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iwannasuckyourmonstercock · 3 months

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Never alone

Yandere Kim Hongjoong x Reader

Warnings: Stalking, creepy bf but he really just loves you <3, spanking but no smut, maybe I'll do a smutty part two - "I'm Hongjoong by the way, nice to meet you." the man in front of you told you while you were still unsure if it was really that nice. Probably not as he was at fault that your cute crop top was now dripping wet and the sticky feeling of the liquid wasn't all that nice on your skin.

You knew going to that damned party was a mistake. When your friends first asked you to come to the frat party you had cringed at first. Rightfully so because first of all was it a frat party and they always ended with at least one person in an ambulance and secondly would you have to go out. Now, it wasn't like it was going out that you particularly didn't like. No, usually you loved going to parties, going for a walk or going out for shopping. But lately it had begun to feel uneasy. Whenever you stepped outside you could feel it.

Lingering eyes, faint footsteps. Someone was always following you. You didn't have any proof to be fair but you knew it. Call it seventh sense or whatever but it made you not wanting to go out for anything at all anymore.

Obviously nobody would believe you, call you paranoid. So you didn’t tell anyone. Your friend Yuna had always been way too convincing and she was the very reason why you were now standing in front of an incredible attractive man that had just emptied his whole cup of whatever he had on your top.

After he had apologized a million times he had dragged you up to the bathroom, giving you a towel to dry yourself up. It seemed that he was one of the boys that were hosting that party as he left you shortly just to come back with a fresh shirt for you. "You can change if you want... It must feel terrible against your skin, y/n."

"Ah, thank you... It really does, so thank you." you said, accepting his shirt. After he left the bathroom you cleaned yourself up a little and changed into his shirt. Your white crop top was completely ruined so you didn't bother to try saving it, just putting it in the trash. As soon as you stepped outside you noticed that Hongjoong had waited for you. He looked way too good for someone who was just leaning against the door and playing with his phone. "You didn't have to wait for me."

When he heard your words he looked up, eyes wandering over your body. He looked like he wanted to eat you up right in that moment, but even so he held back, just shifting his gaze to your face.

"Of course I had to. I just ruined your night by being too careless so I have to make it up to you." he grinned, putting his phone in his pocket. "Well, I don't want to ruin your plans but I'll probably leave soon anyway so you don't have to bother with me." "That's a pity. I hoped after getting your attention I had a chance of getting to dance with you." You sighed. He did get your attention. Not in a positive way but still.

At last you decided it wouldn't hurt to dance with him. After all it had been a mistake for which he had apologized and made up for. So you just grabbed his arm, dragging him down to the dance floor. Being outside hadn't felt so good in a long time and dancing with Hongjoong was a lot of fun. The way you two moved to the beat was incredible and you loved how he always found new moves to the songs that came up. Honestly he gave you just what you needed that night. Just a carefree moment.

After some time you two had fetched yourselves drinks in the kitchen, having some small talk. He was an art major. Photography was his focus but he also loved painting he had said. And apparently he even made his own music as he had sheepishly admitted. Sadly you had to leave soon as Yuna had managed to get shitfaced drunk and you weren't too keen on letting her leave alone. When you sat in the taxi with her you cursed yourself, realizing that you two didn't even exchange each others number.

The next encounter with Hongjoong was pure coincidence. You had made the mistake of taking the last victory of going out without any troubles as a sign to go out more often. Maybe he lost interest and stopped? Or maybe you really had been just paranoid?

Now you were basically running down the street. This time you had seen him. It was a guy, well built and tall. And he was following you. For good ten minutes already. The party you had went to this time was in a nightclub. You didn't stay too long, only until 3 am. Yuna had offered to walk you home all the way but you declined it, deciding that you could walk the last ten minutes alone. Well now you didn't even dare to walk home, just running in circles as you didn't want to lead him right to your home. Apparently you didn't pay attention to anything but running so a loud gasp left your mouth when you felt ran against a hard chest. "Wow, you seem very eager to see me again." Hongjoong laughed, putting an arm around your waist so that you wouldn't fall. His laughter died down when he saw your tear stained face. "Oh god, did it hurt or why are you crying...?" he asked carefully.

You slowly shook your head, wiping the tears away with your sleeve. “Someone’s following me… please help me…” you begged him lowly, not daring to look behind you.

He didn’t waste any time before he looked over your shoulder and put his arm around your shoulders now. “Ah, there you are. Finally, I’ve already waited for you. Let’s go home.” He said a bit louder with the intention that the man could hear it.

Than he led you to his car, opening the door for you and letting you in like the gentleman he was before going to the drivers seat to get in himself.

“Would you like me to drive you home or do you want to go to my apartment? I mean, I wouldn’t really want to be alone in a situation like this so if you want to-“

“Yes, let’s please go to yours.” You interrupted him in his sentence. Your stalker knew where you lived, you were sure of it. So it was better to go to a place where he couldn’t follow you. And Hongjoong seemed trustworthy.

Hongjoong nodded and started the engine before starting to drive to his apartment.

It turned out that he didn’t live in the frat house from the last party. He actually had an own apartment. Apparently he shared it with a friend as you noticed how there were more shoes and jackets in the entry than a single man could have. But otherwise it was very clean. No dust, no things standing around.

Also it was very modern, you noticed. A lot of paintings and photographs were on the walls and also hand made statues were decorating the place. It made it look very cool but also very unique.

“Ah… i made it myself. I call it the lucky shot as I feel like this is almost the most beautiful shot I took.” Hongjoong said sheepishly as you stopped at one of the photographs.

“Only almost? What was your most beautiful shot than?”

He stared at you for a moment, eyes darkening for a split second, before chuckling.

“You’d like to know, huh? I deleted it by accident. So I can’t show you but it was a very nice scenery and someone I hold dear was in it.”

“I’m sorry to hear that… it must’ve been hard to realize that you deleted something you value so much…”

“Don’t worry, it’s fine. I’m a bit clumsy sometimes… and at the end I’ve got it captured in my memory. Now… if you want you can take a shower. I should have some make up remover somewhere… Seonghwa, my roommate, had a girlfriend and she placed it somewhere so she wouldn’t have to go to bed with make up… they broke up but he never threw it away.” He explained. “Come in, I’ll show you the bathroom.”

You followed him to the bathroom and smiled. Even the bathroom was clean and it amazed you. Usually two guys living together meant that the place would look like shit.

“Thank you, Hongjoong, really… you saved me from that stalker and-“

“Not helping you wouldn’t have been an option. This is something you should be able to expect from anyone… now go on, the clean towels are under the sink and I’ll leave clean clothes in front of the door… I hope You’re fine with wearing something from me, I don’t have any women’s clothes.”

You nodded softly and waddled into the bathroom. After removing all of the make up and taking a nice shower you felt much better. The clothes Hongjoong had prepared for you were almost fitting perfectly and you had to grin a little.

When you came out you followed the amazing smell until you stood in the kitchen.

“I’m making some ramen. I figured we both would need a late night snack after all this.” He smiled. Apparently he had changed into his pajama too and somehow he looked really hot.

A plain black shirt with some sleeping shorts never looked so good but honestly nobody could blame you. After being followed for almost a month now there was no time for you to truly relax. So you hadn’t had any intimacy in more than a month now. This probably did effect you a lot more than you’d like to admit.

“Thats nice of you…” you smiled and sat down, watching him while he cooked the ramen.

“I can’t leave a pretty girl hungry, can I?” He chuckled. “So was your friend fine? After the party? I remember you had to drag her to the car and she didn’t look good last time.”

You blinked at his words. Did you mention what you had been doing and with who? Surely you did.“Yes… she is fine. Tomorrow she’ll feel awful as she did drink quiet a bit but it should be fine.” You told him with a smile.

“I’m glad. She must have a lot of faith in you if she trusts you to drag her home after every party…” he mumbled under his breath and served the food than in two bowl.

You mumbled a quick thank you before taking the bowl. It wasn’t that special but right now the food seemed better than anything else you could have. And you didn’t even notice how you were devouring the food until Hongjoong chuckled next to you.

“You look really cute when you’re hungry.” He grinned and you rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small blush in your cheeks.

“Shut up…"

He just chuckled and returned to his food.

To be honest his presence made you feel incredible comfortable. You couldn't really put your finger on it but even during your first encounter it felt like you knew each other forever already.

Like he knew you inside out.

But you didn't have much time to think about anything as Hongjoong already started another conversation. You two talked for hours and eventually moved to the couch in the living room. A film played on the TV screen but the both of you couldn't really care less about what happened there.

"I swear, I always have the baddest luck ever! I'm not even joking, when I had my last date my alarm clock didn't work, my car broke down and the bus I had to take got into an accident!" you laughed.

Hongjoong laughed really hard and shook his head. "Nah, nothing against me. I actually got there but during the date it turned out she already had a boyfriend. He showed up and made a huge scene. I ended up in the hospital that day."

A small gasp left your lips and you covered your mouth so he couldn't see how you had to hold back your laugh. You both had no luck with dates it seemed. He nudged your shoulder with a small chuckle.

"It's okay... You can laugh about it. I didn't die so it's okay." he assured. "We both have are just not really meant to go on dates, I guess."

"I guess we're not meant to go on dates... We'll find our other half in a different way." you sighed and looked over to him. His eyes were fixated on you and it made you a bit nervous which made you stop in the middle of your sentence.

"Like meeting our soulmate at a frat party..." he breathed out without breaking the eye contact.

"Or getting saved by our soulmate from some creep..." you added and noticed how the man in front of you got a bit closer to you.

Somehow it felt right when he got even closer and slowly cupped your cheek with his hands. His intense gaze was still on you and it made you almost blush. It made you feel like the most wanted person on earth. Like he wanted more than just a bit of fun for the night. Like he really, really loved you.

"Is this okay for you..?" he whispered against your lips.

So you just leaned forward to him to feel his soft lips on yours. Both of you clearly wanted it and right now you wanted nothing but him.

Quickly the shy kissing turned into a heavy make out session and he had pulled you on his lap, his arms around your waist. His smell was all around you and it made you dizzy. Everything felt right and soon your clothes were on the floor while the both of you made love on the couch in Hongjoongs living room.

Everything was perfect.

Nothing was perfect.

It had started with a small fight over something so mundane and now you two were full blown fed up with each other. And also way too proud to apologize to the other. Also, the stalking only got worse.

“You’re both way too fucking stubborn. Either you love each other and make up or this could be the last time you talked to him.” Yuna huffed, throwing a pillow into your face.

With a sigh you caught it, shaking your head.

“You… don’t understand. I don’t get why he would even ever be jealous because a friend stayed the night over! He did sleep on the couch and we know each other from our childhood on!” You sighed, shaking your head.

“Maybe he is just insecure or something like that. And you wouldn’t like him having a woman stay with him too.”

It wasn’t that at all. You hid the fact that Hongjoong had looked like he could smash the face of your friend when he came into your apartment in the morning, seeing you both together in the kitchen.

And he almost did, if you hadn’t stopped him.

It was scary and something you’ve never seen him do before. Ever. That was a side of him you didn’t even know existed.

Yuna consoled you a little longer before she had to leave, wanting to catch the last bus.

After she left you wrapped in your blanket, watching some drama and eating some leftovers.

Right now you didn’t want to think about Hongjoong nor your stalker. So you watched the drama, letting it distract you from the fact that you had to talk to Hongjoong sooner or later. Rather later, if possible tho.

And for your stalker.... You would have to go to the police. You swore you saw someone taking pictures of you. And a dark, looming shadow followed you wherever you went to. It was frightening.

Soon, you feel asleep like this, the drama continuing to play as your eyes fell shut.

When you woke up you were met with darkness. The TV was out and it was weirdly cold.

Slowly you rubbed your eyes, yawning and stretching a little. When another cold breeze hit your now exposed skin you shivered.

Where did that come from?

Quickly you stood up, wrapping the blanket around your shoulders as you went through your apartment to see where it came from.

You froze when you saw an open window. And not only that, a person was climbing out of it, apparently a little startled as you came as they began to hurry.

Screaming, crying, yelling, throwing things after the person or calling the police - you should do all those things. But instead you couldn’t move.

The stalking hadn’t stopped. And they even got into your apartment now. It was hella creepy and soft sobs left your mouth as you slowly sunk down to the floor, crying out of fear.

What did they want from you? Steal? Hurt you?

Either way, the feeling was horrible and the only thing you could do was call your boyfriend. You couldn’t say a thing but your soft sobs were enough to alert your boyfriend who sounded like he had just woken up.

Only five minutes later was he with you, using the spare key you had gotten him.

It should’ve alerted - after all he lived at least fifteen minutes away.

But in that moment all you could think about was how warm he felt against you and how good he smelt.

God, you had missed Hongjoong. No matter how hard you had tried to hide that.

“It’s alright, baby… it’s alright… I’m there now…” he told you soothingly, rubbing your back and kissing your forehead.

He was all you needed right now.

A few weeks passed and things changed. You had moved in with Hongjoong.

Seonghwa, his roommate, was alright with it. You two got along very well and he understood your situation and that you didn’t exactly want to be alone - nor did you want to stay in your old place.

Hopefully the stalking would stop now. With two dudes in the apartment nobody would dare to break in, right?

Being with Hongjoong felt safe and you decided to forget the accident with him and your childhood friend. It had been a one time thing after all, he’d never do it again. Your boyfriend had promised that.

“Babe, are those the last few bags?” Hongjoong asked, hands full with your stuff.

“Yea, that’s all.” You confirmed and he sighed in relief. A huff left your lips.

“What? Tired? Seonghwa carried most of them, you know.” You chuckled, shaking your head.

Your boyfriend grinned and put his arms around you. “Yes, but I carried the heaviest boxes, you know.”

You couldn't even be mad at him - he was cute as he cuddled up to you, although his sweaty skin was a bit sticky. He was calmed down by your presence as much as you were with his. It was endearing, really.

"Shower, babe. You need a shower." You told him, softly pushing him away.

It made him whine and cuddled up to you even more. Obviously he was very much against the idea, shaking his head and pouting cutely. He obviously knew which weapons to use against you. His cute side always got the best of you after all.

"Than... how about a shower together?" you suggested, making him smirk and nod in agreement. Well, what a surprise. - You were shaking.

It had been a dream. Living with Seonghwa and Hongjoong was a dream. Hongjoong spoiled you with all the attention and love, while Seonghwa mostly took care of the duties around the apartment. You learned that Hongjoong covered Seonghwas part of the rent too and in return Seonghwa cooked and cleaned. All in all, a wonderful thing. Especially since you were free from your stalker. At least you thought so.

For a few weeks it had worked. And now? You wanted to do a nice thing and clean for Seonghwa while they were both out.

By now you had your degree - but as of right now there hadn't been any job offer for you. Not even any replies to the ones you applied for. Frustration was slowly creeping into you but your boyfriend was very encouraging, reassuring that you would for sure get a nice job soon. He kept your spirits up and provided everything for you without a single complaint. You had never asked for that - but received it all nonetheless. Hongjoong was a proud and stubborn man. And once he was set on something, there was no use arguing.

Well, the least you could do was help Seonghwa than, right?

And now you were devastated. While dusting Hongjoongs office room you almost tripped over a tile. Obviously you wanted to fix it, you couldn't have your love tripping on it, could you?

But when you noticed that something was underneath the tile you knew that whatever was there, Hongjoong didn't want anyone to find it. What could it be? You knew a lot of your boyfriend. Still, sometimes you felt like he didn't tell you the whole truth.

He worked a lot, but still, he could afford this expensive apartment, provide for both you and himself and he also still had enough money to suggest a vacation. With the job he had in an office... Well, maybe if he had a few more years of experience. But as a newbie it was not really believable. You simply chose to believe him when he explained that his passion for making beats and songs got him a few extra thousands a month.

Despite your gut telling you not to, you opened the box you found under the tile.

A loud gasp left your lips when you saw the pictures of you, along with letters and private objects from your life that got lost way before you even knew Hongjoong.

"What are you doing?!" You heard a harsh voice.

It was Seonghwa. You were lucky. If it had been Hongjoong, you would've been in trouble.

But when you turned around, his face told you everything.

He wasn't surprised. He wasn't shocked. He wasn't completely shaken like you were. He knew. He fucking knew.

Seonghwa knew that his best friend was the stalker that you so desperately tried to get rid of. He knew that he was sick, invading your privacy, taking pictures of you and stealing your panties, jewelry and more.

"N-No... Hwa, please... please don't tell me..."

You wanted to throw up. It made you sick.

"He isn't like that... He really loves you. More than anything in the world." Seonghwa tried to reason with you, but the tears were already running down your cheeks.

He let you as you pushed him away, going to your room and getting a bag so you could quickly pack the most important things up before your boyfriend - your stalker - would return.

Only when you wanted to flee the apartment did he stop you, holding your wrist and pulling you into his chest.

"Shhh.... Shhhh.... Don't worry. He will always take care of you... You love him, don't you? It doesn't even change anything." he told you, seemingly also trying to believe the words Hongjoong had fed him.

When you got violent, he did too. With force he dragged you into Hongjoongs room, cuffing you up.

"Let me go! Fucking psychos!" you accused him, trashing around and trying to kick him with your feet.

"Hongjoong will understand..." he mumbled, ignoring you and leaving you alone. You could only wait for your doom.

"You have been such a good girl... Why now?" he asked, disappointment lacing his voice. A loud smack resonated in the room as Hongjoong hit your bottom for the tenth time.

Tears were running down your cheeks and you sobbed. It hurt, but your body was only turned on, reminded by the many nights where Hongjoong had trained you to love this pain.

"Now you must act up... Bad." Smack. "Girl." Smack. "I gave you everything and you act like this just because of something like this? Just let it go. I only wanted to take care of you, watch out for you. Only I am allowed to hurt you."

Stubbornly you shook your head. "N-No... You fucking stalked me, you are crazy, leave me alone!" you fought him, making him chuckle darkly.

"Remember darling, you are never alone."

#yandere #kim hongjoong #yandere kim hongjoong #yandere hongjoong #yandere ateez #ateez #ateez x reader #ateez hongjoong #stalker hongjoong #creepy ateez #dark hongjoong #ateez fanfic #ateez smut #hongjoong smut #hongjoong

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ccarrot · 5 months

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what are your hcs/theories about chuuya's past? feel free to go wild with your thoughts 😽

I have a few. .. A lot actually but i felt like making some art so here's what i have the stamina for right now.

Mom Nakahara

So i've been thinking about her a lot considering she's the parent he would have spent the most time with. We know basically one line about her but we can learn that she and her husband have a lot of political sway in town, she's of samurai descent, and has a lot of decorum "like those of the upper class". That didn't really translate into the design I made for her bc for some reason i was very fixated on her being a farmer lady but I imagine she has a very polite and respectful personality. I think her past involving some form of samurai heritage could indicate she's a socialite of some kind and rather wealthy and well known in the village, which could attract a lot of disrespect when the Dad is at war and she's raising Chuuya on her own.

Apart from the mostly baseless farmer vibes i DID want her to seem very soft, and very tired. She's effectively a single mother, her husband's at war, her child is "unruly" and gets into fights and she's might be getting shit from the people she knows around her. It's stressful.

2. Gender

So here this might be diverging from canon, but this is very very important to me. i headcanon Chuuya as FtM transgender, like this is just super ingrained in my mind. Projection mostly. (Also why whenever I draw genderbender art of him, Girl Chuuya's body isn't particularly feminine, maybe she hasn't gotten her tits yet. I want the trans/nb reading to be very available.)

So anyways when i was thinking about his past, i was wondering if he even started considering gender that way. Maybe, maybe not. I think he might have gone for a more "tomboy" type attitude when he was a kid, begging his mom to let him wear "non-girly clothes" instead. Maybe she lets him to that because wearing shorts instead of a skirt isn't something that really matters in her eyes, cutting her kid's hair short isn't a big deal. So i think mom would be accepting of the idea that her son's trans, but maybe other townspeople aren't. And they spread rumors about Chuuya's mother "for raising him wrong."

Cue some kindergarten Chuuya out to bat for his mom's honor.

3. Professor N.

This is a really obvious one to me, but I believe that Chuuya knew N before the lab. Two versions I bounce between: N being a friend of his father's during the war. If N really does stand for "Nakahara" maybe N is his uncle on his mom's side. Either way I think some kind of accident or risk was involved with Chuuya's ability manifestation, and contact N who they know is involved with some secret ability research and they trust him enough to send Chuuya to the lab with him to "get him fixed"

If chuuya's original ability was the self contradicting power enhancement ability, maybe an accident involving him over powering something and it like. exploding or something. Or maybe he used it on himself and some kind of singularity opened up (black holes maybe??) Either way something really dramatic bc Chuuya's ability is dramatic.

Anyways. theres something very insidious to me about N knowing Chuuya as a kid. As soon as he was given the chance to, he not only faked his death, experimented on him, but systematically abused him in order to make him lose his sense of self/sense of humanity. essentially forcing him into an object/weapon. Not a person anymore. It's sick, N is honestly one of (if not THE) most genuinely evil characters in all of bsd.

Overall I'm hesitant on the idea of Chuuya's parents being awful but it is possible. I've got several different fluctuating versions of his pre-lab backstory honestly.

#bsd #bungo stray dogs #doodles #ask #chuuya #mom nakahara #professor n #yeah yeah yeah yeah #CHUUYA BACKSTORY may favorite topic to maladaptive daydream about #HAVE SOME ART!!!! mom's design is subject to change but honestly i just want her to look like a soft older anime mom version of chuuya.#and that handshake with N and kid chuuya is probably one of my favorite things i've drawn in a while.

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jujutsutrash · 8 months

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It is October, and you know what that means! Maria gets to commit a war crime as a birthday gift. Honestly, on the list of things nobody asked for I'm pretty sure smut with Kenjaku is like way up there, but it's my birthday (at the end of the month) and I get to chose the war crime!

Kenjaku x Reader. 1.3k words NSFW, minors leave. tw for: dubcon, manipulation, Kenjaku's stitches snapping, brain fluid, a little bit of the brain too

When Kenjaku took over Geto's body he kept the cult, at least for a while. they were an useful logistical asset and source of income - something even he needed from time to time. he was still living amongst normal humans, inhabiting flesh. there would always be some material needs that were an unescapable reality.

Kenjaku himself didn't really care for those things, he was an existence beyond just human by this point. but while the bodies he inhabited were technically dead, while he gave continuity to their existence, they still had needs. itches to be scratched. some boring and a chore, but others fun and enjoyable to indulge in.

He prized himself in living life fully, afterall, and some of those itches were delightful parts of a life fully lived.

And that's how Kenjaku found himself watching you when you weren't looking. eyes following your form from dark hallways and tall windows. you were a part of Suguru Geto's old group. a pretty thing, a sorcerer, not especially powerful but good with barriers and very devoted. devoted and smitten with him.

Well, smitten with Geto.

But this was not Geto. not anymore, though you were still blissfully unaware of that. sure, you found the stitches across his forehead strange, everyone did, but Kenjaku was good at imitating the original personality of his host body. and anyone still alive in Geto's little group was already primed to believe whatever their leader said.

So you accepted every excuse, went along with the charade, followed him around faithfully. it was cute, really, almost like a puppy following it's owner. a devotion you don't come accross very often nowadays. you enjoyed every once of attention he gave you, ate up every crumb of affection.

Kenjaku enjoyed it, he found it fun, like a silly little game. he had you wrapped around his finger and even he wasn't beyond seeing the appeal of toying with someone like that. sure, he could just take what he wanted, but that would be all business and no play, boring. so he kept leading you around on a long, long leash until he found it was time to close the gap.

Slowly he began cornering you in situations where he would be so close. so affectionate. physical, even. like a mockingbird, Kenjaku speaks and even smiles in a mimicry of Geto's kind demeanor. he tucks your hair behind your ear with a gentle touch, caresses your face softly at random moments, holds your hand in his warm one when no one is around. and you fall for it, like easy prey.

Soon enough he has you alone in an empty room, body pressed against his as you sit on a table. you were completly nude before him while he still had his kimono and the innermost layer of his robes on, having discarded his pants and outermost layers. his clothes hung open on his body, but they still shielded most of it. this was good for Kenjaku, your full nakedness brought another layer of vulnerability to your situation that he enjoyed throughfully.

It doesn't take much take much for you to give into him, just a few soft words and a little bit of pressure and you already bend. you'd do anything for Geto anyway, so he might as well just hitch a ride on all of that devotion. who is him to burst your bubble? it's a small merciful lie, letting you believe it's your dearest cult leader burying his cock into your pussy instead of Kenjaku. out of sight out of mind, as they say.

So he fucks himself into you under the cover of that silly lie, going deep and hard, taking your body for his pleasure. he abuses your mouth and takes your body for his pleasure, slamming into your pussy mercilessly until tears are spilling from your eyes. Kenjaku finds your tears to be alluring, your whines of 'too much' so enticing, urging him to move faster and harder.

He likes the touch of sweaty skin, the broken sounds, the trembling bodies. you are clawing at his back and neck and Kenjaku laughs at just how weak you feel under him, pussy clenching tight with your every pitiful cry. you bury your hand in his long hair making him hiss when you grip him. oh, that's almost dangerous, the stitches around his forehead still too fresh for this type of rough treatment - but this could be fun.

Kenjaku groans as he feels pleasure building higher, hips moving faster and deeper into you. you've got bite marks and hickeys all over your chest and neck, and he is sure you'll have bruises on the shape of his fingers all over your body. you are crying and shaking in pleasure, so clearly overwhelmed as his tongue pushes its way into your mouth. the hand on his hair pulls harder, fingers treading on his locks when you give it a harsh tug, making the stitches on his head start snapping.

It all happens fast, the snapping of the stitches, the separating of the skin. at first not much, just enough for liquid to start to flow down his face while he thrusts hard into you. but soon it changes, more liquid spilling down his mouth and into yours, his hips never stopping their vicious hammering. that's when you notice something is wrong, the strange liquid coating your tongue and feeling wet on your face.

You don't even scream, only emitting a high pitched whine in therror when you look up at what you think is Geto. your eyes meet the gap between the two pieces of his skull from where you are pulling at the scalp, Kenjaku's undone stitches leaving a large open gap, brain visible underneath. you freeze, and he just finds it more endearing, having no mercy as he keeps fucking into you faster and faster. the fear and confusion in your eyes only make him feel closer to his orgasm.

"w-what are you?" you whimper, too weak to even properly protest against him, both hands drpping to his arms.

"what do you mean," Kenjaku says with a smile, "it's me, your dear Suguru, what's wrong, sweetheart?" he whispers against your ear.

"what's going on," you cry out, swiping your fingers over the liquid dripping in your face, and he coos at how pitiful it sounds.

"shhhh, dear, what's gotten into you," he sushes you softly, but the pistoning of his hips doesn't match the gentleness of his voice. "hold still, I'm almost there."

You are shaking, glancing between your fingers and the gash on his hand. he can't tell if your whimpering and whining is from his abuse of your pussy or from the sight you've just had - but it doesn't matter anyways, the sweet sounds pushing him over the edge either way. Kenjaku buries himself deep in you, pulling your body flush against his as he paints your walls white with his thick cum. you cry out when he pulls your body into his forcefully but that's the measure of your protest, otherwise you just take what he gives.

When he looks back at you, the mimicry of a soft smile painted on his, he finds you still wide eyed and confused. yeah, Kenjaku can imagine that this is one hell of a way to find you the truth. he licks a spot of the liquid that dropped on your face, shushing you gently as he pulls out, your pussy gaping from his abuse and leaking his thick seed. he looks back at you, smiling wide and already redoing the stitches on his head. You look up at him so confused, so vulnerable - it's adorable. maybe he should try to find a way to keep you around.

#kenjaku x reader #kenjaku #jjk x reader

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mushroomwarning · 1 month

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A sorta long post on why I believe Lightbulb SHOULDN’T win season 2 and instead, the other three should be the candidates for winners

Before I start this off, PLEASE DONT BE MEAN TO ME WAUGHHH I’m just respectfully sharing my thoughts as someone who loves writing and I don’t even hate Lightbulb. I just don’t think she would make a good winner to make the story feel satisfied! So this isn’t LB neg, okay? Also keep in mind, I haven’t seen S2 in a hot minute so maybe I might get SOME things wrong but I’ll try my best to go on with my side.

Lightbulb

To start off, I’ll say it, Lightbulb as the possible winner of II S2 will be the most predictable and bland of the four possible contenders. Out of the four, she’s the one who’s managed to get the most out of the show, new friends, enjoyable experiences, a new pet, etc. She also has gotten a lot of screen time ( I think? ) and is a fan favorite for her wackiness n such. Yeah, she’s a little sad her friends are gone but she could always go and be with them if she just quit.

Her friends are waiting for her, honestly I’d say that’s a prize enough For her story, being able to go back and be with her friends, enjoying her time with them without worrying about the game anymore. She’s shown to be distraught with TT leaves, just go and be with your friends to stop being in this game that’s made people way more miserable. She’s got the winner attitude but it’s just. Boring. Predictable. Something that would not be that fun by a story standpoint tbh, at least in my opinion

The other three, I feel would make great winners in their own ways.

Baseball

I’ll start with Baseball, definitely an underdog and a guy nobody expects to win. That’s why he would be a wild card as a possible winner! It would shatter people’s expectations completely, but here’s the twist…If Baseball were to win, it could possible tie back into his story with Nickel. with Baseball probably thinking Nickel would pressure him to share the prize with him and his thoughts of how much of a doormat he’s been for others, Baseball could make his own decision without others influencing him, giving up the prize and giving it to the second place winner, which could be Suitcase or Knife it doesn’t matter.

THAT WOULD BE COOL WOULDN’T IT? Something that ties together Baseballs story thematically eh eh?

Knife

Anyways, Now onto Knife. He’s different from the other three in that, while he hasn’t lost anything like Suitcase or Baseball ( if I remember correctly), unless you count his dignity, he hasn’t gained anything either, unlike Lightbulb. He’s very much a pretty intelligent and strategical person, very much someone who could easily win if it played his cards correctly. There’s also a bit of a lesson he learns from S1 to S2, due to Trophy.

He learns to become less rash, mellowing out after Trophy gave him a bit of a reality check to the way he acts, even if the way he showed him wasn’t the best in the slightest, Knife learns to control his temper, mellowing out and instead uses his smarts to advance more in the game without relying on others and even gives advice to people Like Suitcase, Pickle and Microphone as he goes on.

He learns to be a better person and would honestly make a good contender for first, to reward him for his growth and change, or maybe second place if you want to show his new found humbleness in regards to his emotions

Suitcase

As for suitcase, while she’s sort of predictable as well, she isn’t as predictable as Lightbulb due to the events that she’s gone through and honestly is sort of the most deserving thematically to win out of everyone. Unlike Lightbulb, she’s lost a lot, not really gaining many friends excluding Balloon and gained mental health issues due to the treatment Nickel was giving her. This game has not treated her well in the slightest and she gains growth as time goes on, learning to stand up for herself and speak on her own.

She very much deserves the prize but at the same time, I don’t think she would care if she won or lost. She’s lost a lot and learned from her experiences in the game

Conclusion!

BUT YES. these are my reasons for why Lightbulb should not win. The others have very nice thematic reasons for why they could win but Lightbulb basically gained way WAYY more then they have out of the experience

But yeah, my ranking would go

Lightbulb- not a winner, Fourth place

Baseball - First place ( gives up prize) or Third

Knife - First or Second place

Suitcase - First or Second place too

#sorry if the grammar or spelling is off #object show community #osc #inanimate insanity #ii lightbulb #ii baseball #ii suitcase #ii knife #please be nice and respectful on your opinions..#Martin nonsense

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thissongisawesome · 2 months

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now, do i personally believe that maya and franziska would actively try to get phoenix and edgeworth together? not really. BUT. i don't see the harm in people writing scenarios in which they would? ik this sounds silly since maya and franziska wingmaning is one of the more popular ace attorney fic tropes, but i feel like recently i've seen a lot of hate towards and and i don't understand why!

think of it this way: maya is phoenix's best friend and like pseudo little sister, they're extremely close, and i'm pretty sure she teases him about his love life AT LEAST once in canon (it could be more, or i could've completely made this up, but i've played the trilogy enough where if i tried i could probably find an example but it's late and i'm tired). anyway with that said, why WOULDN'T she care about them getting together? she's shown in the first game to be pretty invested in "the deal with [nick] and edgeworth" her words, not mine. i'm not one to speak on later games because i honestly haven't touched them in over two years and even then they were a complete blur and i forgot everything except that edgeworth looked really ugly from the front. but. if my memory serves me i don't think their dynamic changed much? i can't see her caring AS much at 28 as she would at 17, because obviously she's grown and matured, but i don't think she'd be completely uninterested like some people say. maybe she wouldn't be wearing comical disguises to spy on them, but i could see her encouraging nick, or idk just telling trucy stuff about their old cases to stir something up.

i think the franziska side of things is where i'm a little more understanding, but also not really. on one hand, i get that she's very well put together and mature seeming. on the other hand, that's only how she SEEMS. i won't get into a whole franziska analysis because this post is already longer than i wanted and no one wants to hear me ramble about her, but she's not really as mature as she seems. anyway, would she care THAT much? the answer may surprise you!

now think of it THIS way: edgeworth is franziska's little brother. despite how she acts sometimes she obviously loves him dearly, and would (probably) just want him to be happy, with whatever foolishness it may endure. phoenix wright is franziska's sworn enemy. she can't stand him and feels as though he has personally wronged her before they even met. absolutely hates his guts (except for when they investigate together then they can be friends). franziska is incredibly smart, but she's clearly not the best emotionally. even with that, though, she seems to understand how important edgeworth is to phoenix ("earthquake blah blah blah" "are you thinking of miles edgeworth blah blah blah"). she kind of just accepts this, even though it implies that phoenix (a man he only recently reconnected with) would be on a similar level of emotional connection as his sister. maybe she doesn't think much about it though. she's just like sure whatever you're his most dear and indispensable friend i don't care anymore. do people really think that, if somehow she came to the conclusion that edgeworth had feelings for phoenix she wouldn't care in any way??? i'm not saying it'd necessarily be positive and all "you go girlfriend!", but to say she wouldn't CARE is so wild. she'd probably be furious, and so maybe she wouldn't wingman. but she does CARE about her brother, and honestly if it were presented to her on the right way she probably would wingman. one "hey franziska. i bet you can't make your brother get with phoenix wright. if they get together without your guidance then that basically means edgeworth beat you btw" and she's suddenly invested. (dramatized, but you get the point)

tldr; maya and franziska are not so nonchalant and cool that they wouldn't care about one of the most significant people in their lives having feelings for their courtroom rival of over a decade. that is all.

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cherubispunk · 4 months

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CHERUB (PART III) - Dealer!Joel Miller x AFAB!Reader

summary: the devil has a funny habit of making you want your own suffering.

a note from Lucy: Well, this is it folks. The third and final instalment of the unholy trinity that is cherub. The fic that i had no idea would get this amount of traction. The fic that gave me my username, blog theme, the majority of my mutuals and the freedom to explore more taboo areas of writing that I never felt comfortable with doing before. I just wanted to thank you all for all the kind words you’ve shared with me. Comments, reblogs, messages, they all mean the utter world. But i also want to specifically thank @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin who was such a huge help for motivation when wrting each of these. She's been there since the first day of cherub and always let me obsess over dealer!joel with her. Ange, i love you baby. Out of all my fandom experiences, this has definitely been one of the best. I know this sounds a lot like a goodbye completely, but it's not i swear! I just never really knew where this was going, but I think this is a pretty good way to end the series and I hope you agree too. Part of me isn't ready to let go after such a short run, but I honestly have no idea where to go from here so I think I did it as much justice as I could. Regardless, Cherub and Dealer!Joel will forever have a place in my heart all thanks to you lovely lot! Your love means the world to me and you are all so easy to share this with, you've given me an environment to flourish creatively and I'm eternally grateful for that. I wish you all the love, hugs, kisses, and angel wishes in the world!

playlist

wc: 5548 Warnings: 18+ MDNI! DARK CONTENT! Unedited for now, no outbreak, no use of y/n but joel calls the reader ‘Cherub’, plot? what plot? we all know we're here for the porn anyway, bombastic age gap (reader is in her early 20’s and Joel is in his late 50s), gore imagry, religious imagry, Smut, very dubcon in theory but both want it bad, grafic smut, P in V sex (unprotected — pleaseee don’t do tis irl i beg of you), teasing, sort of edging? (idk what to call it but he doesnt fuck you until you beg for it lol). nipple play, biting biting biting!!!!!, references to domestic violence, use of pet names, manipulative! joel, stupid stupid cherub, stockholm syndrome, oral (f receiving), cum eating, pussy slapping, Joel being foul mouthed, cursing, dirty talk, overstimulation. Again, some of the most animalistic, disgustingly wretched and vile vile vile porn I have written thus far…with so little plot that this earned me my place in hell, i have my own circle now. Big Dick Joel Miller comes as his own warning.

series m.list | m.list

The danger didn't lie in his hands. It didn't sit in his closed first to be suffocated. Choked out until the life of it was compressed. Until its face was blue, then purple and its eyes were bloodshot and streaked with red. The danger lay in your heart. And it thrived off the beating.

What is ‘it’, you ask? Mania.

The Greeks had it nailed down when they split love seven different ways. To the crucifix through its punctured and bleeding palms. All equal, but different. They understood that one love is different to the other. That love can be either obsession, or lingering in the quiet parts of a person's mind. You cannot hold up a mirror to one and deceive into believing it is another. No matter how sweet the lie seeps into the ear. They don't work that way. You were not Lucifer, you had no forked tongue. And your mania wasn't Eve. There was no apple to devour. Only the strong arm of Joel Miller to cling to like a noose.

Some love passionately. Find it in the scathing friction of flesh upon flesh. The heat two bodies make only in sex. You were no body anymore. Merely a corpse for him to dig up and breathe life into whenever he needed relief. So it was not Eros. Some love playfully. In the back and forth of a conversation that makes the mind and heart float in the clouds among the soul. Entwine them together until you are too sedated to know the difference between the three pillars of personal holy trinity. There was nothing lighthearted about Joel Miller. So there was no Ludus. Affection. The subtle, it-is-there-even-when-it-is-not weight of lovers hand in lovers hand. Joel clutched your throat with his heavy hand. He didn't lace your fingers in his like tapestry threads. And he was anything but friendly. So it could never be Philia. He was not unconditional. Familial. Constant. Committed. Long lasting. Selfless. He crept in through the backdoor and took. Then slipped back out. So the thick blood red line was drawn through Storge. Agape. Pragma. The love you had was not for yourself. Without him you hated yourself. Hated how you didn’t feel needed. Or wanted. So Philautia was buried six feet under hot earth, the final nail in the coffin that was lowered into the rotting, thick-with-decaying-mulch, stenching ground. By none other than Mania.

This was something you came to realise as you stumbled from his truck back to your room. His come dribbling down your leg. Luke asleep on the sofa. Months passed of the same thing. He’d take you home from work, only letting you go once he'd had his fill. Played out the sick fantasy from mind to matter, let it bleed through his fingers into fruition. You let it happen for mania. It was the thing inside you that kept you going. Before you thought mania fed off your heartbeat. But now you realised mania fed your heartbeat. The kick it got every second fired the next muted pulse. That's what kept it alive. Energy for energy. You were never one to bite the hand that feeds. That’s a sinner's duty.

—

The usual sight of Luke slumped in his lazy boy, guzzling beer was what you expected. The liquor once again swigged past his lips and dribbling down his stubbled chin. Wiry greying hair greasy on his head, balding. Thinning. Residue from a line on the coffee table. You were never tempted by it before. And you were determined never be a Angel dust statistic like him.

Instead, you opened the flimsy door of your trailer to see him hunched over a small collapsible table. His hand running over his sunken eyes, dragging purple eye bags down with his fingertips in shame. Cards in his other. It had your breath catching in your throat like a hare in a wire snare trap. This time around the small collapsible round table. Cards in his hand. And two other men shared a knowing glance and a grim smile of satisfaction. Him.

Joel Miller.

The tension was thicker than molasses in the room. You only wished it was as sweet. You swallowed it down thickly. It stretched your throat. You watched in morbid fascination when he lay his hand on the table in a fan for all to horror at, a sly smirk slithering over his lips and curling the one corner of it up like a scorpion's tail.

“Full house.”

“Fuck!” And Luke’s hand slapped the tabletop as he folded.

The door clicked. All three looked up to see you. Luke, Joel, and the man who held a familiar resemblance to your own personal devil. With eyes on you, you felt more like that hare in the snare than ever. Clapping eyes on the hungry wolf as mutton dripped bloody from his sneer. Cruel and hungry. You imagined him as that wolf, hyde thick and bristled under your soft fingers as he led you to some deep, dark, thorny place. A place only lit by the eyes of owls who observed while he had his way with you. Ripped your stockings to get to sweet fruit.

“Great, the cunt is home.” Luke spat to the room but you, looking over the table again as he bit his thumb nervously to the edge of the hangnail. “Get me a beer.” Your nostrils flared in defiance at his demand, knuckles pale as fingers furled into a fist. An army of goosebumps had stood to attention all along your arms and the back of your neck. A shiver shattering down your spine. Your heart had enough of its prison of your ribcage in your anger, ramming into it over and over in a frantic hammering. And when that wasn't enough, you felt it in your throat. Among the tightening of your airways. “You hear me girl?” He asked, looking at you. He stood, chair scraping against the floor and you staggered back to the point your shoulderblades hit the door. While he was a thin, wiry man, he had a vicious backhand that stung. Like a vengeful aftertaste. “Y’need me to beat some sense inta ya girl, huh?!” You dared to spare a glance at Joel who was too busy collecting his winnings. You soon to be among them.

“Sorry.” You mumbled, looking to the floor and cowering off to the kitchen to get him his beer.

“Y’short, Luke.” You heard from the doorway, straining to hear the tail end of the conversation. Something about your uncle having it by monday. And then Joel telling him he shouldn’t raise a bet he doesn't have the dough to cover.

It took a second to catch your breath. Tears strung in your eyes and your chest threatened to split in two. Your sternum felt like it was cracking down the middle into clean halves under the weight of your chest. A hand clasped over your quivering lips to bite back a horrible sob and muffle it. Only your palm could know you were crying miserably. So you took a beer from the fridge, heard the hiss as the lid gave way and popped off. It clattered to the linoleum and you bared your teeth at the grating sound, picking it up and tossing it in the bin.

“Here.” You mumbled, placing it unceremoniously on the table in front of Luke.

“Y’got any spare cash on you, girl?” Luke asked, beady eyes staring you down as he raised the bottle to his lips and took a drink. You grimaced inwardly at the sight of his yellow teeth when he made a satisfied sigh.

“No.”

Joel’s brow raised. You should know by now not to lie to a man who can read you like a book. That's the thing about narcissists. They have a way of being able to understand you like a one word sentence on paper. A quick glance and you’re unravelling with concealed meaning and connotation.

“C’mon, Cherub…gotta have something from workin’ this late in that diner of yours…” You dared to challenge Joel with a look. A look that retreated soon after the advance of the glare of his eye. The same glare of the hungry wolf. Of the cheated man. It was unkind, and unyielding, and did not hold mercy upon the souls of the enthralled, the damned, or the harrowed. You might try to cross through the sentence, or turn the page. Or shut the book entirely. But the truth is still the truth even when you chose not to look. This was the man that knew your mind. Knew your body. And coaxed his will out of you each time. His word was all it took to cave, so you took the folded bills from your apron, flicking through them with a bitten back scowl,

“How much does he owe you?” Joel smiled with amusement, counting through his winnings to see what was short.

“Ninety-eight.”

‘What?” you asked, eyes wide, hurt. Disheartened. Fingers stilling halfway through the small stack. And Joel smirked.

“You heard me, Cherub.”

“Give Joel his money.” Luke warned.

“But it’s not his money! And it’s not yours to give!” You tried, and saw the warning tick of your uncle's narrow jaw. It was always set on edge before he threw a hand. Cast a palm across your cheek in a brandishing. It had you cowering. Relenting. Tossing the money in front of him. If it fell to the floor in its flurry he could pick it up and grovel about it. But Joel never grovelled. Only relished. Then reminded Luke of the money he still owed for the drugs.

And you walked back to the kitchen, biting into your lip again. With the devil and your demon in the next room over, you were sure this could be hell. A buzz filled your ears. Like the constant thrum of flies over roadkill. In festering flesh wounds where broken white of bone poked through gaping, bleeding holes. Blood matted in the hyde of the animal helpless and scattered across the road. A leg here, smashed teeth there. You were the roadkill. Joel was at the wheel of that which mowed you down. Luke was howling in the passenger side.

His boots thumped clumsily over the linoleum and he let out a huff through his nose while he adjusted his low slung jeans in the doorway.

“Cherub?” He asked, clearing his throat huskily — a consequence of the smokes he used religiously. You stood with your back to him, palms flat to the countertop and head hung low to fight the sting of tears simmering from within.

“He threatened to hit me.” You whispered, not turning to face him. If you mattered his ears would strain to meet you halfway. “And you did nothing.”

“Come on, Cherub…don't be like that.” he sighed, and you imagined him pinching the bridge of his hooked nose.

“He took my money. You took my money. How am I gonna get out of here without it?” You croaked, your tired eyes seeing faces of gaping mouths and slate black eyes in the speckled linoleum of the counter.

No reply came from the door. And when you turned it was empty. He had left. The other man had left. The tv was on again with the scream of a woman murdered. And Luke fell asleep in his lazy boy.

—

Another day, another shift. And more horror ensued. At first, what set the nerves thrumming was there was no sign of Luke. His truck was gone from its spot. No drunk slumped on the worn leather settee. No scream or grotesque image on the TV. Merely an empty bottle on the coffee table.

You swallowed, shutting the door cautiously with a muffled click of the latch. You didn't dare call his name. Just pushed it down into your stomach for it to churn the thought up in acid. But the horror jumped back up your throat into a lurid scream at the sight of your mattress tossed to the side. The moth bitten pillowcase on the floor, void of money. Your money. Gone. Someone had rifled through your belongings. Turned your only space into a mess. Strewn clothes, bed sheets, pillows in their haste. All your work. All the nights of living off bitter coffee from the pot at work, scrounging together tips. It made you seethe. The heat was an inferno at your fingertips, nails embedding crescents into your palms. You searched all over for it. But to no avail.

When Uncle Luke came home, he smelled of hard liquor. It was a miracle – or curse – he hadn't wrapped his car around a tree. He gloated, and sneered, and shoved it down your throat in his intoxication that he’d found it under the mattress. Joel had called him, told him you planned on leaving. And he connected the dots. Ransacked your room. Oh, how the man would hate his loose lips when you gave him hellfire.

You expected Luke’s reaction. You knew if he were to ever find out he’d snatch it up in his greedy, grimy hands and take it for himself. He spent all of it. Paid his debt to Joel, gambled some on bad luck bets, drank with the rest. Slugged liquor down his throat and got drunk off your labour. And then left you on your floor with tear stained cheeks and a heart of heavy lead.

You wanted your money. But would you take from the man who gave you your everything? Your sense of being. A religion and faith. You believed in nothing more than the way he held your name between his teeth. You forgot what your real name felt like in the same place. And it occurred to you that he had never said it. Did he know it? You weren't them anymore. You were Cherub.

The sweet and mourning lamb in you wanted to go over just to be his again, and not carry out the plan of taking back what was yours. That which he would see as sin. You felt guilt claw up your throat at the thought alone. It seemed blasphemous to conspire against him. Why do you insist on protecting yourself. You who was the sacrificial lamb?

If you did go – and you let him have you again – you were whole. But at what cost? Could you stand another night of temporary hell under the guise of heaven. Of touch so cold, like ivory or black ice. To have him thumb your skin with blunt endearments and the croon of ‘cherub’ past his chapped lips. Definite like black and white. No escape. What he’d do and how. Whispering them in the stone deaf shells of your ears like they were a sculpture. Pygmalion’s Bride. He’d made you all you were today. Took chisel to marble and carved out his masterpiece. Cherub.

You were soft, and pliable. Wax heated by his flame. You kissed back. You moaned for him. Begged him for his release and not your own. Bruised with his handprint. The warmth of life under flesh. But without him…you returned to marble. Another pretty thing to be gawked at. He tempted you with it because he knew more than anyone, more than god himself who watches these exchanges, that you can't live without him. It was like telling a child not to slip off to the woods in the dead of night. That was a pointless warning. You knew what lay there anyway, what threat it would be. That wolf in his thick bristled hyde. Curled up in his den. You would see it as innocence and vulnerability if you weren't so scared. But you knew when he woke up the teeth would shine again. And they’d tear flesh. Let blood. Gnash bone. Dripping from the glaring white once he finished with your carcass. Your matter between them and your crimson lacing his gums. Who knew being eaten alive could be so pleasurable.

But then again, how could bering alone really be hell if the devil wasn't there?

There is mania in your body. But you can't get it out. It rattles in your head and lungs and glues to the backs of your gnashers. No matter how much you wish to spit it out. It infects your tongue. It welds itself to the matter of your bones. Melts into the cracks between your teeth. Claggy against your tongue. All to show the sweetest of words have the bitterest of tastes. You can feel it swell underneath your skin. In the gap between muscles where it festers and heats you up. Like fever it burns, like the fire that consumes and the pillars that hold the temple up crack, the ground shakes, and the beast rears its ugly head at you. You’re losing your body to him. It's a fight you try to win. You dare to. You give your all, tooth and nail each time in the gaps between. In the silence and hollow that nestles in the middle of the meetings. In the quiet, where no one is around but the cracked plaster of your room. You stopped caring who fired the gun first. You were always the one who got shot down in the end. Right in the stomach. Blood gurgling up your throat in a grotesque plea for help.

All these weeks you had shrunk yourself to the size of a bird in his hands, sang a sweet sweet song of his name, until the squeeze of his first closest off your throat. And the sound stopped altogether. Laid there after the warning. Patient while you had your wings clipped and your freedom taken. And he took more. Took the beating of your heart with his teeth. Took the will to want. The will to love. The will to need anything else, as well as the need to have better. Below you were the foundations. Only now you saw them for what they were, a decaying mess of fragments, the stench of wood rot hot in your nose. A musk like no other. His musk. So in your anger you took an axe to a willow to see how it would weep. You slipped past the sleeping drunk you call Uncle Luke. Out the door, over gravel, past the truck he coaxed you to without the need of a sweet treat. You’d yank the axe from the bark of the weeping willow, its sob echoing in the wind that rustled its drapery of lush green leaves. Leaves that will wilt as sap bleeds from its severed trunk. Take the axe to the wolf. Cut him. Scrotum to throat.

Take back what was yours. And leave those woods skipping.

—

Your knocks descend upon his door in quick raps until he opened it with a grumble. Then a smirk. “Evenin’, Cherub.”

No salvation. No going back. No space among the clouds. Just the fall. You pushed past him into his front room. “Where is it?’ You hissed, tossing the cushions of the couch up. Nothing there. So you left them on the floor and did the same for the airchair. Nothing there either.

“Woah, calm down, girl!’ Joel huffed, reaching for your arm, which you tugged back from him in a new found strength surging you forward, out of his arms. “Where’s what?”

“My damn money, Miller!” You bit back with venom laced spit. A hunger for revenge making you salivate like a bad dog.

“The fuck you talking about?”

“You know exactly what I'm talking about, dickhead!” And he recoiled at your bared teeth, your verbal assault and battery, but went in for his own.

“Watch your damn foul language, girl!” He warned, reaching the end of his already short tether.

“You know how much he stole from me? Three hundred dollars of my hard earned chash. Forget my fucking ticket out of this shithole, I ain’t even paying rent now! And for what? Your god awful drugs!” His nostrils flared, and you watched the vein in his neck bulge under the sweltering heat of his own anger. Coiling inside him. Wounded bitch about to bite back.

“You didn’t have much of a probelm with my drugs after I fucked that pretty little hole of yours. All dumb and needy f’me, Cherub.” You grimaced at the sneer. But the feeling made your knees buckle. The name again. Cherub. You were Cherub. His cherub. “You want ya money back, huh? You can have it.”

That made you stutter. Thoughts skidding to halt at the sight of a brick wall. Crumpled matter as it smashed into it anyway. “What?”

“I ain't giving it to you for free though.”

“You're sick! It’s my fucking money!”

“Not in the eyes of the law its not.” And he folded his great oaks of arms over his chest in satisfaction. Once again one upping you.

“The eyes of the law? Says the fucking drug dealer. I bet you got way worse than coke in duffel over there. Wonder what the law would say about that?” It was said dismissively over your shoulder as you turned to leave. Alas, once again his large hand encompassed your wrist and squeezed. Pulled you back flush to his broad chest. His breath was hot on your neck as he whispered sweetly into your ear.

“Come on now, Cherub. You wouldn't do me in like that would ya? Not when I love ya…”

The way he said it…it didn't seem real. It was false. Comforting but not real. You knew it was a lie. This wasn't love. He didnt love. If he loved you he'd ask for your number then call you. Take you out. Let you cry on his shoulder and drive you home after. Kiss you in the dark for only the walls to see. Let you stay a night or two, or a whole damn week. Give you your damn money back. Stand up to Luke with a closed fist to the face. Leave swelling and a deep bruise on his cheekbone as a first and final warning.

“You love me?” You asked, voice small and hollow in your chest.

“Yeah, Cherub. I love you too.” He cooed, as if he knew you loved him already. All this and nose running over the curve of the side of your neck, tongue trailing hot in pursuit, it had you keeling over in confession at his feet. “You’re so cute when you're angry. Come on now, lemme make those tears go away…and you can have your money back, and we can forget this ever happened.” That tone…it was patronising. It made the sense in you rattle the cage of your ribs. Claw at the bars of bone and run into them like a caged animal. Because that’s what it was. A caged animal. But your heart was holding its hand over its mouth in a trance as it let his words ebb deeper. Somewhere between desperate and divine. But what was his motive?

God, Jesus, all above that is holy, you didn't care! After all this time, it was still no secret, or hushed uttering that Joel Miller was now everywhere in you. Scraping the backs of your teeth, festering like a virus in your bloodstream. Melding to the marrow of your bones. The walls of your cunt.

He still had a devastating habit of seeping through the cracks of your closed lids. Still ready to pillage and plunder his way through your head in its numbed state of sleep. When you could have finally— finally stopped and not felt. But he ebbs deeper. Always would. Always will.

It's what got you here. It would end you if it could. Snuff out your heartbeat and the fire inside of you. All he need do was lick his fingers and press them to the wick. And leave the smoke to string out and curl. You thought you were hungry for love before. But now you realised you were just hungry for the sight of your blood on his lips. The gnashing of you between his teeth. The curl you made of his brow. If it wasn’t devastating, reaping its agony in your silly little fractured chest— you didn’t dare need, nor crave it. You came for the pleasure but you stayed for the pain. And he took again, and again.

So you let him ‘make it up to you’. Let him claw at your clothes until they were scraps on the floor. Tore your stockings. Showed you those gleaming teeth. The wolf. And you, his sacrificial lamb. His Cherub.

“Feel that?’ He asked, with the slow drag back and forth of him inside you, parting you. This wasn’t fast, or rough. This was slow. And it made you need more. Need it faster. Need him hurtling you towards the edge of harrowing oblivion. He knew that. It’s why he took his time with it this time around. “Yeah. You do.” Joel answered for you. You never had to answer. But often he made you say it from your own quivering lips. Just to have the taste of the words from your tongue bleed into his. The neverending praise. “Why would you wanna leave that Cherub?” You couldn't answer, only let out a soft sob. “Huh? Answer me, Cherub. Why’d you wanna fuckin’ leave that?” And he punctuated it with pulling out to the bulbous head of his clock, then slamming back in with one sharp thrust. And then he was still.

You whined a shallow gasp into his mouth. But he didn’t kiss you. Joel never kissed you. His teeth sinking into your bottom lip shut you right up before his tongue delved deeper into it. The thumb of the hand that slithered between your legs rolled over your clit, making you mewl over the buzz of electricity causing you to clamp down on his thick, full cock. You were so eager for more. Anything more than what he was giving you. He smirked into your mouth when he felt your hips buck forward, trying your damn hardest to push his cock deeper into you. Silly little cherub. You should know better than to defy God. “See? Felt good didn’t it?” You nodded as much as you could in your current piston.

“Mhm.”

“See what you can have if you stay. Why fight it cherub?”

“Yes, Joel.”

“You gonna listen then, Cherub?”

“Yes. Yes! I’ll listen, just-” You shuddered at the thought of it, tears brimming at the the threshold of your eye. ”Please.”

“Say it.” He waited, wanting you to beg for it in the pretty way he knew you could. The choir voice. The songbirds hymn. The whole time his eyes did nothing but stare you down hungry at the sight of you falling apart from nothing but a hand to your throat and a single his throbbing dick buried in your aching cunt. It all pooled down into your centre, creating a rush your head had trouble keeping up with. “Tell me why you wanted to leave.”

“I dunno-” You stuttered, once again rolling your hips up. His hand at your throat pressed into your skin again, harder. It choked you. It had you drawing in a sharp, meagre breath. And he pulled out, running the underside of himself through the hot, drooling seam of your cunt. You shivered when the tip brushed up to your clit momentarily. The bead of precome at his slit smearing into your sex, mixing with your slick. “I dunno, Joel. I- I just wanted my money. I just wanted out. I hate it.” You babbled through closed eyes, chest heaving with sobs, and hot tears ran thick down your flushed cheeks.

“You hate it, huh?” He mocked and crooned, still catching your clit with the tip of his cock, hips waxing and waning in a slow roll. “You hate me too?” He knew the answer. But again, it was the satisfaction of knowing you were wrapped around his finger. Ready to bend over backwards for him. Him seeping into you through the cracks of your ribs, the gaps between your teeth. The opening of yourself to the twisting knot of denial within you. Your back arched like the lofty roof of a chapel, legs parting like its heavy doors. He followed you with hunger. You opened your mouth to speak but he squeezed momentarily on your throat again, oxygen starvation and the smell of him dizzying you. He relished in the whimper that he garnered from you. That and how he left you breathless just from his cruel touch.

“No.” You garbled as his thumb unhinged your jaw. Saliva in your mouth pooling while his thumb pressed your tongue down, bitter with a smokers telltale tobacco staining. It slipped past your lips, dribbled down his digits making a sticky mess at the curve of his thick wrist. He drew up a glob of saliva in his throat, watching as it drooled thickly, gluttonously, past his lips into your waiting mouth. He watched as you gagged on it, and then he let your jaw go so you could close your mouth. You swallowed eagerly, savouring the taste on your tongue. For what did it matter anymore? One day, you’ll be nothing but dust. Bronchioles in lungs will mimic roots. Navels will copy trunks. Organs will feed worms. Ribs will fossilise and lips that are kissed will mould back to Mother Nature. It's all you have ever been. Quick. Convenient. Easy to please, eager to help. Waiting lips, wanting cunt. Warm, never warm enough. But he kept you like a butterfly in a glass jar. He let you see freedom but never experience it. Why need it when you had the stretch of him inside you. The feeling of him, heat to heat with your sex.

“You want this, cherub? Wanna be stuffed full of me again?”

“Always wanted it, Joel.” You mumbled into his mouth, sniffing back the last this spurt of tears, hypnotised. His hand wrapped around his cock, the large splay of his palm did nothing to dwarf its size with he jacked himself once, twice, three times to the sight of you. He squeezed the base with hiss, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth after cursing under his bated breath. He was thick, flushed, the tip swollen and leaking, drooling greedily with a rivulet of precum down the underside of his length. He trod a path with his hands down to your breasts, kneading each one between his palms with a pinch before guiding himself back into the mouth of your heat, your cunt swallowing him down to the base. The needy roll of your hips into his showed just how desperate you were. He groaned at the start of the friction between you, and slowly dragged back out of you, moving just as slowly back inside. He repeated this twice, and then he let loose. The motion turned into a needy clash of his hips to yours. Again. Again. Again. Somewhere along the sting of passion and heat, his hand wrapped around your throat, feeling the flex of it as you swallowed under his palm. He bit down into your neck, reaching out from you as his hips slammed erratically. His heavy balls slapping against your ass with each rut forward of his unrelenting. The way he fucked you, was like holding a knife to your throat. It grounded you in the most harrowing way to each of his breaths. His panting in your ear. It swallowed you whole. Mad your legs wrap around his waist and your hips keen up into him.

Your cunt drooled down his shaft, down to the base, down the sensitive skin of his cock. He growled and hissed in your ear, teeth closing around your earlobe, his hand dragging back up and grip tightening around your neck. Getting off on the feeling of your pulse under his thumb.

You felt the knot tighten. And tighten. Right in the pit of your stomach, deep in your sopping wet cunt where the mouth of your cervix met his fucking. The walls of your cunt sucking him back in as the angle of his hips snapped up into the spot that had you seeing entire constellations. They darted to and fro across your vision. It blurred the edge, spots of dark matter, deep black, the colour of oblivion slinging over the back of your eyes that now burned with tears of pleasure. His fingers dug deeper into malleable flesh, gripped tightly at your hip with his free hand, thumb brushing over your hip bone down your mound to toy with your clit after a slap to it. And it was the action that sent you spiralling, babbling his name nonsensically among a string of curse words. So pretty and fucked out beneath him. Joel couldn’t help but stare smugly as your eyes rolled back into your head when your orgasm hit like a freight train. He came undone soon after, his climax hitting a crescendo with a growl bitten into your shoulder, bruising and brandishing you with his mark again.

He pulled back, leaving you to the mercy of the cold. Watching was his hips moved again to fuck his release back into you. Your hole quivered in protest, and you squirmed under him. “Don’t be fucking ungreatful now, Cherub.” You relented, going still and boneless on the mattress. Limbs unfurling from their tension. “That's it. Take it. Take it all.” He groaned smoothly. Just like the roll of his hips. He fucked it slowly back into you. And you took his release inside you to keep. “Good girl, Cherub.” He whispered, kissing your lips in a tender dichotomy. Not letting you rest until he was satisfied you took every drop of him. Afterall, it was all you’d have left of him until he next chose to pick you up. All the while, he trailed his tongue back down to your breasts, pressing the flat of it to your nipple, drawing it with a sharp suck into his mouth. Pressing the blunt of his teeth into your flesh. Letting the taste melt on his tongue. Salty with your sweat. He did the same to the others. When he went soft inside of you, and his hips stilled. He slipped out of you with hitched breath, the pad of his fingertips tracing your abused, used sex. Your legs twitching when he rolled your clit under two fingers. “I said stop squirming.” He grunted, landing another slap to your pussy. It made an obscene wet sound. His come dribbling out slowly.

“Open your mouth.” Joel commanded, and you did. Waiting for whatever he had planned. He licked a hot strip from your asshole to your cunt, pressing his tongue in to drag out some of his release. And he climbed back up to spit it into your mouth. A hand clamping down on your jaw. “Don’t swallow. Close your mouth.” And you did with the side of his thumb clamping it shut for you. “Taste that?” You nodded in response. It was hot, heavy and thick and salty to taste. Divine. “Show me.” You opened again, his creamy spend diluted amongst your saliva and he smirked. Clamping your jaw shut again. “Swallow.”

Joel watched in open mouthed amusement as the delicate column of your throat rippled under muscle contract. “Good girl, Cherub. Remember that taste next time y’feel like leaving again.” He warned in a growl. And you nodded, swallowing your pride. Your fear. Your mania aiding in shoving it down your throat to dissolve in acid. Once again you were in those deep dark woods. The one where the wolf lay. Remnants of you in his teeth. The willow is still weeping, slashed in half. The axe free of his bloodshed by the entrance of his den. The owls' eyes still lit the scene of sin where overhead the starlight was snuffed out by the tangle of branches thick in their black greenery.

You never got your money back. Maybe one day you'd get out of this town. But the devil has a funny habit of making you want your own suffering. Even angels can’t resist a slice of that heaven. Fallen angel. Wounded bitch. Cherub.

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ineffably-smote · 4 months

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Macbeth, David Tennant - A very subjective, spoiler and emotion filled review

Just walking out of seing Macbeth at the Donmar and I have Feelings. Unsurprisingly, I primarily went to see it because David Tennant was in it. I love the play, big fan of Shakespeare but the trip to London was most certainly motivated by a very specific actor. Hence the highly subjective review. Fortunately, I also happen to quite like Macbeth. We studied it at school, and it holds a special place in my heart (back then, Hamlet was my favourite Shakespeare play but honestly, after tonight, I’m not so sure anymore. Anyway, I digress). It was my first time actually seeing an actor I’m a fan of in real life, so obviously the entire time my brain was just going oh my god that’s David Tennant oh my god that’s David Tennant like I actually could not comprehend it. The man I’ve spent hours staring at on a little screen is suddenly real, and right there. So yeah, that took me a hot second.

(Excuse the piss poor image quality, I took this with shaky hands without looking or bothering to focus the cam)

The Staging

Still starstruck and a bit dazed, one thing really really stood out to me: the staging. It was so, so good. I knew it was going to be minimal from the pictures I had seen, and it was, but it was also so insanely real. There were barely any decorations, and half the cast and the musicians were hidden behind a glass screen doing background noises and gestures. From where I was sitting I could not see them much, but could definitely hear them which added to the overall atmosphere. The stage was also really tiny, and the play benefitted incredibly from it. All the action was happening in one tight space that had been put to use incredibly well, particularly the banquet scene but I’ll come back to that because it deserves its own paragraph.

The way they chose to do the soliloquies was so fitting - all the actors start to move in slow motion - everyone else slowing down and just the characters speaking moving was so good, it made sense.

The Headphones

I’m a bit mixed about the headphones. They were amazing for the vibes, we could hear whispers and they really heightened some of the emotional speeches in the play - because when someone is struggling with guilt and trauma it makes sense for them to be mumbling rather than yelling. So that was really great. However, especially in the scenes where the actors where yelling/ loud I preferred to take them off a bit cause it felt more real that way. I’m so used to hearing actors voice on recordings, it does hit different when you can hear them for real. But, as I said, personal preference and that’s what’s nice, you can take them on and off as much as you want.

Famous Speeches

There were three speeches I was quite interested to see how they were going to be adapted - scorpions and dagger for Macbeth, and out damned spot for Lady Macbeth. These are classic, everyone knows the words, the plot but they managed to make it feel real in a new and touching way. I think here the headphones were quite helpful because they allowed the actors to actually whisper parts of those lines. They were so subtle, so embedded in the text they felt so natural which imbued them with all their power. I saw in a review Cush Jumbo’s out damned spot speech be described as “haunting”, and I wholeheartedly agree.

The Macbeths

I didn’t like Macbeth, the character, very much when I first learnt about him. His actions didn’t make sense to me, I couldn’t quite comprehend in my 21st century little brain how he went from I’m super loyal to the King to I will freely murder children for shits and giggles. But now, now I understand. It makes sense, it’s believable. And that’s a mix of the acting choices and teh overall setting. Like the opening scene, instead of presenting Macbeth as a glorious hero, he is presented to us as a traumatised hero. He spends the first few minutes washing the blood of his clothes, haunted by noises from the battlefield. And that sets the themes quite nicely, not ambition, as Tennant specified in an interview, but guilt and trauma. There are so many ways to interpret Shakespeare, that’s the beauty of it, and I think this version of Macbeth just resonated more with me (maybe because ambition I don’t quite understand but guilt I am intimately familiar with? Or maybe because it was David Tennant? I don’t know, probably a bit of both). Tennant delivers a convincing Macbeth. Yes, you can see his ambitions play out, but also his fears, his guilt, and that makes him into a complex three dimensional character that you want to understand.

And I absolutely loved this version of Lady Macbeth. Not just a powerful woman who bullies her husband into become an evil murderer (because again, here we can see traces of that in Macbeth from the start), but an ambition woman in love, with her husband, with power, and not quite healed from the trauma of loosing her child. Again another review said she is more of an enabler than a manipulator and I quite liked that description.

My Favourite Scenes

God the banquet scene. The one with the ghost of Banquo. An absolute masterpiece. I did not expect that scene to hit that hard. It was raw, it was powerful and even if Tennant was facing away from where I was sitting, even without seeing his face I could feel the emotion, the whole audience could. In a video essay on Tennant, @davidtennantgenderenvy highlighted how in almost every role he played, there is it is the classic Tennant breakdown moment, and breakdown moment it was. Not with tears, not as expressive as he sometime is but just enough for a King trying to hold it together but fear and guilt breaking through. I was absolutely overwhelmed and it was beautiful. The set up for the scene was amazing too - there were ceilidh, celebrations, I adored the contrast between these fast pasted scenes and guilt ridden whispers of the couple. And the way everyone sat down around the stage and suddenly it looked like a banquet table ? Just perfect.

Another really cool moment, less on the emotional side but more on the visuals was when Macbeth goes to get the second prophecy from the witches. Almost the whole cast is there, running around, moving, almost dancing and it gives the whole thing a mystical atmosphere. There’s smoke, Macbeth falls, is carried up high Jesus style, cowers, rises, it’s so busy and insane all the while there are whispers and whispers in the headphones - it manages perfectly to feel like a mystical moment.

Descent Into Madness & other cool things

For Macbeth, having the kid running around scene after scene, haunting him, and then scene where he kills him - GOD it’s powerful. Lady Macbeth’s descent into madness was so well characterised, I also loved the glass on the background that locked away some of the cast. Just wild. The actor that played Malcom actor was also really cool, and Macduff and Ross, big fan of all of them.

Overall I am overwhelmed with emotions. Tennant is truly one of my favourite actors - from Good Omens to Staged, Jessica Jones, even Harry Potter but also Mad to be Normal, Nativty, There She Goes, Around the World in 80 days, Doctor Who (god I’ve started a list, never start lists cause you’ll forget people) and so, so many more, I was truly beside myself with excitement and expectations for tonight. And it did not disappoint. I do not want to leave the theatre and I pray they release a recording of this because I want it imprinted on my soul.

(Side note: I don’t know how to use tumblr very well, for some reason whenever I try to reply to ppl it posts from my other blog? Anyway @raquel-and-sergio is in fact me)

#david tennant #Macbeth #donmar macbeth #review #sort of #more like therapeutic ranting for me #because i love this Scottish man so much #and i dont want this moment to be over yet #or ever for that matter #good omens #tenth doctor #fourteenth doctor

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denny-artsss · 13 days

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Could you do a ribbun scenario of that popular NPC Jax theory? If you’re fine with it of course!! I don’t want to sound demanding! Or what are your thoughts on it if you’ve heard of it?

I dont believe it's real but IT IS fun. So here's a scenario!

*everyone whispering about Jax and theorizing he's an npc*

Ragatha: yeah... that would explain A LOT.

Gangle: I don't know guys...do you really think that?

Pomni: well- it's possible

*laugh track starts playing*

Pomni: what the fu-

Zooble: I don't know, and I dont even care honestly. *walks away* he's a jerk regardless.

Ragatha; *looks at Gangle* you should sneak into his room and study him in his sleep

Gangle: wha- what ? Why me??

Ragatha: Because your footsteps can't be heard- and because I don't wanna go in his room!

Pomni: and neither do I honestly. It's probably filled with bear traps or God knows what.

Gangle: *sighs* Alright... guess I'll do that...

*all 3 sneak to his door*

Ragatha: alright Gangle- we're gonna wait right here-

Gangle: how am I supposed to get in? The door is locked-

Ragatha: *grabs her head and shoves her under the door like a frisbee* sorry- just trying to be helpful-

Gangle: *whispers* it's okay- *stands up and arpoaches the sleeping Jax, as he snores loudly* with all this noise I could've busted in with a tank and he'd still be sleeping like a baby-

*begans to look at him, grabbing his ears and looking into his mouth*

Um...

*walks to the door and whispers* what am I looking for exactly?

Ragatha: I don't quite know just- something odd I guess? I don't know...*looks at Pomni*

Pomni: *shurgs* the npcs look and act like us really...

Gangle: *sighs frustrated* guys...you're not being very helpfu- GAUH!!

Jax: *grabs her by the neck and pulls her close to him* what the hell do you think you're doing?

Gangle: Um... checking if you're a human- because... we believe you're an npc-

Jax: *smiles* oh well all you had to do is ask!

Gangle: *smiles nervously* A-are you an npc?

Jax: yeah. I'm a very bad one, too. *raises his voice so the other 2 can hear him from the other side of the door* And now! I am gonna destroy you!

Ragatha: *desperately tries to open the door as loud screaming noises come from the inside of his room*

Gangle: AAAAAA GET OFF ME DONT TOUCH ME! *swings a random object she grabbed from the floor at his direction*

Jax: *just sits there with his arms crossed, staring at Gangle freaking out*

Pomni: OH GOD HES HURTING HER! RAGATHA DO SOMETHING!

Ragatha: IM TRYING IM TRYING!

Gangle: *tries to open the door at the same time as Ragatha* GET ME OUT GET ME OUT

Jax: *rolls his eyes* as fun as it is to see you ladies freak out over your own paranoia. I am getting really bored of this slumber party. *walks to the door and grabs Gangle, pulling her into his embrace by wrapping one arm around her shoulder and keeping her still, while opening the door*

*Ragatha and Pomni look at him scared*

Gangle: *tries to get away from him while panicking*

Jax: You idiots have no survival instinct. It almost makes me feel bad for you. *Let's go of Gangle* First off, the door wasn't locked. You two idiots pulled on it at the same time and in the wrong direction at that. Second of all, if I was an Npcs, none of you would be alive anymore. Just saying.

Gangle: so...you're human?

Jax: yeah. Just because I am not humane doesn't mean I'm not human, you square heads. Now perish! *slams door and locks it*

Ragatha: Well... that sums it up, I guess...

Pomni: Thank you anyway, Gangle- we appreciate your sacrifice..

Gangle: *smiles as she watches them leave to their rooms, feeling appreciated and trying to leave, but being pulled back* um...*knocks at the door* Jax?... I think you caught my hand in the door...can you open it??

Jax: sounds like a you problem ribbons.

Gangle: *sighs* please?

Jax: *loud snoring*

Gangle: When I abstract, I'm killing you first.

#the amazing digital circus #gangle #tadc #ribbun #jax #jax x gangle #ragatha tadc #pomni tadc #tadc zooble

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odyssean-flower · 2 months

Text

The Winding Path of Fate Chapter 12 first part

honestly im not even gonna say when the chapter is gonna be ready anymore...it'll be done when it's done...

anyways here's the first part. It's unbetaed but hopefully it compels/entertains you in some way as I finish the chapter up

“My dear Iudex, are my eyes deceiving me, or is that a smile on your face?”

Neuvillette raised his gaze from the documents spread out before him. Furina was standing on the other side of his desk. Of course, he had heard her enter his office before she even spoke, but he was so used to her unannounced intrusions these days that he treated it as a part of his daily routine now. I only hope that she makes this quick. I have a rather heavy agenda today, and I would like to return home before dark.

Furina leaned over his desk, her heterochromatic eyes eagerly scanning the desk for some sort of incriminating evidence to grab onto. Of course, she found none. Neuvillette wasn’t so foolish that he would make such a careless mistake.

“Hmph, I didn’t know that paperwork could inspire such a joyous expression on one’s face. What a contrast you make with the Gestionnaires outside your door! You really must get out more.”

“Indeed, I have, thanks to your urging. I believe you’ve already read the note I left you.”

“Ah, yes, that sorry excuse for a note,” Furina sniffed. “‘Will be away for a day due to personal reasons.’ No mention of where you’re going or who you’ll be with.”

“I see no reason why I should have included either of those things. I followed all the necessary protocol for requesting leave, as I’m sure you’re aware.”

“Oh, I am. But Neuvillette, aren’t you getting tired of constantly having to avoid my questions and fend me off every single day? You know exactly what I want, why won’t you give it to me? Are you truly intending to keep doing this forever?”

“And you know very well that I will not change my position on this matter. There is no need for you to get involved in my marriage, nor do you have the right.”

Furina and Neuvillette glared at each other silently for a while. Throughout this week, she had constantly needled, badgered, and pestered him in an attempt to fish for any information about his day off, but he remained an immovable stone wall. He knew that revealing anything to her would only pour fuel on the fire, so to speak. Knowing her nature, he doubted she would let this go any time soon, but he could at least not give her any openings to pounce onto.

“No right to get involved in your marriage, huh,” Furina repeated, arching an eyebrow. “Don’t forget that you have me to thank for it. Would you have ever even considered marrying this woman if it weren’t for me?”

Neuvillette did not say anything. They both knew the answer to that question.

“Even so, I do not owe you anything,” he said with a firm tone that signaled the end of their talk. “Now then, Furina, allow me to get back to my work.”

“Fine,” Furina said with a toss of her head. “It looks like I’ll be visiting you again tomorrow.”

“Please do so during my coffee break.”

Furina spun on her heel and was about to stride away when she suddenly turned around again. “You know, Neuvillette, I just don’t understand why you won’t let me meet the person who clearly brought you so much joy.”

Neuvillette narrowed his eyes at her. “I believe we were done here?”

Furina put her hand to her heart and made an expression of exaggerated joy. “How heartless! I do hope your wife never sees this side of you.”

He watched her until she left his office and the doors closed behind her. Letting out a heavy sigh, his gaze drifted to the misty painting hanging at the side of his office, almost by instinct. This was also something that had also become a daily routine for him.

He wondered what the painter was doing now. Around this time, you were sure to be in the garden, devoting all your attention to the sunflowers.

Were you waiting for him to come home? He hoped you weren’t. It looked like he would be returning late today. Well, to be honest, he usually returned home late at night, but now with you as his wife, it would be terribly uncouth of him as your husband to come home too late. In addition, he found that his willingness to work into the late hours had decreased considerably. Still, there were times when he truly had no other choice.

But, there was a small part of him that would very much like it if you did wait for him.

Neuvillette did not know what to make of this new development in his feelings. He examined it, turning it over in his head as one would do with a particularly interesting-looking rock or seashell, then put it away for later. He needed to concentrate on getting through the stack of paperwork on his desk if he wanted to leave work earlier.

But before that…

His hand moved to his desk drawer, which contained a recently-delivered envelope. It was a stroke of good fortune that it had been delivered before Furina’s visit. He’d never hear the end of that if she saw its contents.

He opened the envelope and took out a stack of newly-developed photos. He flipped through them until he reached the photo of a young woman standing stiffly in front of an azure-blue willow tree. His finger idly stroked the edge of the picture. The colors were so vivid and crisp that he felt as though he could reach into the photo and touch the ribbon of your hat or the soft fabric of your sleeve.

It was strange. You were not a particularly cheerful or spirited person, but when he was with you, his heart felt lighter, freer. Not to the extent of forgetting himself or his responsibilities, of course, but… Was this what Furina meant by the “joys of matrimony”?

He couldn’t say he disliked it.

He carefully put the photos back in the envelope. What sort of face would you make when he showed them to you? Or when he showed you the other surprise he had for you? Would you smile at him once again? Would you take his hand in yours? A feeling of anticipation filled his heart. Unconsciously, his fingers brushed against his cheek.

The sunflowers were coming along nicely. They now reached the height of your hip and formed small, tightly closed buds. There were no yellow petals peeking through yet, but you were confident that they would appear in the coming weeks.

You brushed your fingers against the leaves. They were the size of your palm now. You could see little bug bites dotting them. Perhaps you should ask Marie if there were any pesticides on hand.

It was evening now, though the sun was still in the sky. Neuvillette should be back by now. Maybe he had a lot of work today? You couldn’t help but feel a sting of disappointment. You had been looking forward to showing him the buds. Was Furina pestering him again?

It had been a week since the date. Neuvillette had sent the photos out to be developed, and you would be getting them today. You were a bit excited to see them. I don’t think I’ve ever taken so many pictures in my life.

After you finished taking the last measurements, you returned to the house and went up to your room. Your eyes automatically went to the plump azure flower tucked into a vase on your desk. It brought a vibrant splash of color to your elegant but sparse room, and you liked looking at it. It gave you a sense of pleasure. You wondered where Neuvillette put his flower.

I wonder if it will deflate like a balloon if I stuck a pin into the middle, you thought as you sniffed the flower’s cool fragrance. That would make it easier to press, wouldn’t it?

Perhaps it was because you talked about pressing flowers on the date, but it had been on your mind lately. Your fingers itched for your old flower press, sitting in your closet back home. The lily would look striking against a white page. If only you picked some of those wildflowers you had seen on Erinnyes and in Merusea Village... they could serve as accompaniment to the lily, which would obviously be the centerpiece, and a strand of blue leaves from the Weeping Willow could be the finishing touch, forming a wreath that framed everything neatly. It would be a beautiful memento of one of the most beautiful days in your life.

It was strange. Even though your days went on like usual after the date, you felt a little different. A little lighter. Reinvigorated, if you had to describe it in a single word. Your childhood hobbies, which you once considered frivolous and backwards, beckoned to you once more.

For a long time now, you felt like you were barely holding yourself up by the sheer force of will, like a sunflower with shallow roots and a too-heavy head, in need of a support to stand tall and erect. Well, now you did have one.

I guess this is what marriage all about. Two people supporting each other for life. Although, it is rather one-sided in our case.

You bit your lip. It was irrational, you knew. Neuvillette was the powerful and respected Iudex, while you were an impoverished baron’s daughter from the countryside. Your presence in his house was proof of just how much more you relied on him than the other way around. You knew that Neuvillette didn’t expect anything from you, which only made you even more determined to do something for him.

You despised the feeling of owing someone. You hated having to completely depend on someone. That was one of the many reasons why you chose your career path.

But more than that…

Neuvillette’s distraught face flashed through your mind. Though you only saw it once, you never wanted to see that look on his face again.

Neuvillette finally returned home by the time the sky was dark. You had already eaten dinner without him and was reading in the parlor when you heard the front door open.

“Neuvillette,” you called out to him as you went into the foyer. “You came home so late. Did something happen?”

As you approached him, you thought that he looked a bit fatigued, but the tiredness in his face seemed to vanish as he fixed his eyes on you.

“Madame,” he greeted you. “My apologies for worrying you. I had a rather busy agenda today. I hope you’ve already eaten dinner?”

“I have. But have you eaten as well? If not, I can warm up the leftovers for you, or I can ask Marie to cook something fresh if that’s what you prefer.”

“No need for that. I’ve already eaten. But there is something else I want to talk about,” Neuvillette paused. It took you a moment to realize that he was doing it for dramatic effect. So even he has that side to him...how cute, you thought, trying to hide your smile. “I was able to receive the developed photos today.”

He took out an envelope from his coat pocket and handed it to you. “They turned out quite well, I must say,” he added.

The envelope was thick and heavy. You must have taken more than a hundred photos.

You decided to look through them in the parlor. Neuvillette followed you, and the two of you sat side by side on the couch as you spread the photos out on the coffee table. Neuvillette was right, they did turn out well. You had been a bit worried that they might come out blurry or at odd angles, but overall, they all looked pretty good, considering the fact that you hadn’t used a Kamera in a long time.

“You have a very good eye for photography, Madame,” Neuvillette remarked as he picked up a photo of the Weeping Willow. “Have you considered pursuing a career in that field?”

“Oh, not at all. My old drawing teacher was much better at it than me, enough to make a living out of it, and she taught me a few tricks.”

“‘Was’? Do you mean...” Neuvillette trailed off.

“Yes. It was a few years ago.”

“Ah...I see. I'm sorry to hear that.”

There was a brief, awkward silence. Neuvillette looked as though he wanted to say something more. You would rather not deal with that, so your eyes roamed around the scattered photos on the table before they landed on something silver. “Oh, my pictures of you!” you said, leaning forward to grab them. “See, what did I tell you, Neuvillette. There’s nothing more picturesque than beautiful scenery and a handsome man.”

Neuvillette leaned closer towards you to examine the photos for himself. His hair brushed against your shoulder, and you could feel the heat of his body against your arm. A thought suddenly struck you. If you turned your head right now, your lips would brush against his cheek in the same spot where you had kissed it before.

Inexplicably, your face turned warm at the thought. The back of your hand tingled.

Perhaps things didn’t quite remain the same after the date.

It truly had been a spur of the moment move. Your roiling emotions, aided by the instigation of the Melusines, had pushed you to do it.

Later that night, as you laid in bed, your mind replaying that scene over and over to an infuriating degree, you had rifled through all the emotions you had felt at that time. Embarrassment, disbelief, a strange sort of elation…

But the one emotion that had been missing no matter how hard you searched for it, was regret.

Overt acts of affection had never been your forte, but it seemed like the right thing to do at the time.

Well, cheek kisses don’t inherently mean anything significant, you had told yourself. Friends do it with each other all the time. And Neuvillette is my friend. A very dear friend. So it’s perfectly fine. Case closed.

Indeed, Neuvillette didn’t seem to look at you or treat you any differently after the fact, so why should you? No doubt he was used to receiving such acts of intimacy—most likely even more intimate—from people who were far more glamorous than you. A brief brush of lips against his cheek probably meant nothing to him.

As for the hand kiss, well, that was something that gentlemen like him did. It also didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t.

The thought that these kisses were all meaningless did sting a little bit, but considering the circumstances, you had no right to complain.

“I must confess that I do not see what makes these pictures any better than the ones you took of the scenery,” Neuvillette’s voice interrupted your thoughts. His eyes were fixed on the photo, so thankfully he didn’t notice your reddened cheeks. “Or of the Melusines, for that matter.”

“Well, even if you don’t appreciate them, I do. I’ll treat them like a family treasure.”

“A family treasure? That’s a bit excessive, is it not?”

“I don’t think so. These are pretty rare items, aren’t they?”

Since Neuvillette didn’t appear in public much, there were not many pictures of him outside of the rare interview and official events. Hmm, I wonder how much they’ll sell for? Not that I would ever do that, of course. …Well, maybe if I’m in dire financial straits. I’ll ask for Neuvillette’s permission beforehand if it ever comes to that.

You went through the remaining photos. Each one sparked a memory. The Weeping Willow, the sea, Merusea Village underwater—you really had been to all of those places. With Neuvillette, no less. The entirety of that day was only known to the two of you.

The days after your date had been so mundane and normal that you were half-convinced that it had all been a strange dream. Thoughts and memories were such mutable things, after all. Someone like you on a date with the Chief Justice? Not even in your wildest delusions would something like that ever happen. But these pictures were proof that it did.

You knew that you would probably think back on that day for the rest of your life, holding it close to your chest like a treasured gemstone and taking it out whenever times got tough. A sparkling memory of your youth that you would smile back fondly upon in your autumn years, a lone glimmering star in the dark that would inspire you move forward…

Wait, why am I getting so sappy and sentimental? Just because of a date? Ugh, come on now.

You glanced at Neuvillette, who was currently enjoying a glass of water (imported from Inazuma). You doubted that he felt the same way as you about the date. It was probably just like a drop of water in a vast ocean to him.

That thought pricked at you, but you chose to ignore it.

You sifted through the pictures until you came across a certain snapshot. Just as you were about to flip it over, a gloved finger pressed down against the photo, stopping you.

“This one is my favorite,” Neuvillette said. Once again, his face was right next to yours, but you couldn’t read his expression.

“Because you were the one who took it?”

“No,” he said, then turned his head towards you. “Because it’s of you.”

“Neuvillette…” you said after a short silence. You fidgeted with your reddened fingertips. “I don’t understand how you can say things like that with such a straight face.”

“Is it truly so strange?” Neuvillette looked perplexed. “I was simply saying my true feelings. And it is not as though you have refrained from such comments either.”

“You do have a point,” you conceded, although that still didn’t mean it didn’t catch you off guard. You turned your attention back to the photo of you. To be honest, it didn’t turn out half bad. Sure, you looked incredibly stiff and awkward and your hair was a mess and you had no idea what you were thinking when you matched that sweater with that skirt, but…it could have turned out worse.

“May I keep this photo?” Neuvillette asked.

“Of course, but what will you do with it? Surely you aren’t going to put it on your office desk or anything, right?”

“No, of course not. I would put it in a drawer, so I may take it out and look at it whenever I like.”

“Why would you want to do that?”

“Is it so wrong for a husband to want to look at a picture of his wife every once in a while? Many of the Palais staff also keep pictures of their loved ones on their desks. Why shouldn’t I?” Neuvillette paused for a little bit before adding, “And it would be one way for me to see your face more often, considering how I don’t get many chances of that during the day.”

“Hmm…very well, then,” you didn’t quite get why he would want to see more of your face, but if it made him happy, then you supposed there was nothing to complain about. Neuvillette is actually quite good at this kind of thing, you thought to yourself. Just imagine what it would be like when he gets married to someone he loves.

Now you really felt bad about your (hypothetical) future plans about selling Neuvillette’s photos. I’m an insensitive boor compared to him.

You reached the last of the photos. It was the one of you and Neuvillette standing in front of the sunset.

“You made two copies for the both of us,” you said as you looked at them. “How thoughtful.”

As you gazed at the pictures, you couldn’t help but feel a complex mixture of emotions. There was a surrealness to this photo that the others lacked. If this were a novel, this would be the point where you would wake up and return to reality after discovering something out of place in your life. No matter how you looked at it, you and Neuvillette were mismatched. Two people who were only brought together because of a weird quirk of fate.

But on the other hand…it was a beautiful photo. You had been somewhat worried that the two of you wouldn’t be centered in the frame, but it turned out well. The sunset made for a lovely backdrop. Even though both of you were looking very stiff, and neither of you were smiling.

You remembered that moment clearly. In those few minutes, you felt as light as a feather, like there was nothing tying you to the ground.

Would you ever feel that way again?

“I’m also very fond of this one,” Neuvillette said next to you. When you turned your head, you saw that he was not looking at the photos, but at you. It was then that you realized you were smiling. For some reason, you turned your head away.

“I just realized something,” you said, to cover up the awkward moment. “I’ve taken so many pictures, but I’ve got nowhere to put them all.”

“Ah, about that,” there was an excitement, subdued but present, in his voice. He sounded the same as he did when he introduced you to some new exotic variety of water. “I have a surprise for you. Please, come with me to my study.”

A surprise from Neuvillette? You had an inkling as to what it could be, but that didn’t stop you from putting all the photos back in the envelope and following him upstairs to his study, a domain you had yet to step into. It was a smaller version of his office at the Palais Mermonia, with its large desk, soft rugs, and tall bookshelves that lined the walls. There was also a fireplace here and a cozy-looking couch.

As Neuvillette went to take something out of a cabinet, you covertly examined the shelves. They were mainly filled with books on law, human psychology, history (most of which you’ve already read, having borrowed them from the library), and other similarly serious topics. Oddly enough, you spotted a few children’s picture books. Gifts from the Melusines? Or for entertaining them whenever they visit?

“Madame, here it is,” Neuvillette said, and you walked over to the desk, where there was a large, leather-bound album with metal corners.

“Oh, Neuvillette, you shouldn’t have!” you exclaimed, flipping through the album. There should be just enough space to put all the pictures from your date in it. You looked up to thank him, but was met with the sight of Neuvillette taking out yet another album from the cabinet. This one was wider, with a ribbon tied into a neat bow on the spine. Perhaps Neuvillette bought a second album, just in case the first one wouldn’t fit all of your pictures?

But, as though to dash all reasonable explanations, Neuvillette took out another album from the cabinet, then another. It seemed never-ending, this deluge of albums. After a while, it became sort of funny, like a comedy sketch. You watched, open-mouthed, as the desk became covered with albums of all shapes and sizes.

Finally, after the tenth one, the deluge stopped. Neuvillette looked at you expectantly. “Well, Madame, which one do you prefer?”

“Wait a minute, let me get this right,” you said, backing up a step and surveying the desk. “You bought all these albums just for me to choose one?”

“Yes, I did,” Neuvillette said, nodding as though this was a perfectly normal thing to do. Was this how the minds of the wealthy worked? It was beyond your comprehension. “I was unsure which one would be most to your liking, so I decided to buy them all.”

“Oh, Neuvillette, you really shouldn’t have…” you said. “This is too excessive. Why didn’t you ask me to come with you when you went shopping? And you know I’d like anything you picked out for me.”

“I wanted it to be a surprise…” Neuvillette said. He looked a bit deflated, and you felt bad.

“Can you return them?”

“It would be highly inconvenient for the shopkeeper if I did so,” Neuvillette said, then added in an abashed tone, “And I was told that all sales are final.”

“How unfortunate,” you looked down at the desk again. Was it possible for anyone to fill up all these albums in their lifetime? Maybe if they had a lifespan as long as Neuvillette’s. “Maybe they could make an exception for the Iudex?”

“I would rather not use my position in such a manner.”

“Well then, how about we give them away?”

“Give them away…” Neuvillette considered your words. “I-I suppose that could work… it is a reasonable idea. Yes, quite reasonable indeed.”

Neuvillette…if only you could see the look on your face right now. He looked like a kicked puppy. However, you decided to hold your tongue.

“Hmm, on second thought, it would be quite rude of me to give away presents from my generous husband,” you said. “I’ll keep them all. Thank you, Neuvillette.”

You patted his hand. He looked down at your hand on top of his, his eyes unreadable. He lightly brushed his fingers against your own.

“You need not force yourself to accept them if you do not want them,” he said quietly.

“But I do want them. They’re from you, after all. We’ll just have to take plenty more photos to get your money’s worth.”

“‘We?’”

“Yes, ‘we.’ Did you expect me to fill up these albums all on my own?”

“Certainly, it would be more efficient if we worked together,” Neuvillette nodded to himself. “Very well, then, Madame. I will assist you in this endeavour.”

With that settled, you decided to put the date photos in the first brown leather album. It had a vintage look to it that you liked.

“It’s getting late, Madame. You should be going to bed soon,” Neuvillette informed you.

“What about you?” Neuvillette didn’t seem to be making any moves to retire for the night just yet.

“There are a few more matters that I need to take care of, but do not worry, it won’t take very long.”

“Okay then,” you nodded, stepping towards the door. But just as you were about to leave the study, a thought suddenly struck you. “Oh, by the way, Neuvillette.”

“Yes, Madame?”

“Has Lady Furina been bothering you about…about me lately?”

Neuvillette blinked. He was silent for a moment before speaking. “She has. But it’s nothing for you to worry about. I’m quite used to handling her.”

“But…”

“There is no need to worry, Madame. She will never need to know about you,” Neuvillette’s tone was firm. “I will do my utmost to make sure it stays that way.”

“…Alright,” you said, but it wasn’t relief that flooded your heart. “Good night, Neuvillette.”

“Good night, Madame.”

You closed the study door quietly behind you.

#neuvillette x reader #the winding path of fate

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thisautistic · 11 months

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Okay but there is one VegasPete headcanon that i cannot let go of:

The fact that pete DID NOT LIKE VEGAS UNTIL THE SAFE HOUSE.

Pete found Vegas mildly attractive and interesting before he was taken captive by him. I'm like 99% sure Pete is asexual (or demi) so he might have aesthetic attraction but I just don't think it occurs to him.

As such, I refuse to believe that his feelings could be described as ANYTHING BUT 👀😬 until he saw Kan hit Vegas for the first time. and even then it was

oh.

okay

he makes sense to me now

THE FIRST TIME HE WAS LIKE: THIS DUDE CAN GET IT WAS AFTER THE PILL KISS

AND THAT'S IT.

PETE DOES NOT LIKE BEING TREATED LIKE SHIT BY VEGAS

PETE LIKES BEING TAKEN CARE OF BY VEGAS

the thing is he's used to being treated like shit. what's different about Vegas is... well you know

but then Vegas starts treating him like shit again and he's like: oh I guess I am worthless and I'm an idiot for thinking that I wasn't and THAT'S where the angst comes from. THAT'S WHY HE LEAVES.

like look at Pete's face. this is not fun for him. It's always been fun for Vegas so he THOUGHT Pete liked it too.

he thought it was part of their game. but it's not. it's real to Pete.

at first Pete says 'i can't take myself any more' which is true. he's suicidal, he doesn't want to deal with his own non action anymore. he's not content with just taking what he's given. Especially since he finally got treated (relatively) well by Vegas for a while..

then he says 'i can't take any of it anymore' and what he means is he's tired of taking it violence, abuse, and other shit from vegas. that is what hurts him the most. That vegas SEEMED to really like him. that's why his face is like this when Vegas starts pleading for him:

Pete was only content to stay as long as he was being treated well. When Vegas started abusing him again, he wanted to leave. And not Vegas' pleading, not his own burgeoning feelings would make him stay when he was not being treated well.

It is a LOT more explicit in the book that Pete only starts liking Vegas when he begins to treat him better but the evidence is there in the show as well.

And honestly? It's the only reason i LIKE vegaspete so much. It's NOT stockholm syndrome FOR THIS VERY REASON. It's very much more a Beauty and the Beast (also not stockholm syndrome for the exact same reason).

anyway I guess I don't know exactly where I was going with this but like. Pete fell for Vegas in the safehouse after he began to treat him well.

#vegaspete #kinnporsche #kinnporsche the series #my pete meta #vegaspete meta

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lightlycareless · 3 months

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Valentine's day '24 special — pt. 2

sequel to this.

Heya everyone!!! Sorry for the delay, you will not believe what happened to me 💀 I was intending to upload this much earlier, but by some strange reason my neighborhood just didn't have electricity anymore—for hours. BUT It's finally back, and with it, the second part of my valentine's day special :>

I won't say much, except that the whole plot turned to be quite different than what I envisioned; will I say I didn't like it? No, I feel like it was according to the character's personality and such, very... teenage awkwardness 😂🤭

Anyways, I won't say much anymore, outside of the warnings: highschool au. no major ones. angst. a jealous/possessive naoya.

Without further a do, happy reading, and happy valentine's day!

taglist: @sureconfused

You weren’t the only one excited for this day, by far, albeit for other… reasons.

Made into a well-kept secret, Naoya, heir of the Zen’in, was impatiently waiting for the day he’d effectively label himself as the best catch there ever was—

And win your affection.

Although he’ll have to admit that achieving this feat wasn’t all too easy as he once expected, less with the unwanted advancements valentine’s day brought upon.

Was it a matter of not getting chocolates? Even with his reputation, he still managed to bag a few. Naoya was handsome and rich after all, things that didn’t necessarily need to intertwine with a good personality in order for someone to like him. One has to be blind for that!

The problem here was that none of the gifts he got that day belonged to you, and that put him in a very, very bad mood.

More so when learning that Geto was the one stealing his rightful spot.

“How come he got chocolates from her, and not me?!” Naoya would cry to his best friend, Ranta, as soon as classes were over. The poor kid, although miles away and safeguarded by the other side of the line, still recoiled in surprise by his tone. “What, suddenly I’m not good enough for Y/N?!”

“I wouldn’t say that necessarily, Naoya.” Ranta attempts to comfort him, whatever he can through his friend’s frantic state anyways. “From what you told me, Geto is really popular, right?”

“I’m popular too.” Naoya quickly responds.

«But not for the right reasons» Ranta holds his tongue from saying, instead, he sighs.

“Just take it as what it was—a popular guy getting chocolates; that’s all. He must’ve gotten a thousand, he probably didn’t even notice.”

Damned if he does, damned if he doesn’t. Naoya is quickly irritated by the notion of your efforts being disregarded.

“I would’ve noticed!”

“Then do it.” Ranta says, Naoya frowns, confused. “White day is next month; it’ll be the perfect moment to let her know of your feelings!”

“What?—no. She has to come to me.” He corrected, Ranta does his best to not groan out of exasperation.

“Naoya, have you even spoken to her, outside of jujutsu stuff?”

Nope. Not at all. And yet, Naoya already envisioned you’d be the one he’d marry.

“Then start by something simple.” Ranta continues. “A letter telling her your feelings and how you’d like to know her better can go a long way.”

“But I don’t—men aren’t supposed to do that.”

“Well, what you won’t, maybe Geto will.”

“…I dare you to say that in front of my face.”

Ranta knows he’ll live to regret it later, but honestly, it was the only way he could get Naoya to actually do something about this growing infatuation he’d long determined to be more than a mere attraction.

He’s never seen his friend so… whipped for anyone before, ever, to the point of spending most, if not all, of their conversations talking about her.

There was even a moment where Ranta felt like he was unwittingly third wheeling, and they weren’t even dating yet!

But putting that aside, this could be a positive influence on Naoya’s life too. Perhaps you could soften his edges or make him a better person! —The way his mood improves whenever you’re in his mind is something he could get used to.

Except this time, of course, but that’s within reason (even for Ranta, Naoya’s jealousy still adds up.)

So, after the right motivation (or more like threat), Naoya begins to write down the perfect letter to demonstrate his feelings and intentions with you.

Or tries to.

Naoya has never considered himself particularly the best when it came to showing vulnerability, even though he’s taken countless classical literature courses many would’ve assumed amounted to something—

But like a true man in love, the things he once impossible were nothing but small hindrances along the way.

And soon, here he is, letter in hand as he heads over to the small booth Mei Mei set up for her stupid Cupid Mail thing she set up or whatever she called it—coincidentally, the perfect way to deliver his missive.

Because obviously, beneath his exuberant overconfidence, Naoya is actually very, very shy when it comes to approaching you.

“Off to confess your feelings for darling Y/N?” Mei Mei asks with a sly smirk that passes undetected to him, ass well as her words, once arriving.

“Yes, I ought to before anyone—wait, where did you even get that—”

“I have my ways.” She interrupts. But to anyone with eyes, it was nothing less than obvious. “Anyways, you know my price when it comes to keeping secrets.”

It’s not the first time he’s used her services, and it seems it wouldn’t be the last either.

“Whatever—just—send this letter for me. To Y/N.”

“Hmm… it’ll be ¥1500 please.”

“To send a letter?!” he cries. “What are you going to do, have it signed by the emperor??”

“No, but for people that already have lots of letters piled up, I tend to charge an extra fee—and an additional one if you want it to be first in line.”

“…what?” Naoya breathes.

“What? Thought you were the only one that liked her?” she snickers.

“What do you mean she has piled up letters?” Naoya asks, and having to repeat her words made his heart sink further into his stomach. “From who?!”

“That’s confidential, Zen’in-san.” Mei Mei discloses. “I can’t risk the identity of my clients—”

“How much do you want?” He counters; not buying her sudden righteousness, not even for a second.

“¥100,000”

“Fine, just—”

“Per letter.”

Naoya’s eye twitches at the outrageous bank statement he’d later have to defend before his family.

But even then, he feels no regret when it comes to knowing who could be having the upper hand against him and seize it.

“Here—take whatever you want but let me see who’s sending her letters.”

Mei Mei grins once Naoya sends her a money transfer equivalent to the 15 people that had written out their feelings for you (allegedly), happily obliging when handing over the missives for his open scrutiny, alongside some silly gifts that made him wonder if he also should’ve gotten you something more than just a paper.

However, that thought doesn’t last longer than a few seconds when his eyes fall on the names of the senders. The familiarity of one catching his attention to the fullest, blood running cold upon acknowledging the depth of your relationship with him, and what this could mean for his own advances.

Nanami.

Your proclaimed best friend…

Had sent you a letter, because more likely, he liked you.

…

Naoya didn’t bother to ask Ranta for advice for he already knew what to do. Or at least what his heart was pushing him to commit.

“She’s quite the popular one, isn’t she? Must be because of her siblings—”

“How much to not send anything to her?”

“Oh.” Mei Mei’s eyes glinted with greed and surprise. Although her interest mostly dwelled on the first. “Don’t tell me the great Naoya Zen’in is feeling threatened.”

Or more like afflicted.

“Just tell me how much. And so no one else can send her anything either.”

She smiles—Mei Mei couldn’t believe it was that easy to hit jackpot, but she won’t complain.

“A million.”

“Done.”

“Are you still sending the letter?” she still asks, shamelessly, as if she hadn’t just secured her living for the foreseeable future.

“Yes.”

Although not by itself anymore.

Understanding the sensibility in which he’d greatly miscalculated the intervention of others, Naoya rushes to make himself stand out by all means possible, as well as show just how strong his determination was to be with you.

Thus, the plushies he heard were of your liking, your favorites, or simply reminded him of you, soon began to make their way to him, settling the first foundations of the boxes he was to send you.

Alongside the sweets he’s seen you bring along for lunch, either through the nearest vending machine or gifted from your siblings and friends—didn’t matter how, just that you loved them.

To add a twist, jewelry was also included. Ones he thought would look great on you, both representing a piece of his immeasurable wealth, and his undying affection for you.

And lastly, but not least, roses. Flowers that were prided on for their beauty and significance, the perfect way to profess one’s feelings and cement them as real—he found no personal use behind them, not when he thought you much more alluring, but if necessary…

Amongst the other gifts Mei Mei managed to sneak in, like a true visionaire, for her financial gain.

Down to the smallest detail, everything was intricately planned for White Day to unfold: yes, even their tardy arrival.

The reason why Naoya chose the end of the day to deliver his countless gifts was simply because he thought he’d make a greater impression this way, give you something to think about after a long day of boring work and once back in your room.

To keep your mind completely on him, wondering who was attentive enough to bless you with all these gestures…

And of course, making you smile, cheeks flustered and face beaming in the same beautiful way that always mesmerized him—just like now.

“I… I can’t believe it.” You’d whisper to yourself while overlooking your gifts one more time; gaze lost in the ocean of sweets, flowers, and jewelry alike. There were just too many, you simply didn’t know where to start!

Or how to take them with you.

“I, uh… I think I’m going to need help to move them to my dorm” you say, eyes circling back to Mei Mei. “Do you think you can—oh.”

But she was already gone, possibly to complete more of her money-hungry schemes, such as convincing Satoru to spend more money on Suguru, or scam an innocent, unsuspecting student to confess their feelings to their crush, whom she knows has no chance with, via her postal service, or not. Mei Mei was always a mystery.

What was not a mystery, was the unwitting companionship she left you behind with, an astonished crowd slowly surrounding you the moment the first gift graced your hands, all in a similar state of disbelief, if not jealousy—

Alongside a fascinated admirer.

“Oh, how am I going to move all this—”

“Let me help you.” Keeping a close eye at a distance, Naoya sees this opportunity as his moment, and steps in.

“Naoya!” You gasp, startled by his unexpected appearance, a rare occurrence unless it involved sorcery manners, or Satoru. “I didn’t see you get here, where did you come from?”

“My class just finished, and I was heading back to the dorms.” He explains—a blatant lie, considering the teacher didn’t show up because of a date, or so many theorized. “What’s with all the gifts?”

“I know, right? Can you believe they’re all for me??” you bubbled—grabbing on the compliment bait he’d thrown. “But they don’t come with a sender.”

“Really? How weird…” Naoya plays along, wanting to hear more of your enthusiastic praises. “You don’t think it’s from a creep or something, right?”

“I don’t to think so... I don’t want to think it was.” You say, twisting your lips in concern. Naoya then quietly scolds himself for foolishly planting the seed of doubt in your mind. “Anyways, I thought it was sweet.”

As if he couldn’t fall more in love with you. Naoya smiles.

“I’m glad you did.”

For the slightest of seconds, you press your brows together, finding his words to be a bit odd, if not contradictory, to his previous statement—almost as if he were somewhat involved.

“Thanks…?”

“So…” Naoya says, walking over to one of the many baskets and picking them up. “What do you think of this?”

Even when finding his sudden interest odd, since he never struck you as the kind of person to care about these “silly” (his words) situations, you agree to indulge him only because he’s helping you.

And because this is so in-your-face, you really couldn’t blame him for being curious.

“About the gifts?” You ask.

Guess the weird part of it is that he’s insisting so much. Wasn’t your previous answer enough?

“Yeah.”

“Well, I told you; it was sweet.” You repeat, leading him towards your dorm. “And even though the mystery surrounding the sender adds a layer of romanticism to these gifts, I really want to know who did it.”

“For what?” Naoya pushes forward—all because in his mind, he thinks you’ve now unknowingly fallen for him too, and wants to confirm it.

“Oh, uh—I’m just curious! I mean, I’m human, you know?” you explain with a chuckle. “Don’t you feel the same way when this happens?”

Then, something in your mind clicked.

“No—Naoya, don’t tell me you didn’t get anything?!” you gasp.

«From the one I want, no.» he wishes to say, but it felt redundant to do so.

“I didn’t ask that.” Naoya responds instead, words that sting you, although not so much anymore, since you’ve long accepted that he can be quite… crude when he doesn’t want to talk about something.

“…Sorry.” You murmur, moving forward. Something so nice shouldn’t be ruined by his inability to socialize like a normal human being. “But… yeah, I guess I’m just curious. I mean, I’ve never gotten so many things like this before, it almost feels like I’m undeserving!”

“You’re not.”

You frown once again—why is he acting so weird, today, of all days?

“Well, at least I won’t have to buy sweets for a long time now.” You say with a smile, already savoring the delicacies before you. “Although the mochi are not making it past today! How did they even know taro was my favorite?”

And there was still one last thing for you to see—his letter.

Naoya was planning on giving it to you once arriving at your dorm, but your excitement, alongside your beautiful beaming smile, and your glistening eyes, pushed him to act now.

“Y/N.” Naoya says, a stern tone that makes you stop and turn around.

“Hm?”

“…What would you do if I… told you I knew who sent all these gifts?”

“You do?” you breathe. His heart clenches with longing.

“Hypothetically.” Naoya says. Even if he’s absolutely confident he wants to do this, there’s still a part of him, although very small, that fills him with hesitance. He can’t be judged for wanting to be cautious, right?

“Oh, well, if that’s the case… I’d like to thank him first.” You respond. “Although a bit exaggerated, it was still the nicest gesture I’ve gotten in a while. And it definitely made my day! I was just about to head to my room to whine about not getting anything, haha! Anyways… what I mean to say is, I’d like to thank them and… maybe even get to know them bett—”

“Me.” Naoya says without further precedent, you blink.

“What?”

“Me. It was me. I sent the gifts.” He reiterated, through the sudden knot forming in his throat and the rising heat of his cheeks. “I’m the one you want to thank. The one that sent everything: from the box in your hands, to the rest of the things in your dorm.”

Naoya was wholeheartedly expecting you to glee and cheer now that the revelation was, open the door for the relationship he envisioned would begin from this day forward…

And not your following reaction.

“That’s—that’s a good one, Naoya!” You laugh nervously. “You almost got me there!”

If he didn’t know any better, it would seem you were attempting to hide disappointment. And your once dreamy laughter became his absolute nightmare.

“I’m not joking.” Naoya justifies, growing defensive of what little dignity he had left.

“Oh…” murmur, chuckle slowly subsiding while opening way to your true emotions, filling you with tension at the one outcome he never considered palpable.

“Were you expecting someone else?” He dares to ask, with an accusatory tone that lets you know you’ve stung a nerve.

And as much as honesty seemed to be the most intimidating path to take, it was still the right one.

“I—I mean… yeah.” You anxiously admit, his frown deepens.

“So, what? Even with my gifts, I’m still not good enough for you?”

“What? No! That’s not it, Naoya!” Your voice trembles—regretful for the misinterpretation of your words; but truth to be told, there was no amount of assertiveness that could’ve mended Naoya’s slowly breaking heart.

“Then what is it?” influenced by a thousand reasons, he goes with the most hurtful one. “It’s someone else, isn’t it? Was it Nanami?”

“What does he have to do with anything?” you cautioned.

“Nothing.” He rushes to cover, thankfully for him, you seem to drop the subject all together. “Why does it seem so shocking I got you these things? Weren’t you say how much liked them a few minutes ago? Or how much you wanted to thank the person behind them?”

“I didn’t—I mean… I’m still grateful for the gifts, but… I have to be honest.” You thread carefully, heart on your throat. “I don’t… know you. And you don’t know me, either.”

“What do you mean you don’t know me? We’ve worked together before, hadn’t we?”

“Naoya… We barely talk to each other outside of class, and—and… forgive me if I don’t believe your interest in me, but what am I supposed to think after the way you act whenever I’m around?”

“What way??”

While the rest of the world seemed to be nothing but acknowledging of Naoya’s infatuation with you, if not irritated by your obliviousness—

All this time, you were seeing the other side of the coin.

Starting from the silent way he’d stare at you, a piercing gaze that made you feel miniscule, scrutinized, urging you to leave his sight as soon as possible.

Followed by the irritation in his face whenever you’d interact with someone else, as if wondering where you’d get the audacity to interact with his fellow classmates, or anyone at all.

Adding the way he’d swiftly avoid you when accidentally bumping into you—uttering a quick watch out before leaving you to your own devices, careless to bother checking if you were hurt, or not.

And now, the defensiveness in which he took your skepticism.

Was it surprising that you didn’t believe his intentions? From your point of view, it was only obvious.

But to him, it was the highest of distresses.

Guess explaining his behavior towards you up to that point would amount to nothing.

Why would he bother wasting his breath affirming to you that the only reason why he did all those things was because he was afraid of approaching you? Ignorant on how to make you like him? Or because he was jealous of others?

…when he’s already ruined everything, anyways?

“I thank you for all the beautiful things you got me, Naoya, but… I think they’re better off with someone you do like.” You say, looking down at the box, before moving it closer to him. “Besides, we both know I’m not your type.”

“Not my type? What’s that supposed to mean?”

From the rumors surrounding him, to his behavior, it was the only conclusion you could get at.

But more precisely, the continuously proved reputation he’s got of dating girls only to dump them a few days later.

While he might be exceptional when it comes to giving gifts, you were looking for something a bit more… long term, permanent, in the emotional department.

And to you, Naoya was just not that kind of person.

The silence between the two gave you enough time to define your next step.

“I can give you the things back if you want—”

“No, keep them, I got them with you in mind anyways, what good will it do to give them to someone else?” He frowns, his heart effectively shattered at this point. “Or throw them away, I don’t care.”

That would be the last time you’d see Naoya that week, who’d still helped you move all of the gifts towards your dorm and placing them just outside the door before retreating to what you supposed to be the city—no doubt in your mind that he already had other plans for the day, just staying around to see if he could try his luck with you, before going to plan B.

After all, a man like him surely couldn’t settle for just one person, a date being nothing but a box to check in his routine.

And you were surprisingly accurate—

If you were referring to the Naoya who hadn’t met you yet.

Because since you arrived in his life, you’re all he thinks of. All he could bother to care for, day and night, he only longed to be with you.

But after today, he’s not sure if this is even something he wishes to continue doing. If there’s even hope for someone like him, who’s ruined all his chances—a purpose to fight for.

A friendship with you is the last thing he could expect to happen now, especially after the gruesome conclusion you granted him. Perhaps there was never even a reason to start off from, only his delusions longing for something better.

Yet, unbeknownst to him, this was only the beginning.

Ok so I do feel a bit guilty for going down the angsty path BUT hear me out, it makes sense!!! naoya is the kind of person to make up this whole life with you and he hasn't even spoken with you lol.

outside of that, the beauty of oneshots is that I can literally write 10000 versions of this same scenario 😏 I already have another one in mind, but I'll postpone it to after the other requests I have on my ask.

Either way, I still hope you enjoyed this piece :> Happy valentines day!!

Take care, and hope to see you around ❤️

#naoya zenin #naoya zen'in #naoya x reader #naoya zenin x reader #naoya zenin x you #jjk naoya #naoya zen'in x reader #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jjk x you #prompt series: jujutsu kaisen

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