#and still have 131 pulls left for kafka

[jifanjiang0710]

Dinner with the Stellaron Hunters

yandere kafka x reader x yandere blade

“SILVER WOLF!”

Your fists start to hurt from all the pounding. She’s locked her door again. “Time for dinner!” She can definitely hear you. Whether she responds or not is her choice.

“Boss fight!” She yells back.

“Come downstairs quickly!” Scurrying down the flight of stairs, you stop at Blade’s room. An ominous reddish glow is emitting from under the door, reeking of death… or is it your imagination? You raise your hand to knock, before a voice from behind sends chills down your spine.

“What are you doing?”

Turning to meet his scowling visage, ever-unchanging (SW likened him to an NPC), you see Blade glaring down at you, and neither of you speak.

“…dinnertime.”

He slinks off.

You groan irritably. You do everything in this house. Thankfully, Kafka is already at the table.

After a quick scan of the seating, you heave a sigh of relief. There is a seat at the table between Kafka and Blade. Thank the aeons. As you head for the spot, Silver Wolf plops herself down onto the chair in all her glory, eyes not leaving the handheld console. You stare dumbfounded for a minute, partly at the audacity, the rest a growing conflict arising from within you.

The most vexing decision of the night: sitting next to Kafka, or Blade. Only one party can be sated, and the other will then shower you with the fruits of their displeasure for the rest of the night. Tread lightly in this delicate situation.

Choose Kafka, who lets her fingers glide up your thighs, particularly when you are drinking; who whispers vile things in your ear as you try to focus instead on the noises from Silver Wolf’s console; who sometimes holds a spoon to your mouth and expects you to say ahh...

Or choose Blade, who barely tries to hide his growing fascination with you at this point; whose fiery eyes bore into you carrying a heavy sort of intensity that cannot be described; who you know has no qualms about cornering Kafka’s favourite pet and finding out just what makes you so special to her.

The purple-haired woman notices your hesitance, chuckling breathily. She takes the initiative to beckon you over, with a single curl of her fingers. You trot towards her, deeming her, just for tonight, the lesser of two evils. Then you catch sight of his gaze. It’s a warning and a threat, all expressed within a single flash of the eyes.

“What’s wrong, little one?”

“I- I….” You feel yourself starting to sweat at this minor conundrum. How can you defy a direct order from Kafka?

She sighs, evidently disappointed at your lack of decisiveness. “Oh, go on. I’m sure Bladie deserves you for just one night, with how long he has been eyeing up what’s mine.”

The tension builds, and you bite your tongue. That sentence was biting, indirectly instigating another cold war between both hunters. So, gathering up stray remnants of courage you take a seat next to him.

The atmosphere is even more strained.

“Ah…how is your hand?” You direct the question to the man sitting beside you, glare turning less pointed. “Has it healed?”

“Yeah,” SW says suddenly, accusatory. “How is your hand?”

He sighs, irked. “Still healing. Isn’t it obvious?” For it was still wrapped in bandages.

“Blade, our supply of bandages is depleting. The others need them too. Is it really necessary to cover your torso?” He can very well heal himself should the need arise, and any pretense on his part is to avoid having to game with Silver Wolf. Blade ignores you, as if you’d committed a crime against him personally.

Kafka is unusually quiet.

You chide Silver Wolf to finish off her broccoli.

“Oh dear. Little one?”

Her sudden shift of attention to you makes you jump. “Yes, Kafka?”

“Will you be a dear and run off to fetch a cloth for me? I seem to have spilt some soup onto my lap.”

Blade watches intently as you fuss over her, asking whether there are burns, if she is alright, and run off to pour another bowl for her.

His fists clench, tightening around the bowl. “That was intentional.”

“What an astute observation, Bladie. And do you keep your uninjured hand bandaged so my little one may continue clouding their pretty little head with concern for you?”

“They do not enjoy being toyed with, treated like the fragile doll you make them to be.”

“And they don’t seem to like treading on eggshells whenever you are in the vicinity either, or stared down in the way a rabid beast would reserve for its prey.”

“You think you are almighty, Kafka-”

“Oh, but I am. Everything I orchestrate, as I predict, shall come to fruition.”

“Just because you claim control over me, you will not be the most powerful, nor the most infallible. You know just as well as I do, Kafka, and even you cannot deny it. [Name] would be better off anywhere but with you.”

“And if Elio were to say otherwise? Will you continue deluding yourself in such pitiful manner?”

A sharp noise of a crack emanates as the bowl chips under his grip. “…very well.” Blade says, after a second of contemplation. He looks up at the woman opposite of him, the intensity of his gaze like piercing wind, “Let us ask Elio.”

Kafka does not answer, but the slight stiffen of her lower lip speaks volumes. She crosses her arms.

“Listen, Bladie-”

“Enough! Kafka, what did I say about commanding Blade? And Blade, that’s the third one you’ve broken this month. Please be more careful.” The two tear their gazes away from each other.

“My mistake, little one,” Kafka responds breathily, as though this matter were of minimal importance to her.

“I think I cut my finger from the shard,” says Blade.

You turn towards him, raising an eyebrow. He clears his throat, trying to appear innocuous. “…it hurts.”

“Do you need a bandage? You seem to have an abundance of it.” A petty remark by that woman, intent on having your attention solely focused on her.

He meets your eyes. “It still hurts.” On the surface, what with his deadpan expression, it sounds like a command, an order to tend to me. You hear it for what it really is, a plea for attention.

“Aw, fine. Give me your hand. Where does it hurt?”

Kafka’s turn to watch on as you examine his (supposedly) injured finger. You feel an odd sensation of impending doom…

“May I be excused?” Without giving you time to respond, the young gamer stands, tossing her plate into the sink and scampering upstairs once again. You look down and see that your own bowl has been piled suspiciously high with vegetables.

This girl… You sigh, but do not protest this time.

For the night, the Stellaron hunters disperse.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

On a more wholesome note:

His phone buzzes. Fumbling a bit with the home screen, he swipes. It’s a message from Kafka.

That Woman: Kys

She receives a reply in return.

Bladie: One day I will.

‘I can only eagerly await that day’

‘As will I.’

‘You’re lying, Bladie~’

‘What.’

‘You no longer want to die, do you?’

‘Good night.’

‘Ah, don’t chicken out. They make you, for the first time in a long time, want to live. I can tell. You’re intrigued.’ ‘…’ ‘Hello?!’ ‘Leaving me on read again?’

He sets the phone down, sighing deeply.

The window shutters are half closed, swaying gently in the breeze. There is a dim starlight scattering the night sky. It reminds him of a home he had lost a long time ago. The wind picks up, blowing away a stray strand of hair off his shoulder.

He does not know how he got there, but his shadow looms over your room door. After some hesitation, he knocks.