question if the words she said that made him hostile were congruent to what she tells you.

All these thinking are giving you a headache. You don't want to talk to her for now.

You told her that you're going to sleep for the next... however many hours it takes to walk back. She's disappointed, but she understands.

2718 lifted you up by the arms and lets you sag onto his shoulder. His cold hands, spreading harmless frost all over the fabric of your clothes. Chilling you under the scorching sun.

You let your eyelids droop, slowly giving into the sweet embrace of sleep-

"What the fuck happened here?" You lifted your head at her remark.

This earned a yell from 2718, not at you, at the translator. He must be angry at her for waking you up.

You're more concerned about the matter that made her say that. So you rubbed your eyes before looking around.

Oh. After realizing that you're still on... Venus, and not in some sort of blood-painted, tropophobia-inducing hellscape, you relaxed. Actually, it was extremely bizarre to think about it. Venus, a planet known for it's inhabitable conditions, and you're in it? Alive? And not burnt to bits?

You explained that the epic battle between your companion and the insect took place here. He bled out profusely from his leg and eyes.

You lolled back onto him, adjusting your hat so that the sun doesn't touch your eyes.

You heard the translator grumbled something under her breath. 2718 didn't respond, at least not in a way you can perceive.

His rhythmic trudging lulled you deeper and deeper into slumber.

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