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depravitycentral · 1 year ago

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Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer General Profile

Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer x fem! reader

Tw: stalking, kidnapping, heavy manipulation, threats of violence, threats of assault, mind breaks, Stockholm Syndrome, mentions of non-con, non-consensual touching, mentions of somnophilia, mentions of cum, threats, Chrollo has a god complex but what else is new, Uvogin is mean to you but he doesn't mean it I promise!, fem reader, MDNI

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy!

DARLING PROFILE:

Smart

His darling doesn’t need to be a genius or anything like that, but they do need to posses a certain degree of intelligence.

Chrollo considers himself a well-read, cultured man, and he feels that his partner needs to match his level of worldly awareness, of cognitive ability. It doesn’t need to necessarily lie in the same fields as his own (though he can’t deny that it would be absolutely wonderful to have a darling who enjoys the same types of literature as him, the same philosophers, the same composers), but they must have a certain area that they hold an above average amount of knowledge in.

He finds intelligence attractive, and what initially causes him to develop an interest in his darling is largely due to the showcasing of this knowledge and smarts. He’s entranced the moment his darling opens his mouth, eagerly hanging onto their every word and nodding along, actually finding himself enjoying speaking with them.

He doesn’t have to pretend to be interested in their words for his own gain, rather finding himself genuinely wondering about their opinion on this or that, curious like a child.

He finds his darling fascinating, and a smart darling will get him falling faster, harder, deeper, to the point where Chrollo develops into a love-starved, desperate man who wants to learn more and more and more, aching to become an expert of his own in his favorite field; his darling.

Creative

Similarly, a darling who leans more on the creative side is a perfect match for Chrollo. It doesn’t matter where this creativity finds its medium – perhaps his darling is particularly artistic, enjoying expressing themselves with the arts.

Maybe they love to paint, watercolors and acrylics seeming to come alive under their fingers. (He’d melt if he found a work of him, the colors making him sigh and dreamily trace the lines, joy swimming in his heart that they painted him, that he means enough to them that he’s taken a starring role in their hobby.)

Perhaps they enjoy photography, documenting small, beautiful moments in life. (He’s always trying to look his best around his darling, keeping his neck tense and posture strong, so that if they did take a sneaky, candid photo of him, they’d enjoy what they see.)

Perhaps they play an instrument, melodies ringing out and making Chrollo smile and nod along. (Learning his favorite pieces would make him struggle to not reach out and place a gentle kiss to their forehead, letting his hands wander down their shoulders and cupping their breasts, telling them he’d love to repay the favor and learn their favorite things as well.)

Maybe they enjoy knitting or crocheting, making all kinds of creations that Chrollo finds endearing. (He’d expect them to make him something, of course, subtly demanding he receives something so that when he’s away, he’ll be able to keep a piece of them with him, something made with love and care and specifically for Chrollo Lucilfer himself.)

Cooking, sewing, writing, anything and everything can fit into this category – Chrollo really just likes that his darling is thinking of him, that they spend their time doing something that makes them happy, and if he gets to be involved, all the better.

He’ll even push his way into their hobby, learning all that he can about it with eager fingers, wanting to impress his darling and make the activity into something they can bond over – a way to spend time together, a way to get them all by his side and happy, never, ever wanting to leave.

He just loves them so very much, after all.

Observant

While it would be difficult to find someone more calculating and cunning than himself, there’s something alluring about a darling who is more observant than those around them.

He likes the idea that his darling is just able to pick up on things, their eye more trained to assess those around them, to understand their motives and notice the things they do.

It’s a sign of intelligence, and once Chrollo’s obsession has formed, he’s purposefully doing things he’s hoping his darling will notice, all with the hope that they’ll spend time wondering why he’s always fiddling with his ring finger, or letting his eyes flick to them. It’s like a game to Chrollo, and he finds it beyond entertaining to watch his darling in action, seeing their expressions flit across their face as they try to interpret his odd behavior.

There’s just something that attracts him towards darling that are able to perceive their world for more than it is – he views himself as better than everyone else, a sort of God among men, but a darling that has this trait rises above the countless below him, standing out alone as a superior being, someone worthy and perfect for him.

He’s egotistical, after all, but a darling that can at least kind of match his observation skills is something that will attract him to them – whether that’s good or bad, one can’t say.

Witty

His darling certainly doesn’t need to be a comedian, but someone who can keep up with his thinly veiled banter would cause his interest to spike.

His words are almost always tinged with just the slightest amount of snark, the slightest bit of condescension that seems to be present no matter who he’s talking to.

Perhaps it’s a result of his own pride or self-confidence, but regardless, a darling who can not only pick up on this but also respond with a bit of snark as well would make him momentarily pause, before laughing a bit and wondering just how far he can push them. It excites him to have a darling who can keep up with him, bantering back and forth, and once his infatuation develops, this is one of his favorite things about his darling.

He loves that speaking with them is endless entertainment, hence how often he tries to goat them into conversations. He’s always, always asking them questions, often designed to get them speculating, philosophical questions that he’s genuinely curious to know their answer to, and in the process he gets to have a sort of playful discussion, something that makes his heart race a bit in his chest.

He just likes his darling’s ability to think on their feet, only reinforcing their intelligence and making him fall deeper, harder, more soundly.

It makes him want to keep that wit all for himself, to not let anyone else have the pleasure of indulging in his darling’s words – they’re his, and the longer his obsession festers, the more he believes in that sentiment.

GENERAL YANDERE TRAITS:

Dependent

Much of what fuels Chrollo’s obsession for you is selfish in nature.

Initially, he’s interested in you because you make him feel something, some strange emotion he can’t quite place. He’s running through all the possibilities early on, wistfully trying each emotion on before discarding it.

Does he want to use you? No, you wouldn’t be especially useful - you’re not all that developed of a nen user, if one at all, so you’d just be wasted effort.

Does he want to steal something of yours? No, you don’t have anything of particular value, nor are you an important individual.

Does he want to kill you? No, something about the thought leaves a bad taste in his mouth.

He’s stumped at first, genuinely unsure of what you’re making him feel, but it’s not until he spends more time with you that he begins considering options that are more foreign to him - that is, that he may have developed more positive emotions towards you, less manipulative and more yearning.

He contemplates whether he’s fallen in love - the books he’s always perusing make love sound so obnoxious, virtuosic, grandiose, and Chrollo can’t quite say he agrees. What he feels for you is ultimately overwhelming, surely - but it’s also much more subtle, slowly taking root in every aspect of his life seemingly without him even noticing. What used to be hours spent searching out new heists and items to steal becomes twinged with just a hint of your presence.

Small thoughts in the back of his head wonder whether you’d like the diamond necklace displayed in this gallery, or how it’d look against your pretty skin, sitting in the hollow of your throat.

What used to be solitary evenings spent reading in candlelight become small daydreams about what you’d think of his current philosopher’s theories, whether you’d indulge him in hours of philosophical discussions, what your opinions on the perception of self are. What your perceptions of yourself are, and, more importantly, what your perception of him is.

It’s not too overwhelming at first; he’s mostly able to control himself, that ever composed stature of his kept carefully in place.

The thoughts are mostly just fleeting, odd off-handed curiosity about you that he doesn’t worry too much about. It’s interesting, mostly, that you’ve gotten to him at all - and it’s this, really, that drives his desire to learn more about you. The fact that you continue to become more and more intertwined with his thoughts leaves him anxiously aching for more, wanting to see the extent to which you’re able to make him feel - something he’d always thought was more or less impossible.

And what you make him feel is so, so very good; his palms are a bit clammy when he sees you, gaze raking over your figure and noting how well your shirt fits your curves, dark eyes eagerly scanning the title of the book you’re reading out of. He’s a confident man, of course, but at the prospect of approaching you and discussing the literature, he can’t help but swallow, tongue sneaking out to lick over his lips.

He feels a strange sense of peace when he’s looking at you, taking in the way the sunlight shines off of your face, the way your clothes frame your body, how your lips quirk up into a smile when you see the little bunny that hops along the grass in the public park. It’s small things, mostly, that get little butterflies fluttering in his chest – and it’s these little fleeting moments of happiness, of contentedness and fascination that lead him to believe what he’s feeling for you could be the ever famous love – or, at least, some variation of it.

Is it love when he’s letting a smile cover his features as you scrunch your brows and huff when you can’t get that stupid jar open? The way you stick your tongue out in concentration and squeeze your eyes shut is honestly adorable, forcing Chrollo’s eyes to linger on your face just a tad bit too long.

(He can’t help but imagine how you’d thank him so profusely if he opened it for you; he’d even go so far as to roll up his sleeves, exposing his smooth forearms that he knows women can’t resist. Do you fall into that category? Would you be transfixed by his strength, his physical appearance, his smooth voice when he tells you that next time call me first, please, I wouldn’t want you to struggle…)

Maybe it’s the way you look so disheveled in your oversized t-shirt and ill-fitting lounge pants as you shuffle about your apartment, completely unaware of the camera he’d had Shalnark place in your living room. You look comfortable, and there’s something about seeing you so vulnerable, so raw that gets him breathing a bit heavier.

(More than once a thought has, seemingly out of the blue, surfaced where you’re starring and wearing a dress shirt of his – white, stiff material just barely hiding the outline of your breasts and the curve of your hips, tantalizing and looking so very right on you. If that were to happen, Chrollo has already made peace with the fact that he’d hold out on washing that particular shirt – just until he’s gotten the chance to slip it on himself, occasionally sniffing the collar and getting something heavenly, something that can only be described as you and him together.)

Chrollo honestly isn’t sure what it is about you that’s gotten to him to develop feelings - he’s intrigued, earnestly trying to understand it, but as time passes and he finds himself spending more and more time simply thinking of you, he finds himself caring less.

It’s happened already - he’s in love, he’s certain, and now that he’s in that position, the only logical thing to do is pursue you. And while he tells himself it’s all because he wants to learn more about how you’ve managed to trick him into falling for you, really it’s all because he absolutely has to. The longer his infatuation goes on, the less time he can spend away from you, and the less he can justify the strength of his feelings.

He becomes restless when you’re not in his sight - his hands are shaking slightly, thin brows pinched together, every muscle in his body flexing involuntarily. His temper is heightened, irritation brewing in his chest even if he doesn’t mean it – he’s snapped at Nobunaga by accident, his words just a bit harsher, a bit more clipped when telling him the meeting time for the next month.

When he’s not been around you for long periods (a day or so), he just feels like something’s missing, something he can’t quite place. There’s a you shaped hole in his chest, and it turns Chrollo into something of an addict going through withdrawals - he’s become too dependent on the way you make something warm bloom in his chest, and the moment he’s without it, he’s counting down the seconds until he can return to you, return to the calmness and serenity of being around you.

And when you smile at him, answer his questions, brush your hand against his when he hands you a cup of tea, Chrollo can’t help but shiver slightly, his content smile twitching up at the corners ever so slightly. It’s addicting, the way you make him feel so alive, so strangely happy, so light and bubbly and horribly enslaved to his emotions. But while he’s never known himself to a weak man, he thinks he’d be okay with you being his Achilles heel - as long as you smile at him, let him stare as you talk away about your day, let him brush his knuckles against your cheek and whisper that you’re so warm and frail, Chrollo could care less.

He could care less about most things, really, once you step into his life - as long as you don’t leave him, that is. As long as you don’t abandon him, taking you and the feelings you ignite within him with you.

You wouldn’t dare, he’s sure of it.

Possessive

Tying into his desperation for you to stay under his thumb and by his side, Chrollo can’t seem to shake the way anger flares up inside him whenever another man interacts with you. He knows it’s irrational - it’s possible to have interactions with the opposite gender without ulterior motives; he regularly speaks with Machi, Pakunoda and Shizuku without any goals aside from Troupe business.

And yet, he just can’t forget the way he knows some men are - viscous, disgusting, cruel, vile in a way even Chrollo isn’t. He may be a mass murderer, mentally unstable, unhealthily in need of being in control and a pathological thief, but he’s never harassed a woman before. He’s never sneered at one, groped or touched them in a sexual way without their consent, and he’s only ever seduced a woman with the intent of getting information out of her.

But others?

He knows others are probably just as in love with you as he is - you’re beautiful, intelligent, sweet and oh so perfect, truly a naive, painfully unaware little bunny in a world full of wolves. And wolves will pounce, even if the bunny is already in another’s jaws - just the thought of another man attempting to intervene and seduce you themselves is enough to get Chrollo’s jaw clenching ever so slightly, his eyes narrowing a bit and his fingers clasping around his nen book just a bit tighter.

He’s territorial, unwilling to share the way you make him feel with anyone else - only you can bring him the happiness he craves, so therefore only he is allowed to be on the receiving end. He hates the idea that another man could start chatting you up, throwing false compliments and sweet words your way, buttering you up and trying to steal you from right underneath his nose. It makes his fingers itch, the sense of control he harbors over you slipping slightly. It scares him, if he’s being honest – an emotion he hasn’t felt since he was very young, scavenging the streets of Meteor City.

He loves the way you’re able to make him feel, but this particular emotion he very much doesn’t like, nor does he enjoy the way jealousy pricks at his heart when another man glances at you. It leaves his blood boiling, every inch of his body feeling unbelievably hot, his muscles tensing up over and over.

And yet, Chrollo is a man of opportunity – while it may be torture to see you with another man, something excruciating in ways Chrollo has never experienced before, this is a good chance to paint himself in a better light. It’s a good opportunity to sway your perception of him – particularly if the man isn’t wooing you successfully.

Before he’s stolen you away, he’s quick to observe how men approach you, with suave smiles that make you visibly nervous, your high pitched responses to his questions vague and obviously constructed for your escape. It makes some weird sort of protectiveness spring up into him, but he holds himself back. He wills himself to wait just a tad bit longer, to elongate the discomfort you’re feeling because this will only really work if you’re desperate for an escape route. It’s torture, watching, but Chrollo holds on – until he decides you’re fearful enough, his long strides towards you not nearly as quick as he’d like.

Words will slip from his tongue before he can even really think, always placing himself in between you and the man, physically separating you as he quietly but firmly tells the man off, mentioning something about how unchivalrous it is to corner a defenseless woman.

Honestly, as shocked as you’ll be that Chrollo just emerges from the shadows so often, you’ll be incredibly grateful for his presence and intervention - which is exactly what he’s hoping for. He doesn’t like the way his possessiveness eats him up, but there’s something to be said about making sure that he saves you, making sure that you perceive him as your protector and someone to trust.

It’s an insurance thing, more than anything, because there’s nothing that calms Chrollo quite like knowing that you like him, that you’re associating positive emotions with him. It makes pride swell in his chest to think that you perceive him as some sort of guardian angel to you, and while it almost makes him pity you, it just makes his job easier.

It makes it easier to constantly be trailing you (you’ll never catch him, however), and to get you falling for him just as strongly as he’s fallen for you. If you hold him in a position of power, he will be exploiting that power and control - he’ll be subtle when he starts isolating you, the power trip making him giddy because now no one will talk to you. It makes the corners of his mouth twitch up when he sees that notification on his phone, your contact flashing across his screen.

(It’s just your full name, though sometimes he’ll play with the idea of adding a star next to it, or perhaps a diamond or crescent moon - it’s too childish for him, but he’ll often type it out and quickly delete it, only to retype and repeat the process.)

It makes him feel good to know that you’re contacting him, that you reached out to him, meaning you’re thinking of him and not someone else. He’s leaving small hints of his presence in your apartment; a copy of his book that he ‘accidentally’ left there last time you invited him over for dinner, a watch of his (that he stole, of course, but you don’t know that) that you keep neatly on your dresser and glance at every morning, marveling at how pristine and silver it is.

He’ll leave his leftovers in your refrigerator from nice evenings out, internally cooing at the way you finish them off yourself, liking that you’re wanting to finish his food, obviously not disturbed by the fact that his mouth may have touched a bit of it. He’s trying to stake his claim on everything around you, no matter how big or small it may be, just to get you thinking of him.

(Of course, he’s also a fan of staking his claim in ways you’re less knowledgeable about - he’s even spent nights at your apartment, dark eyes appraising your pretty, sleeping face, spending hours simply staring before wandering around your room, picking things up and digging through your drawers. Sometimes, on days when Troupe business has him feeling just a bit stressed, or he has to deal with particularly important but irritating individuals, he’ll even settle himself beside you, sitting in your desk chair and letting his black slacks fall to his knees, palming himself and shakily exhaling. He’ll caress your cheek with one hand, letting a strained, breathless smile slip across his face while his other hand relentlessly tugs and flicks around his cock, eager to see the way you’ll look with white splattered all across your pretty face. He’ll clean it up afterwards, mostly – it can’t hurt to leave a bit on your lips, right? Just so that you’ll taste him in the morning? Just so that he’ll be with you all night, all day tomorrow, so close?)

He’s possessive in the worst way possible, and while it manifests itself as seeming chivalrous and even a bit endearing, it’s anything but. There’s nothing cute about the way he religiously thinks of you, his every free moment spent watching you or speaking to you with the smoothest, most attractive voice he can muster.

There’s nothing sweet about the way his hand lingers on the small of your back, just a tad bit too insistent when he's guiding you through the crowd, making sure you don’t stray far enough away from him to let air flow between your bodies.

There’s nothing flattering about the way he gazes at you as you slowly wake up in his hold, with no memory of how you got there, no memory of where you are, no memory of how you’d changed into a pretty, billowy nightgown, and no memory of him, at least of the tattoo across his forehead or the carnal look in those eyes.

He’s a possessive freak, and once he decides you’re his target, there’s really no chance of escaping. So don’t even try.

Manipulative

He’s good at getting what he wants, and that mixed with his natural charisma leaves pretty much everyone he encounters susceptible to his charms. He’s spent his whole life studying human emotions, interactions and what drives people, and as such he’s got a pretty good understanding of how to exploit others, how to find the cracks in their armor that leave them putty in his hands.

It’s almost fun, in a way, like a puzzle Chrollo becomes extremely skilled at solving flawlessly. But when it comes to you? Well, no matter how adept you are at seeing through people, no matter how levelheaded or careful you are, Chrollo will be getting you wrapped around his little finger, completely bending to his will.

You are certainly no exception to his charms, if only because Chrollo is trying extra hard with you, the genuine drive to get you visibly bashful at his compliments and craving his touch nearly driving him to insanity. And honestly, you probably won’t even realize it – he’s subtle, giving you a small push here or there with little comments about the people around you, or about habits he wants you to break.

When you’re out together shopping around at stores much too expensive for you (courtesy of Chrollo smiling at you and requesting you let him buy you something, because it would mean so much to me, and I know you’ve secretly been yearning for that new dress), he’ll gently chastise you about how you shouldn’t talk to him anymore – don’t you see the way his eyes are on your chest rather than your face?

(The sales clerk who had been helping the two of you was most certainly not ogling your breasts – but even if you bring it up to your companion, he’ll just sigh softly at you, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear and murmuring that he knows men better than you do, that he can see right through them, just trust me, he would’ve given anything to have you alone.)

The comments will be small but plentiful, designed to get you listening to him and coming to think of him as right, as much smarter and more observant than yourself, something that Chrollo will use to his advantage. He does love you, in some twisted, sick way, but Chrollo’s idea of love is distorted, warped and made ugly by the way he treats you.

He knows it perhaps isn’t the classic method of wooing you, but there’s nothing wrong with twisting the situation just to make sure that his desired outcome sees fruition. He doesn’t like lying to you, and would prefer to always be truthful (to an extent, at least), but he understands that it’s what has to happen in order to make his long term plans a reality – in order to get you unconditionally devoted to him, just as he craves.

It’s unhealthy, but Chrollo doesn’t mind; which is why he’ll be putting to use every possible tactic he can think of to get you returning his feelings, all twinged with just a hint of manipulation, just to get the right seeds of thought planted in that pretty little head of yours.

He’s buying bouquets of flowers every week, sent to your address by hand with a note attached in big, loopy cursive detailing how gorgeous you are; haikus he writes describing your eyes, your hair, your figure and your laugh that get your neck and cheeks feeling warm, the flowers always your favorite colors. (The note also generously makes use of the word ‘my’, preceding nearly everything pertaining to you – my darling, my beloved, my angel, my future.)

He's dressing himself to the nines, with his shirts and pants always pressed and pristine, his cologne noticeably but not too intense, just the slightest touch of gel in his hair, all just to make sure he look as attractive and presentable as possible. He knows women find men in casual business wear attractive, and he’ll purposefully choose white dress shirts with the sheerest material he can get away with – just so that when the light hits just right, you’ll see the hard lines of muscle underneath, his abs and pectorals standing out and straining against the fabric. (He’s always making comments about how other men dress when he’s out with you – claiming that there’s wrinkles in their clothing, that wearing such bright, obnoxious colors are unbecoming of a true gentleman, that their watches and jewelry are obviously fakes, even that he’s seen that shirt for sale and it’s a laughable price – some men must not care much for beauty, and if they’re willing to purchase such low-quality items, imagine how poorly they must treat their partner.)

It’s a constant with him, as if he’s actively looking for every opportunity he can to make himself look better compared to those around him – call it a result of his possessiveness, or maybe some weird, unhealthy craving to get your praise and admiration.

Regardless, it’ll eventually have you slowly seeing what he means, finding yourself nodding along and agreeing with his words, even if you’d never have independently formed such a thought. It’s a slow process and will take a while to work, but Chrollo watches with intent, bright eyes and bitten lips, satisfaction oozing out of him because he’s got you right where he wants you, and sweet little you doesn’t even know.

Of course, once he’s stolen you away and permanently attached you to his hip, his manipulative tendencies don’t just magically disappear. Oh no – if anything they grow stronger, because now that you’re truly isolated, it’s just so much easier to mold you into the perfect version of yourself, all needy and dependent on him just as he wishes. It’s easy to get you believing things about those on the outside, using tactics like ignoring you or limiting your freedoms in order to get you caving to his desires, to get you listening and hanging on to his every word like it’s God himself speaking.

And really, Chrollo likes that imagery – that he’s your god and you’re his devoted little follower, worshipping everything he says and making him feel good, important, wanted in a way he’s never experienced before. (Although, in reality, the roles are more flipped – you’re his god, the one thing he comes crawling back to no matter the situation, his unending devotion to you rooted so deeply inside him that not even his soul is unaffected by you. He’s written poetry about the idea, entertaining it through writing, but he’s always quick to rip the pages out and crumple them, not enjoying the uncomfortable sense of truth in the words.)

So while Chrollo’s feelings for you do resemble love in some ways, his methods and expression very much doesn’t – he’s not afraid to lie t you in order to receive the results that he wants, and really, it’s best not to bother fighting him. He will prevail, no matter how to try and keep your head on straight, and it’s just easier for the both of you to not try, to not attempt to make sense of the mixture of lies and truth he feeds you. It’ll save you both time and energy, and Chrollo would really, really appreciate your cooperation – you’re cute when you’re being defiant, but it grows old.

And while Chrollo would never lose interest in you, he’s not above making you believe that he has – if it gets you obeying and letting him rest his hand on your hip (dipping down to firmly grip and squeeze at your thigh too, if he’s lucky), Chrollo will do anything it takes, no matter how depraved or violent.

Anything at all.

DEALING WITH RIVALS:

Chrollo, while liking to view himself as being above other men, is only human. He’s still a man, one with an intense, disgusting obsession with you, and the moment that your attention is threatened, the human side of Chrollo becomes very apparent.

It’s difficult to look at him and see it, but internally he’s simmering with jealousy every time another man approaches you, to the point where it becomes difficult to focus on anything else except you, except the way that you’re looking at someone else, talking with them and breathing the same air as them. It’s horrible, and even more so than the idea that you’ll be stolen away from another man, Chrollo doesn’t like the fact that this scum thinks he has to right to even be in your presence.

You’re perfect, in Chrollo’s eyes, and he hates the fact that others get to be around you so freely, even when that privilege is something should belong to him and him only. It angers him how other men don’t seem to understand that you’re already taken and claimed, your fate decided the moment Chrollo decides he wants you.

You’re better than everyone else, a breed above, and he's always just a bit worried that you’ll somehow be tainted by talking with other men, like your perfection will become marred when others look at you.

So, Chrollo does what he feels he must – he must interfere, even if getting closer and closer to the scene has his heart pounding, anger swimming through his veins in amounts he’s never, ever experienced. It’s cathartic, in a way, to have such sudden bursts of emotion, but as his dark gaze focuses on you, he decides that what you make him feel, all the warmth and dizziness and disorientation, is much better than the jealousy sitting heavily in his gut.

He’ll, of course, take his time; he’s opportunistic and wont’ simply waste the chance to further build his positive image in your mind, but waiting is absolute torture. He’s digging his nails into his palms with every moment he’s forcing himself to wait, dark gaze unblinking as he stares at the two of you, mentally berating the man and thinking of the thousands of ways he could torture and kill him. And once he thinks it’s finally, finally time, he’s not wasting a moment and approaching the two of you as fast as he can. It's easy to enter into the conversation, picking up something the man has said.

His voice is smooth and sure, a complete contrast from the stranger attempted to pick you up – your head turns sharply when you hear him, relief flashing over your features at a semi familiar face.

He’s maybe a regular at a café or diner you enjoy – you’ve seen him around, chatted lightly a few times, only really knowing his name and a few of the books he’s always reading.

And while Chrollo knows this, he can’t help the way his heart practically soars when he sees how visibly relieved you are for his presence. His fingers twitch with the intention of reaching out and cupping your cheek, but he refrains himself.

The man, however, doesn’t seem nearly as pleased by his sudden arrival – he’s scowling slightly, brows tucked inwards as he growls out sorry, but we’re having a private conversation.

Your relieved and awed expression suddenly returns to a grim and fearful one, and internally Chrollo feels his anger flare. His face is still neutral, however, as he responds carefully and calmly that he’s making you obviously uncomfortable, and it’s the chivalrous thing to do when I see a woman being harassed. The man splutters slightly, shocked at Chrollo’s forwardness.

He tries to argue back, claiming you were answering his questions, being polite, so evidently you must have wanted him, right?

You’re unimpressed, shrinking back further away from the man and instead subtly getting closer to Chrollo, something he notes with a distinct sense of pleasure. Chrollo doesn’t let up, however, continuing to inform the man that you don’t want to be there, that you aren’t really interested when he offers to show you his apartment that he swears is the best thing you’ll ever see.

You’re grateful, and as weak and lame as it makes you feel to have Chrollo fighting this particular battle for you, you’re glad he showed up. He always seems to show up, really, just when you need him – it’s almost magic, you think, how he seems to know when you need help. The image of him as your savior makes your cheeks feel warm, the girlish thought embarrassing but oddly accurate.

Eventually the man leaves, huffing and muttering under his breath about how you weren’t even all that pretty anyways, and Chrollo feels his eye twitch, a small flick of the wrist inserting just a bit of nen into his shoulder.

Not enough for the man to feel it, but just enough so that he can keep track of his whereabouts. You’re immediately thanking him profusely, embarrassed about how inept you’d seemed, some small part of you hoping you didn’t look as pathetic as you felt.

But he doesn’t seem to mind – if anything, he’s silent, allowing your rambling to continue on, those dark eyes meeting yours and holding your gaze. It’s intense, but as your voice dies off after the fifth ‘thank you’, he only softly smiles.

Of course, his voice is low and nearly demure, making a shiver roll down your spine, it’s no trouble at all. I’d help you out anytime you need me.

He can tell you’re flustered, and while he wants nothing more than to revel in the sight of you looking bashful, twiddling with your thumbs and stumbling over your words, he knows he has to leave. He needs to leave, really, so that he can check over his book of nen, flipping to the page where that the location of that piece of scum that had bothered you was.

He bids you farewell with a twinkle in his eye, looking over his shoulder as he turns and walks away. You look so pretty, standing there and staring at him, trying to hide the way your mouth gapes open, and Chrollo bites his lip ever so slightly, closing his eyes and reveling in the way his chest feels all warm and airy from just the sight of you. Soon he’s turning off the street where it had all happened, immediately stepping into an alleyway and flipping open the book.

The nen signature leads him to a dingy apartment – surely not the beauty he’d been boasting to you about – and Chrollo nearly snorts as he sees the man throwing back his head, drowning the beer bottle in hand. No one else is in the apartment, he finds as he slips through the front door, which is ideal. He’s quick to conjure up his giant nen fish, a smile slowly spreading across his lips as the man suddenly freezes, unable to move as a fish moves to nibble at a toe, teeth biting and crunching through bone.

It doesn’t take long – maybe ten minutes or so, but Chrollo enjoys every moment of watching the man slowly get eaten alive, those dark eyes wide and excited. It’s euphoric, really, and as he remembers the way the man had nearly had the audacity to touch you, to touch what was Chrollo’s, he can’t stop himself from chuckling slightly.

It’s only after the fact, once all is said and done, that he notices his hands are shaking, his cheeks a bit sore from smiling for such a long period of time. It’s only then that he hears how his heartbeat is loud in his ears, blood pounding as the excitement and satisfaction of seeing the sofa now empty, not a spec of blood ruining the upholstery.

He wishes he could have killed him by his own hand, perhaps stabbed him a few times, burned him alive, maybe even drowned him – but this is better, because now when you watch the news you won’t see some horrible, mangled body.

And once he’s stolen you away, it’s better if you don’t see the gruesome ways that he’s killed – how will you continue to look at him with such adoration and love in your eyes if you do? And Chrollo couldn’t stand to not have you gaze at him with anything short of fondness, admiration, desperation.

He closes the man’s apartment door, making sure to lock it, before tapping into the nen wedge lodged into your own shoulder – seems you’re walking home now. Perhaps you’d like some company from the shadows.

TAKING HIS DARLING AWAY:

Chrollo is extremely methodical with his approach towards seducing you.

He’s careful to present himself as a gentleman, a classically chivalrous man with his dark features and smooth voice. He’s never tried to genuinely make someone develop feelings for him before – it’s only ever been for a job or to place someone into the palm of his hand, but with you it’s different.

He’s actively trying everything he can think of to make you like him, pouring through romance novels to find common themes, trying all manner of approaches and tactics so that you’ll only associate him with happiness and nerves.

And frankly, Chrollo will absolutely get you falling for him. By the time that he feels he’s ready to steal you away, you’ve probably developed a massive crush on him, your feelings strong and difficult to ignore. Really, you can’t be blamed – he’s a master manipulator, and while his romantic experience is dismal, it’s not so hard to find out your favorite flower and leave a bouquet at your door. It’s not so difficult to send expensive perfumes or jewelry to you, attached with a note detailing what it is about the piece that makes him think of you.

You’ll nearly be in love, something that he’s worked extremely hard to cultivate. It hasn’t been easy, holding off all this time. There’s been more opportunities than he can count where he could’ve so easily swept you into his arms and took off into the night, never to have you seen again by anyone but himself.

He’s had to physically restrain himself more often than he’d care to admit from reaching out and grabbing you, tucking you so tightly against his chest that you can’t breath as he boards the airship, the Troupe standing guard outside your new bedroom to make sure you don’t get any funny ideas. You’re laughably weak compared to him, and while it sometimes causes Chrollo to worry for your safety, it’s ultimately an asset to him.

Because now that you’re completely under the impression that Chrollo is the perfect man for you, it’s all so much easier to relocate you without a fuss. It all happens much faster than Chrollo had expected, however – all too soon you’re seeing blurry images on the television news one night, the cereal you’d been eating forgotten as you take in the familiar earrings, the dark eyes, the forehead tattoo he’s always written off as a family tattoo.

You’re in shock, eyes wide as you listen to the anchor list off the multitudes of crimes the Troupe has been accused of, and for a moment you refuse to believe it’s true. That’s not Chrollo – not your Chrollo, the man who picks you up at 7:00 sharp for the dinner date he’s reserved at the fanciest restaurant in town.

That’s not your Chrollo, the man who opens doors for you and pulls out your chair, almost placing a hand on the small of your back to guide you through large crowds. He could never murder someone – could never be the cause of the some hundreds of lost lives the TV claims he’s responsible for.

But then you hear a sigh, that familiar voice murmuring out that it’s really all just so unfortunate, I was hoping to gain your favor a bit more. Alas, the façade is up, I’ll make sure to pack that sweatshirt you love so much. Please, love, don’t struggle too much. There’s a pinprick in your neck, those dark eyes the last thing you see before blackness surrounds you. Chrollo can only mournfully look down at you, having caught your unconscious body in his arms.

It’s a good opportunity to run his fingers over your lips, to trace the shape of your nose, to press a surprisingly sweet kiss to your forehead. It was inevitable, but I’m sure you’ll forgive me eventually. We’re made for one another, after all.

Once you’re trapped with him, a few things will become very apparent to you very quickly. Firstly, Chrollo is a criminal – the dashing man you thought you knew is not real, his true personality slipping out almost immediately. He’s no longer attempting to hide the reality of his work, discussing new jobs and elimination plans over the phone in the same room as you, not mincing words when he tells the mystery man to make it messy, the more blood the better.

Second, he’s a very important man. He’s constantly being phone called, stepping out for this or that meeting, making decisions you don’t even understand. The very few people he’s ever let you meet almost seem to revere him, unconditionally bowing to his word and only addressing him as Boss.

Third, he’s much stronger than you’d realized, the odd pressure he seems to radiate growing and ebbing at various points in the day. You’d seen the way he’s merely flicked his wrist and a man that had seen the handcuffs initially around you was suddenly headless, sliced clean off without so much as a sound.

Lastly, Chrollo Lucilfer is desperate. Despite being kidnapped, forced to jump from hotel room to hotel room firmly attached at his hip, there’s never been a lull in the way that he demands your attention. There’s never been a free moment where he’s not looking at you, that same small smile quirking on his lips that used to fluster you but now only makes your gut twist. He’s always asking you questions – some are easy, surface level and don’t require effort on your part. He’s asking what your favorite color is, what your favorite breakfast foods are, if you prefer to wake up early or sleep in.

(He already know the answers, but he likes hearing you say it.)

Some are more difficult, making you consider your words before you speak them. He’s asking you whether you’ve ever dreamed of what your wedding venue will look like (he of course pushes for details, mentally noting everything and imagining it alongside you), what you would name a pet cat (either solid black or solid white fur, you pick), asking you to jot down a few of your favorite songs so that he can compile a playlist for you, as you have limited electronic access (the playlist is really for him, so that when he’s away on missions he can still feel like he’s with you, but that’s besides the point).

And then there’s the ‘why’ questions – these are the hardest, his eyes boring into you as he asks you why you claim to love your friends, why you’re fighting him so hard, why you think life itself even exists. They make you think, and while you don’t want to answer, Chrollo will keep pushing and pushing and pushing, using your words against you and slowly taking away any privileges you’ve managed to earn.

It’s not worth the fight that ensues if you ignore any of his questions, so you’ll answer as succinctly as possible, choosing your words carefully and watching for his reactions. Mostly, he just likes to hear your voice – knowing there’s no one else in the room, so you’re talking to him and only him, thinking of ways to respond to what he asked you.

He likes to know your opinion on things, each and every word you utter only furthering his fascination with you, contradictions in your thoughts popping up right and left. Mostly, as a captor, Chrollo is really just omnipresent. He’s always there, dark eyes trained on you and listening to every little thing you say, watching every little thing you do, commenting on what feels like every thought you have.

It’s exhausting, the way he’s constantly hovering, the way he’s constantly on the look out for any kind of interaction with him, and at first you’ll find yourself growing tired, afraid, frantic to be alone.

You’ll eventually explode, yelling at him and telling him to leave you alone, to disappear, to just get away from me, you monster! He’s silent as your words sink in, his face carefully neutral, before he laughs softly, shaking his head a bit.

If that’s what you wish, he’ll ominously tell you, walking out the hotel room door and locking it behind him. It’s wonderful, the first few hours without him – finally some time to yourself, to really cry or scream or just ponder your new life.

But after a day or two passes, thing start changing – you don’t like Chrollo, you promise, but it’s sort of lonely without him. The hotel room is big but empty, his missing presence louder than the silence. You’ll slowly find yourself starting to miss him, wishing he’d come back and continue asking those stupid questions of his, to brush his fingers against your cheeks and thighs, to gaze at you with that deranged but enamored look in his eye.

By day five, you’re frantic for him to come back, taking to sitting in the corner and staring at the door, persuading yourself that he’ll have to return sometime, that eventually he’ll come back to you, that he won’t just leave you alone to die.

And when he does, ten days after leaving you fully alone (minus the cameras placed in the room), he’s shocked to feel the way you rush in for a hug as the door swings open. You’re wrapping your arms around his torso, burying your face into his chest, and Chrollo can’t help but blink widely down at you, lips parted but no sounds coming out. He knew the loneliness was getting to you, but you’d never initiated physical contact like this before. Was it an act of desperation, or was it because you were missing him?

Did you ache for human contact, or did you ache for his contact?

He’s not sure, but he finds himself humming and returning the gesture, letting a hand pet your hair as he asks you if you missed him, if you’d gotten lonely, if you’d like to lay down for a bit with him. You’re not as clingy after you pull away from the hug, but Chrollo doesn’t care – you lay with him, a good two feet of space between your bodies, but it’s progress.

You’re more open after that, not flinching away and snapping at him when he reaches out to touch you. Instead, you’re almost leaning into his touch, enjoying it – which leads to another key aspect of being Chrollo’s captive; the touching.

He’s not invasive with it in the beginning, but as time passes you’ll notice the way his hand is always lingering at your waist, his fingers drumming against your skin. You’ll realize he’s always shuffling closer to your body, dissatisfied with the space between you. You’ll get used to the way he asks for a kiss before you both fall into slumber, his arms snaking around your middle and pulling you back against his chest as he sighs into your ear.

The rational side of you is enraged, disgusted by his attempts at romantic and intimate touches, but a part of you that grows larger with every passing day stops caring, slowly accepting that Chrollo is all you have left now, and that you should take advantage of every ounce of affection he’s willing to show you. It may not be real (though the obsession that gleams in his eyes certainly is, as is the blood that sometimes stains his pale chest when he returns home from a few days away), but it’s something.

It’s enough that you can almost overlook the way he keeps you trapped in the hotel rooms, stuck by his side, with only your books and himself to entertain you. You can almost forget the way he’s freely admitted to killing for you, nonchalantly threating family members if you try to escape, telling you he’ll hear about anything and everything you do because nothing can hide from him.

Eventually, you’ll stop caring – your life is easier now, all the stress and worries of independence gone, and Chrollo couldn’t be more pleased that you’re settling down, or mellowing, as he likes to say. You’re closer to realizing your true purpose with him – to continue to give him that warmth he craves, to continue to let him kiss and hold you, to let him steal every ounce of your attention and time.

He’s a thief after all, and now that you’re his, he’s entitled to take whatever he wants.

PUNISHMENTS:

While Chrollo is, overall, a somewhat lenient captor, he does have a few strict guidelines.

Firstly, you are to never ignore him. To ignore him would mean a rejection of his feelings for you, and while Chrollo is normally a cool, level-headed man, the second you even encroach on any actions that could be considered a rejection of a his love, of him, he’s clenching his jaw and doing his best to not lash out, keeping his temper and check and calculating ways to make you recognize the consequences of your actions.

Secondly, do not try to escape. He’s lucid enough to understand that once you’ve first been kidnapped, you’re likely to try everything in your power to escape. It doesn’t matter how deeply your feelings for him have formed – it’s only human nature to not enjoy being trapped, which is why he’ll have to train you, to make sure that you correctly acclimate to your new life with him, to your new future.

And lastly, you must never attempt to hurt him. Of course, you could never do any real damage, but the sentiment will hurt him more than he’d care to admit – by reaching out and wishing him harm, you are, once again, rejecting him. You’re displaying a desire to wound him, and he absolutely cannot have you thinking that you’re in any position of power or control in your relationship with him.

(You are, of course, because Chrollo’s dependence on you is really quite pathetic and sad, but you won’t be aware of the depth of his feelings for you until very, very late into your time with him. He’s good at hiding this, if only because letting you see him vulnerable would mean letting you have a sliver of control over him, a concept that terrifies him to his very core.)

Those three things are really the only ways to set Chrollo off – he’s generally pretty adaptable, able to read you like a clock and understanding what you’re thinking merely by watching your facial expressions, and because of this he won’t often punish you. He doesn’t like the idea of disciplining you, instead preferring to simply manipulate you into thinking and feeling the way he wants you to. But, if any of the three rules are breached, Chrollo finds himself resorting to more extreme measures, doing what he feels is necessary to garner the results he’s looking for.

Even so, he won’t ever rely upon physical means to punish you – he doesn’t like the idea of you being injured or hurt, and it would be a hassle to mend the damage hurting you would cause.

So, Chrollo defaults to more manipulative measures, punishments he knows will leave you crying and terrified, inflicting more psychological rather than physical damage. It’s the only way he can get what he wants, after all, and Chrollo has always been determined to get his way – even at the expense of you, his most prized possession.

When you’re staring at him with such hard, pained eyes, it almost makes him feel bad for a moment. Almost, if only because your words are replaying in his head, the tone and wavering in your voice making pause for a brief moment.

You’d said you hated him, that he was a monster, that you were unhappy being with him. It was all things Chrollo had already known, of course, but it certainly didn’t feel good to hear them come from you, nonetheless.

He just sighs, looking at you with that same belittled, heavy gaze, telling you to calm down, darling, don’t say things you don’t mean.

This just angers you more, it seems, because soon you’re nearly screaming, throwing a pillow or two at him as you yell that you’re not lying, you sick fuck! I hate you, I will never love you, I will never need you! Please, you have to let me go, I can’t stand being with you any longer!

What you’re saying isn’t even particularly harsh – he’s heard much, much worse from his victims over the years, searing words insulting his intelligence, his appearance, his morals, his past, everything and anything. And yet, there’s something about hearing the words coming from you that makes him flounder a bit, a sinking feeling in his gut making him stand up straight, appraising your shaking, heaving form across the room. It’s silent for a few long moments, before he simply adjust his jacket, pulling the lapels slightly and turning his back to you. Very well then, if that’s how you feel. As you wish, my dear.

And with that, he’s slipping out the hotel door, disappearing to who knows where. You’re left trembling in anger, your breathing unsteady, but before you can think you’re rushing to the door, wiggling the handle violently and sucking in a sharp breath when you feel that it’s unlocked, practically begging you to throw it open and leave this godforsaken hotel room.

As you rush away, sprinting down staircases and down never-ending hallways, you’ll distantly know that this is probably a trap. Chrollo wouldn’t just let you go, you’re sure, especially with such suspicious time. But you can’t stop yourself from taking advantage of the opportunity, deciding that even if it is a trap, the few brief moments of freedom that you’ll have will be enough to warrant it all.

And yet, as you push through the front doors and take a look around the busy, bustling street you’ve stumbled upon, you nearly sob. You have no idea where you are, the landmarks totally unfamiliar, but you’re free, feeling the sunlight on your skin without Chrollo’s presence pressed into your side, his cold fingers pushing into your hip or shoulder. You don’t have any money and have no idea where to go, but your legs are moving faster than you can think, wandering through the city along back roads and side streets.

Hours quickly pass by, exhaustion beginning to settle into your bones as the sun dips back behind the horizon, leaving the city in shadows and quiet aside from the hum of cars and the bustle of city goers. It’s only once you’re stumbling through an alley that you hear it – him, to be specific.

At least, you’re pretty sure it’s a man – the footsteps are obviously trying to be quiet, but they’re not doing a good enough job to go unnoticed by you. He’s breathing loudly, too, and as you glance over your shoulder, eyes wide and scared, you don’t see anyone.

You’re sure there’s someone there, that they’ve followed you down this alleyway, and as you press your back against the slightly wet brick wall of the building behind you, you feel your heart practically about to beat out of your chest.

Who was there?

It’s silent for a moment, before a short laugh is barked out, the man emerging from behind a dumpster. Shadow falls over his face, making it impossible to see his face, but you do see his size. He’s a monster of a man, bulky shoulders easily above your head, muscles bulging along his arms and under his pants. A wild bed of hair sits atop his head, and you feel yourself freeze, fear eating away at your heart.

You can’t move as the man comes closer, face still hidden in the darkness, and it’s only when he comes down to punch at your stomach do you realize what’s about to happen, panic engulfing your senses as his fist comes closer and closer and closer – It sucks the air right out of your lungs, making you wheeze and gasp for breath, knees slamming into the concrete below you as you gasp and struggle to regain your breath.

The man laughs, a timber, horrible sound, but stops abruptly at the distant sound of sirens. He curses under his breath, and you feel his eyes on you, daring to look up at him in between your fits of coughing.

You’re lucky, bitch, he starts, voice gravelly as he begins backing up. Next time I’ll get you, the cops won’t be coming and I’ll show you why weak little things like you shouldn’t be in alleyways late at night – makes it hard for me to resist ya, and I think you’d look even better without that ugly ass nightgown you’ve got on.

And with that, he’s sprinting down the alley, running away even as the sirens get further and further away. You’re left to lay on the cold, wet ground, having regained your breath but letting tears stream down your face. You don’t want to admit it, but you’d been hoping that Chrollo would magically appear, just like he always does. You’d hoped that he would’ve stopped the stranger’s punch, that he would’ve saved you just like he used to.

The thought of Chrollo makes you flinch, but you can’t stop yourself from wondering if maybe he was right. Maybe he’s right that you can’t take care of yourself, that you’re too weak for this world, that you’re better off with a monster like him (quoted directly from him, with that signature smirk of his) rather than the everyday men.

You curl up, knees to your chest for a while, before your up again, wandering and trying to retrace your steps back to the hotel you’d run out of only hours ago. Eventually you’ll make it back, and as you wait in the lobby, rubbing at your now dirty and bruised body, your eyes will flick across every person entering and exiting, before you begrudgingly make your way to the elevator, riding up tot eh floor you knew your room was on.

It takes everything in you to knock on the door – his door, but eventually you do. And when he opens it, a small hello trickling past his lips, you can’t help but let out an ugly, gaspy sob, rushing forward and wrapping your arms around him. It feels horrible, disgusting, so very good to feel how he returns the hug, gently patting your back and smoothing down your hair, a soft hello my dear making your shoulders shake.

He won’t ask too many questions, letting you inside and nearly forcing you into the shower, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. Even when he’s got you wearing a fresh set of soft, lounging clothing (with a neckline just a bit too low to cover your collarbone, something his eyes are often drawn to), you can’t find it in yourself to ask. He’s talking to you, after all, asking you if you enjoyed your time in the real world, if it was as grand as you’d hoped.

His eyes are twinkling, and although the apology you offer up isn’t as loud or insistent as he’d hoped for, it still makes him smile, his throat bobbing as he loudly swallows.

The conversation is over for the evening, and it’s only after you fall asleep (in his bed, he notes with a somewhat shy smile and a shaky exhale) that he pulls out his phone, pressing the contact name and smiling at the dial tone.

Thank you, Uvogin, he starts, letting a hand run very lightly over your leg under the sheets. This favor won’t be forgotten.

OVERALL DANGER:

9/10

The thing that makes Chrollo a dangerous yandere is less his violent tendencies, and more of the way you nearly won’t recognize yourself after being with him for long enough.

Of course, he loves you – a sick, messy, disgusting love that he quickly grows addicted to. He finds you irresistible, fascinating and growing drunk off the way your body fits with him, but he’s still a criminal. He’s still a mass murderer, singlehandedly responsible for the deaths of more than he can count, and he will not be suddenly listening to commonplace morals once his feelings for you form.

There’s no such thing as bad to him – he views you as his woman, his partner and his most precious, cherished possession, and as a result he has absolutely no qualms about doing what he wants to you. He’s manipulative, lying to you just as often as he tells the truth, making you feel as if you’re going crazy because you have no idea what’s real and what’s fake.

He’s possessive, slowly isolating you and barring you from any contact at all with anyone he deems a threat to your future with him, or anyone at all, really. He doesn’t want you to grow feelings for another man, and has no issues with cutting off your contact with everyone in your life that you hold dear. He’s always got that same look on his face; a small, prideful smile, his dark eyes so impossibly wide and sparkling as he stares at you, every ounce of his attention focused on you and only you.

He’s terrifying, and while you’ll more than likely develop feelings for him before you know of his true self, you’ll begrudgingly find those feelings doesn’t entirely dissolve even once you know that he’s a crook and a perverted, horrible man who’s stolen you away. You’ll probably still find him charming, still thinking his hair looks soft enough to touch, still finding his hands (littered with a fair share of veins) drool worthy, even when you realize how many have likely died because of them.

You’ll hate yourself for it, but you will eventually find yourself growing just as dependent on Chrollo as he is on you – and really, that’s exactly what he wants. He wants you to need him, to yearn for him and crave him, if only because he feels all that for you and more, and he needs to make sure he has you under his thumb, so that your pretty smile and lovely voice and heavenly body are never not by side.

Things would grow ugly if you were to ever be snatched away from him, corpses piling up and his own sanity slipping away until he can hold you in his arms once more, pressing his lips messily, desperately against yours, hearing you say his name with that lilt you always do.

Chrollo needs you, and it’s best if you just give in – you may essentially be ending your own life, but you’re giving meaning to his and saving so many others. So, so many others.

#yandere hxh #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere chrollo #yandere chrollo lucilfer #_lee's profiles #_hxh #_chrollo lucilfer

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emotionallychargedtowel · 7 days ago

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Kaito x Stacey: being seen authentically & the value of consent

A little background: Last February, I heard that Sekoguchi Ryo was going to have a significant role on Zettai BL 3 and I got really excited but had nowhere to channel that energy, so I decided to start a sideblog where I’d post one screenshot per day of Stacey, his character from Kikai Sentai Zenkaiger. To keep up my screenshot supply for the blog, I rewatched the series a lot, which led to thinking about the show in a deeper way than I had before. I'd already known I was a fan of the Stacey and Kaito ship, but I hadn’t given much thought to why. All that rewatching helped me develop my thoughts about it more.

I usually write this kind of relationship-focused analysis stuff about BL series. I don’t know if tokusatsu fans want to read this sort of thing about toku shows, or if the folks who read my BL posts would be interested in a relationship analysis about a toku ship. Well, I guess I need to get this out of my system either way, so here goes!

All of the gifs in this post were made by @my-rose-tinted-glasses, who is so generous with her time and considerable skills that, well, I don't know, I'm going to have to knit her a sweater or something. I mean, seriously, how pretty is the gif below? Even if you don't want to read my ramblings, I recommend scrolling through to look at the rest.

Special thanks as well to my sister @porridgefeast for talking through this set of ideas with me.

A very brief overview for the unfamiliar: Kikai Sentai Zenkaiger is a Super Sentai series that ran from early 2021 through early 2022. The lead member of the Zenkaigers—and, as it happens, the only human member—is Goshikida Kaito. (The rest of the team are all Kikainoids, robot-like inorganic beings from a different world that got mixed up with Kaito’s.) Kaito is the quintessential sunshine character. I’ve described him before as “a golden retriever who’s had three espressos," which sums him up fairly well. For my fellow BL-watchers, you'll likely recognize some actors in this post. Kaito is played by Komagine Kiita from 25 ji Akasaka de, and as I mentioned above, the actor who played Stacey, Sekoguchi Ryo, played Hatano in season 3 of Zettai BL. Mashiko Atsuki, of My Personal Weatherman fame, also has a prominent role in this series. But you won't be hearing much about him in this particular discussion.

In the sixth episode of Zenkaiger, an antagonist/antihero character named Stacey is introduced. At first you just know that he’s a hired gun for the Tojitendo (the Zenkaigers’ enemies, a Kikainoid dynasty led by its latest heir, Lord Bokkowaus, which went from being tyrants in their own world to taking over nearly every other world in the multiverse...and in most cases, turning those worlds into small metal gears—but let's not get into that). Stacey turns out to be the half-human son of Barashitara, a senior general in the Tojitendo who Stacey absolutely loathes. We’ll get back to him later on. Instead of being associated with his father, Stacey works for Ijirude, an evil scientist with a senior position in the Tojitendo court.

As the series progresses, Stacey and Kaito get increasingly close and (here comes an incredibly obvious spoiler that anyone could have predicted almost as soon as he was introduced) he eventually becomes one of the good guys. Any sort of romantic relationship between Kaito and Stacey is a matter of subtext during the series itself. (Though the subtext gets pretty strong at times! They even have an angsty heart-to-heart conversation at a playground at night.) In the TV movies and live shows that followed the series, that subtext starts to resemble (and arguably becomes) text. For example, in a DonBrothers movie where they make a (sort of) crossover appearance, Stacey writes Kaito a love letter that gets lost and starts a series of misunderstandings. In one live show, the stage lights go out and then come up again to reveal Kaito lying on the ground with Stacey on top of him. In another, Kaito gives Stacey a butt smack right in front of everybody. But during the series? Their relationship is clearly very important and fraught with emotion, but the show maintains a kind of plausible deniability at all points—there isn’t really anything that happens that the show’s screenwriter, Komura Junko, couldn’t explain by some other means.

As I said, while I was doing all of that rewatching, I thought a lot about why Kaito’s and Stacey’s relationship meant so much to me despite the fact that it mostly exists as subtext. Part of it is just that I loved Stacey as a character overall and took a liking to both Sekoguchi Ryo, who plays Stacey, and Komagine Kiita, who plays Kaito. But it’s more than that. As I kept going through the rewatch process, I identified some of those reasons—things that make this portrayal of a relationship special.

It’s a unique take on the time-tested enemies-to-lovers trope (or something like it).

Anyone who has spent any amount of time watching/reading stories that center on love and romance has come across the “enemies to lovers” trope. The relationship between Kaito and Stacey is closely related to the interplay between these two types of relationships, but it’s complicated. If you really want to get specific, it isn’t exactly an enemies-to-lovers story. Rather, I’d describe it as a story about two people, one of whom is trying really hard to be the other’s enemy but failing, and one of whom is trying really hard not to become enemies but keeps getting forced into conflicts with the other. Despite all the pressure he’s under to relate to Stacey as an enemy, Kaito keeps pushing back against taking that role. This pressure not only comes from his friends and compatriots but from Stacey himself. Stacey wants to relate to Kaito as an enemy, but he keeps finding himself helping him, sparing him, even worrying about him in spite of himself.

Of course, Kaito and Stacey really are enemies in a very real sense. They’re fighting on opposite sides of a war. They try to hurt and/or kill each other on many occasions, including one in which Kaito and his friends succeed and actually kill Stacey. (Soon after, Stacey ends up being revived—an advantage of being half-mechanical is that he can be brought back to life.)

But when Kaito and Stacey first meet, they don’t know they’re enemies. Even after finding out he works for the Tojitendo, Kaito resists fighting Stacey. In their first battle, he won’t fight or even transform into Zenkaiser (his superpowered suit form) until Stacey gives him no choice. At first, Kaito’s reasons for being friendly to Stacey and holding back from fighting him are a bit superficial. Basically, Stacey looks human, so Kaito is reluctant to do anything that might hurt him, and he keeps thinking that if he talks to him he might be able to get him to come around. (It probably doesn't hurt that he's an adorable twink, either.) Kaito doesn’t usually appear to be biased against Kikainoids, but he does seem to have a bias in favor of Stacey because he’s so human-looking. Thankfully, it isn’t long before his reasons become significantly more complex. For one thing, he starts to find out through stray comments Stacey makes that he's been through a lot of trauma and loss, including the mysterious death of his mother (likely either at the hands of his father or on his orders).

Stacey also bonds with Kaito’s grandmother Yatsude, who doesn’t realize he’s the Tojitendo soldier who’s been giving her grandson so much trouble (she mishears his name as “Satoshi” when they first meet and he rolls with it). His mom issues draw him to her at first, then her sweet, accepting nature helps them relate to each other in a really meaningful way. Understanding Stacey’s context better and seeing a different side of him through his connection to Yatsude convinces Kaito that Stacey really could be redeemed and brought around to the side of good, and he’s eventually proven right.

Which brings us to the next thing I appreciate about the relationship between Kaito and Stacey.

Kaito goes to the trouble of really seeing Stacey, which not only allows him to attend to those times when he shows his authentic self, but also helps him recognize when he's not dealing with the real Stacey.

Thinking that Stacey is capable of change is a sign that Kaito sees him more clearly than other people do. In this respect, he understands Stacey better than Stacey understands himself, because right up to the point where he switches sides, he sees himself as so irredeemable that joining up with the good guys must be an impossibility.

But Kaito also has other ways of showing that he really sees Stacey. One of the biggest ways this is shown is through the possession subplot that happens toward the end of the series. A being who claims to be God, the creator of all the parallel worlds, shows up and wants to team up with the Zenkaigers against the Tojitendo. (They eventually admit that they don’t have all that much power beyond the creation and destruction of worlds, hence their need for help from mere mortals.) This God can only communicate with people by possessing someone’s body, and when it’s time to get in contact with the Zenkaigers, they choose Stacey’s. But they don’t identify themselves at first—they just pretend to be Stacey instead.

When God is pretending to be Stacey, some of the differences in their behavior are obvious to everyone. But Kaito is the most observant by far of the disparity between Stacey’s current behavior (really God’s) and his usual way of acting.

The most noticeable difference at first is that Stacey is smiling, which is very out of character for him. He’s also acting unusually flirty and cute. “Is it me or is he extra cutesy today?” one of Kaito’s teammates observes. It’s true. He speaks in a slightly higher register than usual, enunciates words differently, and he keeps tilting his head and slowly blinking at Kaito in a flirty way.

(In an interview with Komagine and Sekoguchi translated by @mirai-e-jump here, Sekoguchi talks about first receiving a script in which he would play God. As his interviewer points out, the stage direction for the script instructed him to read the lines "sweetly." Sekoguchi says that he didn't know what to make of it at first, but it got him thinking about gender presentation and led him to decide to try to portray God in a gender-neutral way.)

In addition to God's flirty, "sweet" manner, Kaito notes that this version of Stacey is too easygoing, too ready to cooperate with others. When God first appears, the villain-of-the-week is called Headwind World. They put a sort of curse on the Zenkaigers that makes it so that no matter which direction they turn, they're always buffeted by a strong headwind. Discussing how different Stacey seems and his claim to want to join the team, Kaito says:

Maybe....If it’s the truth, I’ll be full power* happy! But something seems off to me....Whenever I’ve talked to Stacey, he was never like that. He tends to be more…sorta…Yeah! He’s a lot like this headwind! *Kaito's catchphrase is "zenryoku zenkai," which means "full power" or "full throttle" and is the source of the Zenkaiger's team name.

God-in-Stacey's-body makes things too easy. Trying to work with the real Stacey is like walking against the wind. And as challenging as that is, Kaito would rather work with the real Stacey than this flirty, easygoing impostor.

Later in the episode, when they fight side-by-side against Barashitara, “Stacey” seems to find him entertaining. The real Stacey could never find humor in the things Barashitara does. After all, he’s his abusive father and probably murdered his mother. After this fight, “Stacey” suggests that everyone should trust him now that he’s demonstrated his willingness to fight on their side. Kaito responds:

I still don’t get it. You’re not the Stacey I know. If Stacey was fighting Barashitara, he wouldn’t have been like that. He’d be more prickly and less compromising. He’d say stuff like “Stay out of this!” or “This is my battle!” Stacey’s feelings toward Barashitara aren’t like that.

“Stacey” tries to play it off, but is clearly frustrated by his skepticism. But Kaito doesn’t waver. His facial expressions and body language in this scene are really noteworthy. His face looks stern. He looks at Stacey fixedly, seldom blinking, and his hands are balled up into fists at his sides. This is really out of the ordinary for him—he's typically friendly to a fault. It's unusual for him to even look this way at an enemy. But it won't be the last time his affect looks this way around God.

Kaito is the first to realize that this person who appears to be Stacey isn’t really him. Explaining to others—both his teammates and God themselves—how he knew this gives him an opportunity to show the audience how well he knows Stacey, how much he has observed about his personality. But that’s not the only way in which the theme of being seen shows up.

One of the ways Kaito sees Stacey authentically is by noticing and acknowledging his deeply painful experiences with trauma and loss. Despite pressures to the contrary, Stacey eventually does the same for Kaito.

Stacey goes through quite a process to get to the point where he can acknowledge that Kaito has had his own difficult history and continues to struggle in ways he can relate to. When he first meets Kaito, he fights him but claims it’s “nothing personal"—but that changes quickly. The second time they interact, they have a conversation in which Kaito wrongly assumes that Barashitara is helping Stacey and that he's doing so out of parental concern. Naturally, given how far this is from the truth, this is makes Stacey extremely angry. He retaliates by needling Kaito about his missing parents. He mentions the possibility that, given their apparent involvement with the Tojitendo, they could be “lying dead in a ditch somewhere, just like [his] mother.” Then he decides to twist the knife a bit more. “Maybe they weren’t kidnapped, but they abandoned you! Like Barashitara did to me.”

Kaito responds by passionately defending his parents and insisting that they would never do that to him. Kaito's faith in his parents infuriates Stacey. He feels envious and bitter because the only parent he could believe in is long dead and his father was never worthy of his trust. Kaito’s defense of his parents pushes all of these buttons and more and Stacey becomes enraged. He tells Kaito that fighting him is no longer “nothing personal.”

Later in the series, the shift in how they relate to each other is both illustrated and deepened when Bon World (a villain-of-the-week based on a Japanese holiday) becomes the latest adversary to try to take over Zenkaitopia. Bon World causes characters’ ancestors to return from the dead to visit them. Stacey gets a particularly surprising and poignant visit from his mother, Lise. At first he doesn’t trust that she really is who she purports to be, but eventually he’s convinced. He gets to spend a little bit of time with her after their years apart.

But like a lot of the Worlds the Zenkaigers fight, Bon World’s powers have a two-step effect. First, they bring back ancestors. After a while, these ancestors snap and start going after their descendants, trying to kill them—including Stacey’s mother.

When the ancestors manifested by Bon World start to turn homicidal, the Zenkaigers have their hands full. Zyuran’s great-grandfather turns on him at the same time the Goldtsuikers are attacked by their grandfather. Kaito’s friends need him! But he leaves, trusting them to handle the situation themselves, so that he can come to Stacey’s aid. Why? Because he has a realization during their fight. One of the people he has to battle is Hakaiser, a Tojitendo “experimental soldier” who Kaito has recently learned is actually his brainwashed and physically altered father, Goshikida Isao. He tells Hakaiser he understands why it’s so upsetting for the others to have to fight their ancestors because he’s being forced to fight his own dad. This causes him to remember that one of the returned ancestors was Stacey’s mother. He asks Hakaiser where Stacey is and they both rush to his aid (with Kaito in Super Zenkaiser mode).

After he comes to Stacey’s rescue, the rest of the Zenkaigers defeat Bon World and the ancestors all disappear. Stacey asks Kaito why he would come to his rescue. After all, they’re enemies. Kaito tells him, “I knew that you and your mom would both hate this happening.” Here’s what I think he means. It’s obviously a bad thing to be visited by an ancestor who tries to kill you. That was true for everyone who had that experience because of Bon World. But for Stacey, seeing his mother again and then having her attack him involved a whole other level of pain and trauma. It was deeply triggering and a terrible insult not only to Stacey’s memory of his mother but also his mother’s love for him. Kaito could see this from Stacey’s perspective as well as Lise’s. For Kaito, this meant that this particular instance of an ancestor attacking someone was a bigger deal than the others and required a more urgent response. But it wouldn’t have been quite so urgent if it weren't for the fact that Stacey means something to Kaito.

Stacey is profoundly touched by Kaito’s actions and what he told him about his reasons for helping him. This moment ends up being a big turning point in their relationship. This isn’t just because Kaito helped Stacey (though he did) or because he was kind to him (though he was). It’s also because Kaito showed a remarkable degree of sensitivity and understanding in realizing what this experience meant for Stacey. He showed that he paid close attention to things he had learned from and about Stacey, viewed those things as important, and took them into account. I think it’s also clear that as someone whose parents disappeared when he was a kid, Kaito has a better understanding of the loss Stacey has experienced than other people would. And of course, it matters that Kaito prioritized helping Stacey even though his teammates and allies were facing similar challenges.

Stacey ends up keeping Kaito’s experiences in mind and acting on them in a similar way. The biggest example of this is his decision to stand aside while Kaito deprograms his father, Hakaiser/Goshikida Isao. Hakaiser had been Stacey's friend prior to that point, something exceedingly rare in his experience. In fact, Hakaiser may well be the first friend Stacey ever had. It helped that despite his brainwashing, Hakaiser retained a lot of Goshikida Isao’s warm, optimistic, Kaito-esque personality. Hakaiser quickly became really important to Stacey. So when he learned that Hakaiser was really Goshikida Isao, he felt conflicted because his concern for both Kaito and Yatsude pulled him in one direction while his desire to keep his friend pulled him in the other. At first, Stacey turned his back on the Goshikidas in favor of keeping Hakaiser in his life. But once Kaito protects him from his mother's ghost, Stacey can’t keep that up for long. And he doesn't just stand aside during the Zenkaiger's deprogramming efforts. He also leaks data to the Goldtsuikers that helps the team to safely extricate Hakaiser from a giant mecha superweapon he’s controlling (without which the team would have been forced to either endanger Isao or risk countless human beings getting hurt or killed). Naturally, this also means helping the good guys to take the giant mecha out of commission—a blatant act of treason against the Tojitendo.

Stacey doesn’t say much about why he decides to let Goshikida Isao go. But he makes it clear that he sees how unjust and hypocritical it would be to keep Hakaiser around at Kaito’s expense while decrying the way his father took his mother away from him. It's also apparent that the bond he's formed with Yatsude and Kaito plays a role.

To go from resenting Kaito's faith in his parents to helping Kaito get his father back involves a lot of growth. Just as earlier, the differences in their respective situations angered Stacey, the similarities between them eventually lead him to shift toward helping Kaito rather than hurting him.

Now I'm going to circle back to the possession storyline to talk about some of its other implications.

The possession storyline allows Kaito to show how much he values consent and bodily autonomy—particularly Stacey's.

Remember how Kaito suspected immediately that the possessed version of Stacey wasn’t really him? An episode and change later, Kaito and the rest of the Sentai finally find out that Stacey is being possessed by God. Kaito doesn’t say much about this when it's first revealed to him, but his eyes are glued to God-in-Stacey’s-body and he turns stone-faced again. He remains like this for the rest of their conversation, while God aims more head-tilting and slow-blinking his way.

The next time they confer with the Zenkaigers, God is in a hurry to get them to agree to work together. But Kaito says there’s something else he needs them to address before that can happen. He asks God what happens to Stacey when they’re possessing his body. Their answer is disturbingly flippant: “His consciousness takes a little nap.” Then he asks God if they have Stacey’s consent to do this. “Do I really need it? When I’m a God?” they ask contemptuously. That’s when Kaito tells them that he can’t trust someone who would use another person's body without their permission, so they won’t be able to work together—unless God sets Stacey free. He offers to let God possess him instead in order to communicate with the group, and the other Zenkaigers chime in to say they’ll volunteer as well. God agrees to this and leaves Stacey’s body for the last time.

Consent isn’t a common theme in tokusatsu, at least not in any of the shows I’ve seen so far. I don’t know of another toku show that's had an entirely analogous possession story, but it’s not uncommon to see some kind of variation on this theme. Ankh from Kamen Rider OOO is an ancient supernatural being who possesses the body of a random young man on the verge of death, Ryotaro from Kamen Rider Den-O is possessed by a whole cadre of beings from the future at different points in the series, Wataru from Kamen Rider Kiva is briefly possessed by his own father, Otoya, and I have no doubt that there are other examples I'm not thinking of or just haven't come across yet. I've seen the moral implications of possession get some degree of attention in these shows, but I’ve never seen consent foregrounded in this way. (That said, I haven’t seen the entirety of either Den-O or OOO, and there are plenty of other series I haven’t seen, so there may well be examples I’m not aware of.)

It helps that consent doesn’t just come up in an implied way, in the background, or on its own. Instead, Kaito brings it up specifically and intentionally. The plot is racing along toward the climax of the series at this point. It would be easier for Kaito to allow God to continue to gloss over the question of Stacey’s consent. It certainly would have been easier for Komura Junko, the show's screenwriter, to skip over this question. She could have just used God as her story’s deus ex machina (no pun intended) without exploring the deeper implications.

It’s fitting that Kaito’s insistence on Stacey’s consent comes up in the form of an interruption that stops the forward momentum of the story, because when people are ignoring important consent issues and someone has to speak up about it, it’s often seen as an unwelcome interruption of things that are viewed as more important. Bringing up consent in those situations means bringing other matters to a halt and raising uncomfortable topics that others have tacitly agreed to ignore. As with so many important issues that we need to speak up about in our daily lives, raising the subject of consent is often intensely awkward. When Kaito brings it up, God is surprised and clearly put out, and it means the story has to take a detour before the Zenkaigers can defeat Bokkowaus with God’s help. Kaito doesn’t let any of this stop him, though. He understands how important it is. Even though collaborating with God is by far the best chance the Zenkaigers have of overthrowing Bokkowaus and saving the multiverse, he holds fast and insists that he’ll only work with God if they stop possessing Stacey without his consent.

It's worth noting another context in which consent comes up in the series, and that is the portrayal of Stacey's late mother, Lise, and her relationship with his father, Barashitara. Lise was Barashitara's 893rd "wife." I'm using scare quotes here because while we don't know the details of how Lise ended up tied to Barashitara and bearing his child, there's no particular reason to believe she consented to the relationship and a number of indications that she didn't. When she appears again in ghost form, he refers to her having always been "feisty," which seems like code for "didn't just let me do whatever I wanted without any resistance." She, on the other hand, seems to hold him in contempt. In Komura Junko's current series, Kamen Rider Gavv, the protagonist's human mother is kept prisoner by a non-human father who refers to her as if they're in a relationship despite her protests that she never sought or consented to a relationship with him. This seems like a more explicit version of what was implied about Stacey's mother in Zenkaiger.

Stacey obviously has strong feelings about the way his mother was treated. When Barashitara reaches for her, commenting on how he's never been with a ghost before (and implying he'd be up for changing that), Stacey hurries over to pull his hand off of her and rushes her out of the room after yelling at Barashitara to keep his hands off of her. Again, Stacey's human mother and Kikainoid father could have been used as a plot device without digging any deeper into the nature of their relationship, but this series not only doesn't avoid the subject, it makes a point of commenting on it.

The themes of consent and seeing/being seen end up working together in a way that undercuts the ship in some superficial respects but ends up emphasizing what really makes it special.

I mentioned earlier how one of the first clues that God isn’t really Stacey is their facial expressions, speech, and other ways of communicating with others. Well, they continue smiling, speaking in a cutesy voice, and doing flirty mannerisms—and the biggest recipient of these gestures is Kaito. They also call Kaito by his given name, something Stacey doesn't do until the series' penultimate episode. When you add it all together, they’re pretty clearly flirting with him.

Some stories would take this as an opportunity to develop the ship between Kaito and Stacey. If God-in-Stacey’s-body flirts with Kaito, you could easily arrange things so that this helps him recognize or develop an attraction to Stacey that continues when the possession has ended. (It’s certainly been done before in other shows.) Any possession or body swap story is going to be partly about contrasts—that’s a big part of their purpose—but they can still foment changes that continue when everyone gets their own bodies back. Basically, if Stacey is too conflicted to flirt with Kaito, well, God can do it for him. It works in the other direction, too. If there are things Kaito would do with Stacey if he weren’t so considerate of his feelings, if someone else is walking around in his body, suddenly different possibilities appear. (And yes, I think some version of all these possibilities could be done even if the ship remained at a subtext level.)

There’s just one problem: Kaito may not figure out for certain that God isn’t Stacey right away, but within moments of meeting them, he’s 95% there. They can’t make him see Stacey in a different way if he doesn’t believe they’re him at least for a while. He isn't even open to relating to them in a positive way. It really is remarkable just how unfriendly he is to God-in-Stacey’s-body considering how friendly he always is to almost everyone else. And when they flirt with him? He’s not into it in the slightest. In fact, it just pisses him off.

Another thing about possession stories is that they can be a way for writers to cheat to get characters—well, close facsimiles of them who are mistaken for them by other characters—to do things they couldn’t justify otherwise. But Kaito refuses to let this happen. He gets suspicious of God almost as soon as they show up, he begins to grow hostile toward them even before he has fully processed the truth about their identity, and once he’s had a chance to think about the situation, he takes his next opportunity to refuse to work with God unless they set Stacey free as soon as possible.

By having the hero of the story behave in this way, Zenkaiger prioritizes consent and, by extension, the individual right to bodily autonomy. It prioritizes consent over ship advancement, over plot advancement, even over getting the danged heroes into the evil overlord’s castle so they can have their big showdown. There are moments where it’s on the verge of becoming annoying. As TV viewers, especially if we’re habitual tokusatsu watchers, we’re pretty used to possession plotlines of this type. When they start making things happen, we get caught up in escalating events. Having someone like Kaito suddenly show up and say, “Wait a second, is Stacey OK with this?” feels like a weirdly abrupt interruption.

It reminds me a bit of something Kathleen Hanna from the band Bikini Kill says in The Punk Singer, a documentary about her life. Commenting on a specific example from her life, she says that speaking out about sexual violence often results in a "who farted" moment—one in which a group is collectively uncomfortable and looking for someone to blame, generally the person who mentioned a taboo subject like sexual violence.

Kaito fearlessly embraces a “who farted” moment when he asks about Stacey’s consent or lack thereof. Of course he does—that’s who he is. A principled, morally rigorous guy who would rather be cringe as fuck than hurt someone unnecessarily. It’s no wonder he’s able to turn the “demon prince of the Tojitendo” to the side of good…and even get him to write him love letters.

In other words, by refusing to exploit the possession storyline for a cheap version of ship development, Komura Junko develops the Kaito x Stacey ship even more, and more meaningfully.

Could this storyline have been written by the typical cishet dude tokusatsu screenwriter?

It seems noteworthy that this choice was made by one of the few women to have held a head writer position on a toku series. Of course, women are not the only people who care about consent and bodily autonomy, just as they aren't the only people who are subjected to their bodily autonomy being compromised and their right to refuse consent ignored. But women, people who are perceived as women, and men who don't fit into a normative cishet image are more likely to have such experiences than cishet men and thus more likely to find such themes salient, so it would make sense if a woman writer was more likely to include them in a series than the ostensibly cishet men who make up the vast majority of tokusatsu screenwriters.

I would argue that the importance of being authentically seen is also particularly salient for many women and that this may have played into the way Komura weaves that theme into the Kaito and Stacey story. Women and people perceived to be women tend to experience a great deal of objectification, and being authentically seen and acknowledged is basically the opposite of objectification.

I recently ran into Martha Nussbaum's typology of objectification for the first time and found it really useful. It turns out that Nussbaum's typology applies to God's possession of Stacey remarkably well. In the interest of time and length, I'll leave it at that for now, but I could say a lot more about it and probably will in a separate post at some point. Suffice it to say that God's treatment of Stacey illustrates a number of the facets of objectification Nussbaum lays out. So what does this have to do with the Kaito and Stacey ship? It comes back to my point about how the show presents the possession storyline with all of its potential for ship development and has Kaito refuse to engage with any of it out of concern for Stacey. This makes God a kind of foil for Kaito that gives him the opportunity to show that his interest in Stacey isn't based on objectification.

So there you have it. There are plenty of reasons to appreciate the Kaito x Stacey ship without digging into issues like these. The characters are interesting, affecting, and fun. Their personalities fit together in a classic cinnamon roll/tsundere way. The actors have great chemistry with each other. But the way the story treats these concerns, which I contend is colored by the different perspective Komura Junko brings to toku based on her gender, is part of what makes it particularly special.

#kikai sentai zenkaiger #zenkaiger #stacey #stacey zenkaiger #sekoguchi ryo #ryo sekoguchi #komagine kiita #kiita komagine #stacy #suteishi #goshikida kaito #kaito goshikida #kaito x stacey #komura junko #tokusatsu meta #zenkaiger is a BL

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sxcret-garden · 8 months ago

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4th Desire ღ Hush, My Dear [M]

ღ Aspects of Desire series ღ Ateez Jongho x fem!reader ღ words: ~5.8k ღ genre: established relationship, college AU, fluff, some humor, slice of life, a bit of angst, smut (dom!Jongho, sub!reader, semi-public (they have to keep quiet cause reader’s family is literally in the other room), quickie, clothed sex, fingering, unprotected sex, pain kink, biting (idol receiving), he’s lowkey mean… again askjfkljas, orgasm denial, praise) ღ warnings: reader has a difficult relationship with her family, mentions of her mother trying to convince her to wear a dress to an event even though reader doesn’t like wearing them, mentions of a bad experience Jongho had in his past relationship, (him running his fingers through reader’s hair)

Desc.: Dinner with your family goes about as you expected - you’re slightly uncomfortable because of their choices in conversation topics and very much bored. Luckily, your boyfriend tagged along and knows just how to make you feel better, and in the process he too seems to be able to finally let go of his worries.

Author's note: This has a bit of a different pacing than the chapters so far... fun fact! It's also the first chapter I wrote for this fic... no I don't write them in order, that would be way too simple kalsdjflksda

← prev chapter ღ next chapter →

“Necklace or no necklace?” you ask, raising your voice a little so your boyfriend would hear you in the other room. You hear footsteps, and not much later his figure appears in the doorframe to his room, where you’re looking yourself in the big mirror next to his wardrobe, trying to decide what to wear.

“Y/N…” he mutters your name, and as you shoot his reflection behind you a look, you immediately respond,

“I know…”

“It’s just your family,” he says it nevertheless and he walks over to you. Coming to a halt right behind you, his palms find your waist as he lets his gaze take in your figure through the mirror. “You don’t have to dress up for them.”

“I know,” you say once again, peeling yourself out of his hold in order to walk over to the far end of the closet, pulling out yet another different necklace. “This one?” you ask and Jongho gives you a huff, a sympathetic smile showing on his face.

“Did you hear what I said?” he questions, coming closer to put his hand above yours. “Wear what’s comfortable. Your parents won’t expect you to look like you’re going to some big event.”

“Well you’re the one talking…” You shoot his outfit a look - neat black pants paired with a knitted sweater in dark colors and a button-up shirt underneath it. You can tell he put at least some thought behind it.

“Hey,” his gums show as he smiles at you. “I’m trying to leave a good impression on your parents, okay? You’re their daughter, not the boyfriend who needs to make sure they like him,” he chuckles.

“They already love you. You could show up in pajamas and they’d be fine with it,” you retort.

“I wouldn’t take it that far.” You put the necklaces back to their assigned space in your boyfriend’s wardrobe, before closing its doors. You decide against wearing one after all.

“Actually… we still have time, so I want to ask you something,” you start, turning towards him. “Let’s sit down first?”

“Sure.” You notice by the way his stance changes ever so slightly that your partner can sense you have a more or less serious question. Really, you’re just curious about something that’s been on your mind for a while now. Making yourselves comfortable in the living room, you clear your throat and pose your question.

“You’re being very careful… ever since we started experimenting more while having sex,” you state. “And I appreciate that! It’s just making me wonder if there’s a reason to that, other than for general safety’s sake? Because I feel like you really don’t have to check in with me as many times as you do.” You were afraid he might not share your opinion on this, and feel criticized for something that seems perfectly reasonable to him. But to your relief he seems to know what you’re trying to say.

“Ah… you’re right,” Jongho responds, and then he thinks for a while. “There is a reason for that, actually,” he then says. You guess it might have something to do with his previous girlfriend, and it looks like you’re correct in that assumption. “I told you about how me and my ex tried going in that direction too, right?”

“Right.” The way he suddenly becomes very serious makes you tense up as well - it’s like a barely noticeable darkness reflecting in his gaze.

“So we didn’t want the same things… a lot of the time. There was this one specific thing - I’ll spare you the details here - that she kept wanting to try out but I always said no because it felt too risky for me.”

“Makes sense.”

“And one day we were out with friends, drinking.” You have a hunch what his story might lead up to, and you furrow your eyebrows as you listen on. “And we came home tipsy. Not totally drunk, we were still aware of what we were doing, but also not sober. And this time I gave in, thinking if it’s something that will give my partner pleasure, it will be fine.”

“It wasn’t fine…?” you guess, and a short and regretful laugh escapes him.

“No…”

“Oh,” you breathe.

“I hurt her that day. Not seriously, and not permanently. But it could’ve been avoided… and I think that’s why I’m being so extra careful with you. I swore to myself after that, that I wouldn’t do certain things if I’ve had something to drink or I’m too tired.” He glances up at you now, one finger swiping his hair covering his face to the side as his features soften, and he looks at you as if you were the most precious thing he’s ever laid eyes on. “But I guess I’m more afraid of hurting you than I thought I was.”

“So that’s why…” you respond. “I thought you were overdoing it a bit,” you admit. “But now I get why you’re so focused on making sure I’m okay at all times… thank you.” Grasping his hands in yours now, you look him right in the face. “I mean it. Thank you for keeping me safe.” He can only watch and blush when you bring your joint hands up, brushing a kiss onto his knuckles with your lips. “But now I’m wondering… can you enjoy it like that? I mean.. it must be stressful to always carry that fear with you.” There’s a complicated expression on his face now, and he hesitates for a second before he speaks.

“Yes and no,” he answers honestly. “I am enjoying it, please don’t misunderstand! But… yeah, I think you noticed that overall I’m not letting go as much as I might be able to without those fears. Except for last time…”

“When I called you-”

“Yeah.” He doesn’t let you say it out loud, and you wonder why. Does it really affect him that much?

“Then…” You give him a reassuring smile. “When you’re ready to let go of that fear, you can. I trust that you won’t hurt me. And I promise I will say something if you’ve overstepped a boundary or I feel unsure about something. Okay?”

“Okay,” he mouths. You get up to take a step towards him, closing the distance between the two of you, and you put your arms around him, bringing your hand up into his hair as he leans into your embrace. “Sorry for overcomplicating things and not telling you sooner,” he mutters, but you shake your head.

“No, it’s okay,” you reassure him, fingers combing through his locks. “You have a very good reason. Don’t feel pressured to go against your gut feeling, okay?”

“Okay. Thank you too for understanding.”

You remain like this for a while, and the longer you stay in this position, the harder it becomes to tear yourself away from the warmth of the hug. However, eventually you force yourself to step back anyway, because it is soon time to make your way to your parent’s place.

It’s half past 6 on this Saturday when the two of you arrive at your destination to have dinner with your parents and your grandparents. The invitation had come suddenly, and not completely unrelated to your cousin revealing that she and her long-time boyfriend would get married soon. Your mother had already warned you over the phone that she wanted to discuss some “details” with you, and that you and Jongho should come over for dinner on the weekend. You could only guess that those details would be mostly about trying to convince you what you should wear for the occasion according to her, and once you arrive at your childhood home, it doesn’t take long for that fear to come true.

“Oh my, who do we have here?” your mother greets you and, mostly, your boyfriend, who she seems to like a lot. It’s really no secret that ever since you first introduced him to her, she too wishes her daughter would get married soon. Though you’re nowhere near ready for taking such a huge step, so whenever the topic arises, you do your best to quickly switch to a different one. However, today her concerns aren’t of your marital status, but of - as you had guessed - your planned outfit for your cousin’s wedding.

Pulling you aside after making sure everyone else is seated at the dinner table, entertaining themselves with a conversation about who knows what, her demeanor immediately changes and she becomes serious.

“So, Y/N…” The moment she calls you by your name, you startle just a little bit. “I’ve been thinking.” Whenever she uses that line, you know something uncomfortable is about to go down.

“What is it?” you reply, acting as if you didn’t already know the answer.

“For your cousin’s wedding… you’re not gonna show up in that suit again, right?” Memories of the last occasion you decided to go with neat dark blue dress pants and a fitting blazer instead of the dress that multiple people apparently expected you to wear come back to you and you gulp.

“I was going to,” you say, and your mother sighs. It’s a condescending sigh, one that’s supposed to tell you how naive and young you are and how you should trust your mother’s words, who surely knows better.

“You should wear a dress at least for her wedding,” she says. “Don’t you think? I mean… every young woman there is going to wear one!”

“How do you know that?” you dare to talk back at her, but she raises her eyebrows at you in response. Evading your question, she continues,

“You’re so young and such a pretty girl! It would be a waste if you went in pants.” With a bitter taste in your mouth and a glance towards the living room where the conversation seems to be dying down a bit, you retort,

“Mom, can we talk about this another time? I think everyone’s waiting for us to join…” Not expecting your attempt at getting out of this uncomfortable conversation to work, you’re surprised when she gives in and you find her agreeing with you.

“Okay, I’ll call you about it during the week. Don’t even think about not picking up!” she adds, lifting a finger as a silent warning, and then she lets you off the hook, walking into the living room where everyone else is gathered. Letting out a deep sigh, you too follow.

Eventually you reach the part of the evening where the conversations of your family members are starting to bore you. Just because you've moved past the uncomfortable questions (at least you know your mother won’t bother you about your outfit for the wedding in front of the others) doesn't mean you feel particularly up for engaging in their small talk and occasional political debate. If you're being completely honest, you just might've been fine if it was only the small talk.

Yet here you are, watching your parents and grandparents argue about economics and politicians, and from the way Jongho is reaching over to place his hand on your thigh and gives it a gentle squeeze as he tries not to frown too much at what's unfolding at the table, you can tell he notices your discomfort too. And it's not like you didn't warn him, it's not like he didn't assure you multiple times that it's fine, he doesn't mind, he wants to come to your family dinner anyway. But now you can't help but feel apologetic to him.

As if he knew what's going through your head when you shoot him a look, your eyebrows furrowed, he shakes his head and leans in to whisper in your ear,

"Are you okay?" Frankly, you're not okay per se. Used to this is what you are, and equating one with the other in your mind, you give him a weak nod.

"They'll stop... eventually," you whisper back, so the people in question wouldn't hear. And they really do stop a mere moment later. To your dismay, they pause their noise only to comment on you and your boyfriend instead.

"The two lovebirds... look at how they can't wait until they're alone." It's your grandma of all people who makes the comment, a knowing grin sitting on her face and you feel uncomfortable. You know it's just how people act when they see a young couple - they tease. But that doesn't mean you particularly appreciate what's probably just an expression of them being happy for you.

"Mom!" your mother exclaims and everyone laughs. You glance over at Jongho, and you see him smiling along to their bickering. It's a polite smile, nothing more, because he knows how much you hate receiving this kind of attention.

"Well it's true, isn't it?" your grandma defends herself, the creases around her eyes deepening with mischief. "We were like this too when we were their age." Now she shoots your grandpa a look, one filled with warmth as he gives her a somewhat awkward laugh because of her straightforwardness, and then puts his arm around her frame to pull her in close for a moment. You can't help but wonder if you too will still be as in love with your partner once you've reached their age, and your gaze naturally wanders over to your boyfriend sitting next to you. The familiar sight of his smile, the way he lowers his head ever so slightly because after all he's still a little shy around your family, and the way he sits up straight the exact moment your father asks him a question to start a conversation all fill your chest with warmth. Without thinking, he lets his palm glide up and down your thigh once as he answers, and just as you're about to put your hand above his, he deprives you of his touch, gesturing along with the way he talks instead. You listen to them chat as the rest of the family returns to political debates, and in your father's face you can unmistakably see that, just like your mother, he's taking a liking to your boyfriend, and it fills you with relief. And yet you soon find your mind drifting off again, wondering what would happen if your boyfriend put his hand back on your thigh, letting it wander just a bit higher. Wondering how far he could technically go without anyone else at the table noticing - though you know he’d never cross the line in front of other people. And so instead you fantasize about how he would continue unknowingly riling you up, or maybe he’d be aware of it, he is Jongho after all. He’d tease you and keep an eye on you all while making sure to keep the conversation going naturally, so that not a single soul would even guess that you’re craving for him to touch you, and he’s craving for you to beg for it. And then, after dinner is finally over, he’d pull you to another room, and-

Jongho’s hand actually returning to your thigh pulls you out of your thoughts, and as he glances over to you, noticing how your mind is drifting off further and further from the conversation at the dinner table, he moves his palms a little more towards the inside of your leg. You almost startle at the sensation, and at what it inevitably stirs up inside of you, and so you turn to look at him. As soon as you do, you find him already staring back at you, the expression on his face having changed almost unnoticeably. He leans in to mutter something in your ear again, and with it, his fingertips move towards your middle just a bit, sparking desire deep inside you once again.

"Shall we get out of here for a minute?" Thankful for his suggestion, you nod, and with the excuse of you having a headache along with assuring everyone that you'll be fine, you just need some quiet, so as to prevent anyone from following you two, he leads you out of the living room and towards the bathroom at the other end of the corridor. As soon as you close the door behind you, locking up as well, he pulls you towards him by the hand he's already holding.

"You okay?" he asks, his eyes wandering to your lips instinctively, and with his free hand he captures your chin.

"Whatever..." you breathe.

"Don't say that," your boyfriend retorts, tilting his head to the side a little, now looking you in the eyes instead. "I can tell you kept zoning out in the middle of their conversations."

"Can you blame me?" You give him a huff and a weak smile as you look away and he lets go of your chin to comb his fingers through your hair instead.

"No, to be honest." Now he as well shows you an apologetic smile. "What were you thinking about when trying to drown out the sound of their arguing?"

"Just... nothing much," you answer, suddenly worried about whether he saw right through you or if his question didn't have so much meaning behind it after all.

"You sure? I noticed that you were upset when I took my hand away earlier... you sure it was nothing much?" You gulp at his tone, the way his voice alone reveals that he very much has a pretty good guess about what you've been fantasizing about for most of the evening. And at the same time he's now taking a step towards you, forcing you to back away and eventually your behind hits the edge of the sink, with your boyfriend now towering above you.

"I..." you try to say something, but it seems your body language already tells him everything he needs to know, because now he's placing one hand on the small of your back as he leans in, his lips hovering just beside your ear.

"Cause I've been thinking about dragging you off to somewhere else and putting you in a better mood for a whole while now." You swallow thickly, and when he takes a proper look at your face to see your reaction to his words, all you can do is part your lips and whisper a confession.

"Me too." He retrieves his hand from behind you, his palm wandering to your sides and then to your front, dragging it up across your chest and letting his fingertips graze your throat on its journey to finally cupping your face. Your eyelids flutter shut almost instantly as his thumb brushes across your bottom lip, and then he leans in, coming to a halt a mere inch apart from you.

"Want me to entertain you for a bit?" His enticing offer leaves you unable to do anything but nod, and when you take a glance at his face you don't miss the look he’s giving you, knowing he already has you under his spell. However, Jongho doesn't leave you much time to think about it as he kisses you slowly, a pace meant solely to make you crave for more. You throw your arms around his shoulders as you let him part your lips to deepen the kiss, and still it ends too soon. The pleading expression in your eyes only makes him chuckle, but for now he gives you what you undeniably want and he kisses you again.

His hands wander towards your hips eventually, and after pulling down your pants and underwear just enough for comfortable access, one of his hands keeps you in place while the other finds your core. A mere finger, dragged up and down your folds painfully slowly, is enough to have you moan into his kiss, and next thing you know he pulls back and ceases all motions. Shaking his head at you, he mutters,

"They might hear us."

"R-right..." you whisper an answer, already having forgotten all about your family still chatting merrily not too far away from you.

"Let's be careful," Jongho says, shushing you while momentarily removing his hand from your side. Not letting you wait, he continues his teasing motions, and you bite your bottom lip as you try not to make a sound under his touch and his more than curious gaze scanning even the tiniest of your reactions. "What?" he whispers, a somewhat mocking tone in his voice. "Didn't think you'd already be that wet just from thinking about me all evening." And before you can even come up with anything to say in your defense, he dips a finger inside you quite effortlessly, and your hips instinctively buck into his hand. The act makes him smirk, and he pushes you back into the edge of the sink to keep you from moving around. Clicking his tongue at you as quietly as he possibly can while the amusement in his gaze is apparent, he says,

"So impatient." Furrowing your brows, you shoot him a pleading expression that causes his features to soften, and he adds another finger. "That what you want?" Nodding, you can see his eyes growing darker, and you squeeze yours tightly shut as he watches on, slowly pumping his fingers in and out of you. "Feels so good, hm?" he keeps talking, his voice low and quiet, and you dig your fingertips into the fabric of his shirt where it covers his shoulders.

"Y-yeah..." you answer, doing everything in your might to keep your volume at a whisper.

"Shh," he, however, shushes you. "Don't talk. You don't wanna risk getting caught, do you?" And so you do as he says, merely shaking your head vigorously, and earning yourself a kiss brushed against your lips.

"Good girl." And then he picks up the pace just a bit, thumb now pressed against your clit, and the way he curls his fingers against that perfect spot deep inside you makes your head spin.

"Fuck," you mouth, and you earn a sharp look from your boyfriend, but he keeps going nonetheless. You can feel your knees getting weak as you melt under his touch, heatwaves rushing through your body with every time he pulls out and pushes back inside. And then, just as your high starts building up in your stomach and you throw your head back, he pulls out just as slowly as he started. For a second you stare at him blankly, but when he takes a step back, you immediately find yourself protesting.

"Don't do this... not now, please..." You can tell exactly how satisfied he is with himself for riling you up like that and then withdrawing just as you were about to find your sweet release by the cocky grin he's giving you, head leaned back ever so slightly so he could triumphantly look down at you even better.

"Why?" he asks. "It's far too risky to let you lose control. Remember?" He leans in closer now, his fingers that have just been inside your pussy merely a few seconds ago now brushing against your lips just before he leans in, the tip of his tongue licking your juices off your mouth. "They might hear us." Unable to say a word, all you can do is reach out for him, cling to him as he tries to walk backwards.

"No, please... baby... need you so bad..." You press your thighs together tightly as you speak those words, his gaze immediately dropping down to your legs as he registers the movement, and as his pupils darken, he slowly lets his eyes wander back up to your face.

"Then what do you want?"

"Just fuck me please... do whatever you want but please fuck me..."

"Love..." he calls out to you rather softly now, quite in contrast to the firm grip on your ass that he pulls you towards him with. You suck in a breath as you can unmistakably feel his bulge against your lower stomach, but Jongho doesn't waver. "I don't think you can keep quiet if I do whatever I want with you."

"I can... please..." you push him, and he seems to ponder on your plea for a moment. Just when he lets go of you, you think this is it, you're not getting what you want tonight, but then you see him unzip his own pants, and before you can think any further, he orders,

"Turn around." You don't hesitate. All you do is do as he says, facing yourself in the mirror as you bend over the sink as far as the insufficient space between its edge and the glass surface in front of you lets you. You can see his eyes being glued to you from behind, one hand moving to your back and pulling your shirt up as your boyfriend moves it towards your shoulders, while he's giving himself a few strokes with the other. His palm wanders back down, fingertips tracing your spine, and you arch your back for him as he follows your shape, eventually letting his hand rest on your ass.

"That's right," he mutters, rubbing circles onto your skin before squeezing the flesh. For a second there you prepare yourself for impact, but he's already steadying your hips, aligning himself with your cunt. Even just his tip parting your folds makes you shudder, and so he leans forward, until he can comfortably place his hand over your mouth.

"Is it okay if I do that?" he asks, whispering, and you nod your head in desperation. At this point you think you'd comply with almost anything if only he finally filled you up, and at the same time you feel warmth spreading in your chest as he checks in on you and makes sure you're comfortable. And then he pushes up into you, forcing you to bite down a moan that would've almost escaped, and you find yourself agreeing with his earlier words. There really is no way in hell you could keep quiet when he has his way with you. And yet you manage to keep it down as he settles inside you with his full size.

"One sound and I won't let you cum, got that?" he warns, and you can barely nod as he begins rolling his hips into you. Though he starts slow, he too seems close to losing his composure as he picks up speed, using you to chase his own high as well. And even though the pleasure keeps gradually building up deep inside of you, you can keep it together so far. However, when his other hand lets go of your hips so he could rub circles against your clit instead, you know he's about to drive you insane. And so, as a moan threatens to escape your throat, you do the only other thing you can think of as an alternative - you sink your teeth into the palm of his hand. With him bringing you closer to the edge with every repetition of his movements, you don't pay attention to the impact of your actions, but when you bite down harder you can suddenly hear your boyfriend hissing a curse above you.

"Fuck..." Finding the reflection of his face in the mirror and the way his features distort in pleasure as he fucks you harder only causes you to apply even more force to how you’re biting down on his palm, and in turn he tightens his grip on your face. Squeezing your eyes shut as you're about to roll them back from all the sensations coursing through your body, your orgasm comes crashing down on you, shaking you whole. Only a mere second later, a strained grunt escapes your boyfriend as he cums inside you, halting at once to allow for you both to come down from your highs.

He pulls out carefully as you release his hand, and grabbing a few paper towels, he begins cleaning you up. With one arm around your waist he helps you stand, the other wiping clean the insides of your thighs, making you shake whenever he grazes your still sensitive core.

"You okay?" he asks finally, placing a kiss just below your ear as he holds you close, letting you rest with your back against his chest.

"Yeah..." you whisper, before remembering his hand. "What about you?" You turn around, reaching for his wrist to take a closer look at his palm, only to find very apparent bite marks there. You can't help but snort at the situation, remarking, "Well, I guess it's not the noise we need to worry about now."

"Ah... right..." Taking a look at the mark himself, an embarrassed smile now graces his face, gums showing as his ears take on a soft shade of pink. You take a hold of his hand again, bringing it up to your mouth now.

"It's okay," you say, blowing some cool air onto it, before placing gentle kisses all over the mark. "I'll make it better."

You return to the table significantly later than what would’ve been a timespan where you could be sure nobody would get suspicious, but thankfully the only question you receive is whether your “headache” is better now or not as everyone’s busy cleaning up the table. Your boyfriend immediately takes a heavy looking stack of dirty plates from your mother’s hands and carries them to the kitchen instead, and once again it makes you happy to see what a good impression your parents have of him.

“You really picked a good guy, Y/N,” your mother tells you as she moves over closer to you, and you agree silently as you glance over to where his back is disappearing in the kitchen. Caught up in your feelings, you startle as she claps her hands together next to you, the loud sound immediately makes you look at her. “You get to work too! You’re gonna have to be a good wife to him!”

“Mom!” you call out, finding several things that bother you about that sentence, but in the end only addressing one. “We haven’t even been dating for that long!”

“Oh,” she throws one hand over her mouth, before smiling with a hint of mischief in her eyes, just like your grandma had done earlier. “Sorry, I got ahead of myself. But can you blame me?” Now putting her hand on your shoulder, she points in the direction of the kitchen, and following her movement with your eyes, your gaze soon comes to rest on your boyfriend, who gives you a smile upon noticing.

“Jongho,” you call out to him to make him come over to you. “Can you tell my mom to stop simping over you?”

“What?” they ask, in unison, but very much for different reasons, as your boyfriend can’t help but smile in amusement, whereas your mother adds, “What’s simping…?” And before you can explain, your boyfriend chimes in,

“It’s a good thing, I promise.”

“Ah, well,... either way, someone’s gonna have to get dessert ready, and I assume it’s not your father,” your mother switches topic, shooting you a look. And then, glancing at Jongho and then back to you, she adds, “But that won’t be a problem you’re gonna have, right?” Walking away with that, she leaves you to protest in vain and to internally die of embarrassment, and when you see your boyfriend merely laughing at the situation, you’re not sure if that makes it better or worse.

“God, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have brought you here…” you mutter, but he shakes his head, one arm snaking around your body loosely.

“Don’t worry, I’m okay,” he tries to reassure you, and yet your mood won’t change.

“But I’m not… I hate it when they are like this. They act like we’re already married…”

“Hey…” He pulls you aside, fingertips dancing down your arms until he takes a hold of your hands. “They like me. That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, I guess…” you say, averting your gaze because you really don’t want to keep discussing this, but at the same time you can’t shake the feeling that they’re taking this too far too quickly. And instead of dwelling on the topic, your boyfriend now finds reason to complain about something entirely different.

“You guess?” he asks, his tone making it sound like he’s upset, but the playful spark in his gaze as he raises his eyebrows at you tells you he’s just fooling around.

“I mean… no, it’s a good thing,” you correct yourself, shooting him a thankful smile for attempting to cheer you up and then letting him pull you into a quick hug, before your mother starts calling everyone to the dinner table again in order to have dessert. It’s self-made chocolate cake, sweet just as you like it, and even though you know it couldn’t possibly match your boyfriend’s tastes, he still finishes his entire plate.

“This is why they like you so much,” you mutter eventually, when people start moving again to get ready for bed. “You’re risking a tummy ache just to make them happy.” He can’t say anything to that, having been caught red-handed by you, who wouldn’t not know his ulterior motive behind forcing himself through sugary hell. So instead, you get up, touching his shoulder lightly as you do. “Let’s get ready for bed too?”

You help your mother put the remaining plates and cutlery into the dishwasher before brushing your teeth and eventually moving to your old room with your boyfriend. Making yourselves comfortable under your blanket which is that much fluffier than the one you’re using at his place, you immediately feel sleep tugging at your bones and you let out a content sigh.

“Say…” you mumble, facing him as you’re both rolled over onto your sides. “You didn’t seem so anxious about possibly hurting me today.”

“Oh, you’re right,” he whispers a response, sounding as if he hadn’t really noticed that fact himself.

“Is it because we didn’t have much time?” you ask, grinning at the thought of your dirty little secret that you’re keeping from everyone else in the house. Jongho thinks for a short while, but then he shakes his head along with an “mh-mh” coming from his side.

“Because I trust you.” Your smile widens at his words. “I think the trust that you’ll say no if you want me to stop is finally bigger than the fear of accidentally hurting you…”

“That’s good,” you respond, reaching out to place your palm onto his cheek, squishing it lightly between your fingers and contrary to the expected reaction, Jongho merely raises his eyebrows at you slowly, as if he couldn’t properly process what you just did. Letting go of him, you move your hand towards the back of his head instead and your partner shows you a delayed shy smile. “I’m really glad for that,” you whisper, before you roll onto your back and he reaches out for your hand in order to place a goodnight kiss onto the back of it.

“Me too.”

#ateez smut #jongho smut #ateez x reader #ateez x fem reader #ateez x you #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #ateez series #ateez drabbles #jongho imagines #jongho x reader #smut

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ladytauria · 3 months ago

Note

*★,°*:.☆(￣▽￣)/$:*.°★* 。 When their partner comes from a fight, all injured, with a smile because they won. But they are not happy, because what the actual heck? - sladejay AWOOOO ♡

heheheh thank u so much for the prompt love <3 i had a good time writing it... thank u for all ur help with it, too~

Title: taking a bird in hand Rating: Explicit Pairing: Jason Todd/Slade Wilson Word Count: 8.7k

There are consequences to self-destruction.

>> AO3 <<

Jason's body throbs.

His shoulder aches from where he had to pop it back into place, and he can't put any weight on his left leg without his knee twinging in pain. Blood and sweat are sticky on his skin; his cuts sting where sweat drips into them.

All of the pain, all of the discomfort, is secondary to the way his blood sings.

His landing on the fire escape lacks its usual grace; the metal clatters beneath him, the railing shaking when he reaches out to stabilize himself. When his better leg is no longer wobbling under him, he disables the traps on the window and slips into the brownstone he shares with Slade.

Only after the shades are drawn and the traps have been reset does Jason fumble for the latches of his helmet. He pulls it off with a low, mechanical hiss. Cool air washes over his face, and he tips his head back to enjoy it, running a hand through his hair.

The living room light is on. Jason can see the back of Slade's head—can hear the rhythmic sound of metal scraping against stone. His mouth twitches as he straightens.

“Honey, I’m home,” he calls, waltzing toward the couch with a feral, predatory grin. “Did you miss me?”

Not for the first time, Jason is struck by how… normal Slade looks, when he's not clad in the Ikon suit. Sitting on their shared couch, wearing nothing but a Henley and loose sweats, he looks almost… domestic, save for the knife and whetstone in his hands. There are more knives laid out on the coffee table. Jason spots a few of his spares among them—some of his favorite cooking knives, too, alongside a separate whetstone.

He ignores the way that makes him feel a little fuzzy inside.

Instead, he lets himself drink in the sight of Slade. The top buttons of the Henley are undone, exposing his collarbone and a generous smattering of gray chest hair. Braced against the back of the couch, Jason has a great view down the front of it, and he takes shameless advantage of it.

Slade hums, drawing the blade of the knife over the stone before raising it up to examine it. Light glints off of the blade. “How was patrol?” he asks, the subtlest curl of warmth in his words. He sheaths the knife and twists to look up at him. “Did you—” He cuts himself off, brows knitting. “What the hell happened to you?”

Jason knows him well enough to know the bite in his voice is concern, not anger. “Oh, y'know. Couple'a assholes got in some lucky hits.” Jason shrugs. Nothing he couldn't handle. He trails his fingers over Slade's nape. “I could use a shower. Wanna join me?”

He’s rewarded with a shiver—but then Slade shakes his head, pulling away from Jason’s hand. “Kid, you need medical attention. Not sex.”

“Or…” Jason leans down so his lips are brushing Slade's ear, voice dipping into something low and suggestive. “We could do both.” It wouldn't hurt to take care of his injuries first, honestly—his knee could use a wrap, and the way the cut on his thigh throbs… he probably needs stitches. Then… maybe he can talk Slade into picking him up, fucking him against the shower wall. No risk of popping his stitches that way.

Jason pouts when Slade's only reply is a snort.

Slade sets the knife and whetstone aside before he stands and rounds the couch. Despite the irritation on his face, his grip on Jason’s arm is nothing but gentle as he steers him toward the bathroom.

The pace is too quick at first—Jason stumbles, nearly tripping over his own two feet. Slade immediately shifts, wrapping his arm around Jason’s waist instead.

“The bats just let you walk off like this?” Now the bite in his voice is definitely anger.

Jason’s brow furrows. “What bats?” There better not have been any bats in his territory tonight.

Slade stills. “The ones you called for backup.” His voice drops to something low. Dangerous. A lesser man would be looking for an exit.

Jason scoffs, rolling his eyes. “I didn’t need back-up.”

Not for a group of small-time thugs guarding a weapons shipment. Jason will begrudgingly admit that they were more skilled than he expected. They landed several good blows—but Jason gave as good as he got.

Better than he got, even, because in the end, he was the only one able to actually walk out of there. Sure, he feels like one big bruise, but he’s had worse. It only hurts to breathe a little.

Slade grunts, disbelieving.

Jason’s hackles raise. “I didn’t. I had it handled,” he bites. He goes to shrug Slade’s arm off, but he doesn’t get the chance before Slade manhandles him to the bathroom.

The easy way Slade moves him never fails to get him hot. Even now, when Slade is being obnoxiously careful with him, he can feel his pulse quicken, his stomach tighten.

As soon as Jason is perched on the closed toilet seat, Slade digs their first aid kit out from under the sink. It’s one of several spread throughout the brownstone, though this one is the most substantial. It takes up more than half the sink counter when Slade opens it.

“Armor off,” Slade orders gruffly.

“I can do this myself,” Jason grunts. He rises to his feet to do just that, but Slade stops him with a hand on his chest.

“You can.” The acknowledgement mollifies Jason… but only slightly. “Let me help anyway.”

Jason debates being difficult and refusing. However… he does want that shower. Preferably as soon as possible. He’s not above acting counter to his own interests just to be petty, but… This time, he decides it’s not worth it.

His shoulder muscles protest as he shrugs out of his jacket, but the pain is easy enough to ignore. He disables the traps on his armor with fingers far less graceful than usual, and then fumbles with the latches until finally, he gets it off. Jason lets both fall to the floor with a thud.

One of them will pick them up later.

He undoes his belt and pops the button on his tac pants, only to still as Slade kneels between his legs. His breath hitches; thighs spreading on reflex. His leg twinges.

Jason isn’t fast enough to hide his wince. Not from Slade.

Slade’s mouth tightens into a thin line. “Injury report?”

Jason rolls his shoulders carefully in response. “Dislocated my left shoulder. Popped it back in before I left. Twisted my knee. Got a cut that needs stitches… Normal bruises and scrapes.” He shrugs. “Nothin’ serious. I told you.”

Now that the adrenaline is starting to fade from his system, his side hurts a lot more than it did before. Breathing is a hell of a lot less comfortable. His left side always gives him trouble—he probably just aggravated the muscles or something.

Nothin’ a hot shower and a little endorphin rush can’t fix.

Although the way Slade is acting, he thinks the only action he’ll be seeing tonight is with his hand, and maybe a toy. Disappointing, but Jason will manage.

“Where’s the cut?” Slade asks, scanning Jason’s body.

“Outer thigh.” Jason taps his right leg.

Slade grunts. He goes for Jason’s boots first, deft fingers untying Jason’s laces and then dropping them neatly next to his armor. Jason rises as Slade tugs his tac pants down. The blood from his cut has started to dry; the fabric clinging to his skin and tugging at the edges of his injury. Worse, though, is the way Jason’s torso muscles protest. He grits his teeth against the pain, but he’s breathing a little more heavily when he settles again.

He’d be a fool to think that Slade didn’t notice.

The old man doesn’t say anything, though. Instead, he rises again, taking out a cloth and wetting it. His expression is tight; the blue of his eye stormy. Still, when he sweeps the cloth over Jason’s skin, he’s nothing but gentle.

There’s more blood than Jason thought. It turns the white cloth pink. Slade balls it up when he’s done and throws it into the sink. It smacks against the first aid kit, rattling it loudly enough Jason almost flinches. Normally, this is the part where Slade pets him like he's a spooked horse (and Jason despises the way it works, the way he instantly feels settled under Slade's touch). This time, though… Slade doesn't. He grips Jason's leg—still careful not to hurt him—and manipulates it to get a better look at the cut.

It leaves Jason feeling… disquieted.

He keeps his mouth shut.

The cut is maybe four inches long, though not very wide or deep, and definitely in need of stitches.

Jason looks away when Slade reaches for the local anesthetic. It’s not something he would normally allow himself, but—angry at him or not, he trusts Slade.

The pain of the needle is brief, and followed by a numbing sensation that spreads down his thigh. Slade reaches for the suturing kit. Jason leans back and closes his eyes. The feeling is more acute this way, even dulled as it is, but it’s better than watching the needle drive in and out of his skin.

He doesn’t open his eyes again until he hears the soft snip of the thread being cut. Slade’s stitching is neat and precise. He doubts it will leave much of a scar—if any at all.

Slade wraps a bandage around Jason’s thigh to protect the cut, and then he sits back on his haunches, lifting Jason’s leg carefully to examine his knee. The flesh is swollen and tender, hurting no matter how gently Slade touches him. He hums, and then gets out a wrap, binding Jason’s knee tightly.

“Satisfied?” Jason asks. His voice is hoarser than he expected. He clears his throat.

“No. Shirt off. I don’t like the way your breathing sounds.”

Jason huffs. There’s nothing wrong with his breathing. “I’m fine,” he says. “I just need a shower.”

Slade’s eye narrows. “Humor me.”

Jason huffs again, but this time he listens.

It’s not like he won’t have to strip anyway, he supposes. He tugs his undershirt off—or, he starts to. His side screams when he goes to raise it over his head, causing him to drop the shirt with a low, pained groan. Slade is there immediately, smoothing a hand down Jason’s back. Jason leans into the comfort without thinking.

Slade waits until the pain has faded, Jason's muscles loosening, before gripping his shirt and pulling it up. He guides the arm on Jason's uninjured side through the hole and lifts the shirt over his head and down the injured arm so Jason doesn't have to raise it. Then, he sits back on his heels.

The set of his mouth grows tighter.

Jason follows his gaze, looking down at his side. It’s bruised a splotchy purple, and Jason grimaces.

Okay, so maybe Slade had cause to be worried.

Slade mutters an apology before his fingers start probing at Jason’s side, pushing down on each rib. At first, the pain is… manageable, but then—

Jason hisses, full body cringing away from Slade’s touch.

Fuck.

Jason is acutely familiar with the pain of a cracked rib. God fucking dammit. He’s going to be laid up for weeks. Three, at least.

“We’ll do x-rays in a bit.” Slade stands again. “Stay here.” He fills one of the small paper cups they keep in the bathroom and hands it to Jason alongside two capsules of Tylenol.

Jason downs them without complaint.

“Still think you didn’t need back-up?” Slade asks him, his voice low.

Jason scoffs. “I walked out of there, didn’t I?”

Slade clenches his jaw. His eye grows stormy. “If one of them was even slightly luckier, you wouldn’t have.”

“They weren’t.” It’s Jason’s turn to stand, then. His bad knee is on the same side as his potentially-cracked rib, so as long as he keeps his weight on his right side, it’s not so bad. Slade’s hands settle on his waist, steadying him. Even now, in the face of Slade’s anger, there’s still a part of Jason that relishes in the way they make him feel small.

“They could have been,” Slade snaps, holding Jason just a little bit tighter. Jason half-expects him to shake him.

“But they weren’t,” Jason stresses. His grip on Slade tightens a little. God. He’s so tired all of the sudden. He doesn’t want to argue—he wants to shower. Sleep. He doesn’t want to have to deal with Slade’s displeasure. His disappointment. “I—Can we not, right now?”

Slade studies him.

Jason doesn’t know what he sees, but whatever it is... he nods. “Yeah, kid. We can talk about it later.”

Jason expects him to leave, but he doesn’t. He stays right where he is… and Jason is grateful for it as he slumps. He lets his head fall forward to rest on Slade’s shoulder, where he breathes in the scent of him. Slade holds him up, holds him steady, until Jason is ready to pull away.

>> continue reading on AO3 <<

#sladejay #jayde #tauriawritesfanfic #tauriawritessmut #asks and answers #prompt fills #paprikadotmp4 #dcu

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redux-iterum · 16 days ago

Note

One of the things I love about this redux is that you take into consideration how bad an idea forcing people to do stuff they don’t wanna do is.

Think about it. If a seer hates their job then not only are they going to be miserable, but the people around them are too. Force one person to be utterly miserable in a way their family doesn’t approve of and suddenly its also the business of friends of the family and then that can spiral out real easy.

Forcing cats to have kits will lead to dead kittens. Forcing cats to do a job they don’t wanna do means the job won’t get done properly. The negative effects of that kind of pressure WILL build tension in the community and a community as small and insular as a clan is will struggle not to come apart under the strain.

The original clans struggled to feel like a community at all, let alone a tightly-knit, closed-off, and small one. But here, I can actually see how these cats are able to survive at all. Community is the name of the game here—the ability to remain a cohesive and efficient unit even in times of stress is and has been what determines if a group of people live or die. Here, especially, trust and care are paramount.

If these cats do not want to make this work then they are just as dead as if they starved to death. And it’s really nice to have an author that takes that part seriously, because even if it’s supposedly ‘less cool’ there is a reason soft power is still called power. Community matters! People who have their agency stepped upon WILL fuck your day up and make it your problem, and if that happens enough times then somebody’s going to wise up enough to have some common sense!

Repeatedly making people take up med cat duties is repetitive and lazy. It’s also just…absolutely, obviously counterproductive. It feels like the Erins don’t take them or their queens seriously. Which in the originals ends up being ‘the pregnant women that are probably close family to you have no sway or relevance to anything ever outside of motherhood which is NOT the future of your whole community and is instead A STUPID WASTE OF TIME’ and ‘the doctors we somehow have don’t matter even though we live in a community where BATTLE is referenced in our main code of law.’

Like. It’s bad? It’s misogynistic and wrong but it’s also just bad worldbuilding. There is no way a community of 30 people can manage to both 1) not highly value their pregnant people AND 2) last more than a generation AND 3) not piss off both those pregnant people and their family who can totally realistically make up a full 1/6 of your total community. There is no way a bunch of battle cats would, like, not value hypothetical doctors they have.

Anyways. All of this was a ramble but mostly just—you thought this through and I love that a lot. Like, this manages to feel like an actual society, and that is hard hard hard to accomplish when societies are made up of so many moving pieces which sometimes work against each other at random. So, thank you for writing! And rewriting! Because this is one of the best things in the whole wide world and my favorite warriors cats thing ever.

Thank you very much for this ask, my man! Well thought-out and a very interesting discussion to springboard off of.

The canon Clans always felt like they had...how to word it... "misplaced power", if that makes sense. It was, of course, in service of the plot, but that involved things like an entire Clan who hates their leader just obeying him because We Have To, No Matter How Evil Or Incompetent He Is. Mentors could bully their apprentices freely because the leader, deputy and family of the apprentice wouldn't step up and punish the mentor. Deputy mollies lose all power the instant they get pregnant, even though tom deputies can have as many families as they want and still remain in their position, and no one says anything about how unfair this is.

There's a lack of thought towards how powerful a community really can be, or how even one individual can make change by standing strong and refusing orders. It comes with this weird stupidity everyone gains when a villain needs to progress with their plans - no one asks questions about the power structure, or defends anybody for longer than a couple lines - but, moreover, it comes with a lack of bonds between characters. Even siblings don't speak up for each other, because they're not close or don't express their familial love. There's just a rigid structure that the plot and lore adheres to without examining how easily this structure can fall apart. Unless we need it to fall apart for whatever storyline we have this arc, and then it'll be back in place by the end of things, so it's fine.

#ask #rufuslupislupis #writing #i speak

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she-posts-nerdy-stuff · 6 months ago

Text

Intro post! + links to everything :)

Hi, I'm DK and this blog is mostly full of me talking about the Six of Crows and the rest of the Grishaverse! (and I'm also on AO3 as she_posts_nerdy_stuff)

It's occurred to me recently that I never did an intro post and also I'm just generally feeling that things over here are super disorganised so I've gone through all of my posts since 2022 (this was not a quick task you guys omg) and done my best to organise everything into tags so that you can access them all from here! All the links to the tags, or sometimes individual posts, are below the cut, and the categories are AO3, Grishaverse analysis, Grishaverse edits, Grishasverse knitting projects, and Grishaverse incorrect quotes.

Please note: this is a lot of stuff to wade through and I am sure to have missed the odd thing, but hopefully this is pretty mch everything! If you're looking for something that I've said should be here and can't find it, let me know and I'll do my best to track it down :)

Thank you all so much, love to you all <3

AO3 LINKS (I'm starting with the easier links, I don't have to make tags for these ones)

Original works

As I'm writing this I have four fics up on AO3, two of which are works in progress, and I'll update this post whenever that changes (ie when I finish them or when I start a new one)

UPDATE: Five fics now! Links are below <3

Daughter of the Rain and Snow

225k words, 146 chapters, Kanej focused with Wesper featured and Helnik kinda mentioned, post-canon, no archive warnings, completed

Summary:

Around ten years after the events of Crooked Kingdom, 25-year-old Captain Inej Ghafa frees Maya Olsen from a pleasure house in Ketterdam. Maya is looking for revenge against the man who put her in her position, a man who she knows nothing about except his name: Kaz Brekker.

Don't Go Blindly Into The Dark

100k + words, 60+ chapters, Wesper focused with Kanej featured and Helnik mentioned, pre-canon, canon divergence, no archive warnings, work in progress

Summary:

To hide that he can't read, Jan Van Eck has been forcing his son to pretend he's blind since he was eight years old. Wylan is now attending Ketterdam University, and meeting Jesper Fahey may very well be about to change his life. But is he safe to tell Jesper the truth? And what will Jesper say if he does?

Jesper is struggling to weigh up his life in the Barrel and his life at the University of Ketterdam, and there's a good chance that his growing debt is about to make the decision for him. He hasn't attended class consecutively for months, but maybe that will change when his newest project includes partnering up with Wylan Van Eck. But can he really leave the Barrel behind him? And how long can he keep up the pretence of who he thinks Wylan wants him to be?

Meanwhile there is a darkness growing in Ketterdam, and it seems a killer may be stalking the streets of West Stave. An unknown evil is closing its jaws over the city, and it’s starting to feel like nowhere is safe.

Our Gods Have Abandoned Us

19k + words, 11 chapters, Helnik and Kanej with Wesper kinda featured, so much angst, post-canon, canon-divergence (Van Eck wins AU), major character death, work in progress

This one properly started with this post

Summary:

"Of course they do, Jes," Kaz flexed his fingers in his gloves, "That's what losing a war means. And when that war comes, Kerch can't afford for Shu Han to win it. They'll back Fjerda against Ravka now so that when Shu Han turn against them Fjerda will back them in return. Ravka's navy will fall to Kerch's, most of Ravka's territory will go to Fjerda and if it has any money left then I expect plenty of it will be given to Kerch as part of the deal. The Shu will move against Fjerda to take back the territories they were trying to win from Ravka, and Fjerda will pay them little mind until they declare war on Kerch. Novyi Zem will back Shu Han, because they still think their trade ambassador was killed by the Kerch in what was actually Shu Han's last attempt to start a war over here, Fjerda will back Kerch, refugees will flee to the Wandering Isle and their economy won't be able to withstand it, and meanwhile I will remain exactly where I am and get drunk toasting to the end of the world. You're all welcome to join me,"

OR -

A Van Eck wins AU, mostly exploring how the Crows would respond to the situation but I have some semblance of a larger plot forming I just need to piece it together

If I'm Good Will You Come Back?

2k words, 1 chapter, sad and angst, gen but Helnik mentioned, canon compliant, major character death, completed

Summary:

Five times Matthias Helvar spoke to his baby sister through Djel, and one time that she answered

I’ve put major character death as a tag but it’s nothing beyond canon, it’s just depicted in this fic from a slightly different perspective 👍

Portrait of a Dead Girl

7 chapters so far, gen but also F/M, Alina and the Darkling are in a relationship in this but it isn't shipping them and the Darkling is the villain, canon divergence, alternate universe, rape/non-con, underage, major character death, work in progress

Summary:

Alina Starkov was given to Duke Aleksander Morozova of Os Alta in marriage when she was fifteen years old. Within a year, she was dead. The official cause of Alina's death was marked as putrid fever, but many at the time believed, and many in the future will go on to believe, that she was poisoned by her husband.

This fic is completely inspired by The Marriage Portrait by Maggie O'Farrel, which is a work of historical fiction based on the real lives of Duchess Lucrezia d'Este (née de' Medici) and Duke Alfonso ii d'Este of Ferrara. You don't need any prior knowledge of The Marriage Portrait or history to read and enjoy this fic, but know that my writing is very much going to mimic that of O'Farrel in format and although I'm hoping to write the story in my personal usual writing style I will definitely be borrowing a lot of my descriptors, symbols, and so on and so forth from O'Farrel - there will be some of mine too though :)

Somehow, Through The Storm

11 chapters so far but ongoing, kanej-centric with wesper and helnik featured, angst like you wouldn't believe, but also some happier times (ish), alternate universe, major character death, rape/non-con, work in progress

Summary:

In the slums of the Warehouse District, Kaz and Inej are struggling their way through a seemingly unending winter. Wrapped up in a stranger's overcomplicated marriage contract that he is convinced is key to solving the merciless weather, Kaz remains busy and distracted for days on end, putting everything else at risk. So when a storm ravages the city and sweeps Inej into danger, the offer of safety, food, and a place to stay is an overwhelming one - no matter the cost. Terrified of mounting threats, Inej signs a contract - not knowing she would land herself trapped at the Menagerie. Kaz signs a contract that states if he can walk all the way through the city and back to the Warehouse District with Inej behind him, never looking back at her, they will both go free. But this is the Barrel, the darkest part of the city where the rules of physics can change with the stroke of a pen; the journey back will not be the same as journey there… * This is a Hadestown-inspired reimagining of the tale of Orpheus and Eurydice, casting Kaz and Inej as our main characters and heavily featuring our beloved Crows, set in an alternate version of the Grishaverse with a different magic system based entirely on contracts.

Recommendations

Posts where I'm recommending fics can be found here

GRISHAVERSE ANALYSIS LINKS

Okay this is gonna be where this starts getting complicated to organise but here we go, and hopefully now that I have this as a place to keep it organised I'll be able to routinely come back here and update it so we can keep it all together :)

Assorted analysis - Grishaverse

Grishaverse asks

-> subcategory of asks: 'DK finally gets it together and answers her asks because it's about damn time (working title)'

Chapter-by-chapter SOC analysis

(NOTE: I've really been meaning to bring this series back I just haven't had time, are people still interested??)

Specific posts (I've put these ones here because they're generally the ones people ask to be tagged in or that I reference in other posts)

Kanej bathroom scene analysis

Kaz and Wylan's potential to become each other

Rare Spices Billboard

Inej vs the Wraith

Kaz's views on hierarchy

Religion in the Grishaverse (this one is mostly Djel and a little bit of the Saints; I did also write a lot in a reblog of a really good post on Ghezenism by @skepticalcatfrog as well so if you're interested in either part of that you can find it here, I would highly recommend reading their post it's really interesting)

Shadow and Bone TV show analysis

GRISHAVERSE EDIT LINKS

I'm not really sure how to organise this one but all of them are tagged here

If people would like me to I could come back and try to arrange them by character or ship or something?

GRISHAVERSE KNITTING LINKS

Most of the time when I post about this stuff I give updates on all of them, but if you happen to want to filter them (or if I need to come back looking for something specific) then here are the projects:

Kefta cardigan

Six of Crows blanket

Toy crows of the Crows

GRISHAVERSE INCORRECT QUOTES

I organised these by their sources because there were too many for me to choose another way to sort them tbh

Text posts I made based on things my friends and I have actually said. In real life. - the series

Source: friends

Source: the completely made up adventures of Dick Turpin

Source: community

Source: Parks and Rec

Source: the good place

Source: modern family

Source: our flag means death

Source: ghostbusters

Source: renegade nell

Source: the office

Source: young sheldon

Source: the cornetto trilogy

Source: big bang theory

Source: what we do in the shadows

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bunji-enthusiast · 3 months ago

Note

Hii omg I already love your work!! Is there maybe a chance you could do a domestic Mael fic, since Estarossa already got one? 👀 Post canon x reader (and with a little bit of angst.. maybe... 👉👈)

Admist The Crash Of Worlds

Summary || Amongst the barren lands and hilltops, the ruins in which the once-dead angel had reformed back to reality, pulling yourself together is a difficulty. It was a long time coming after all.

A/N: HELLLLOOO YES! Happy to write it for you, I hope this is what you imagined. Im also happy to accept any criticism of my writing as well, I feel as if I'm not writing certain scenes or tropes (about anything in general) well enough, so if anon or any other ones reading this have advice to offer, please do so!

"Ow." A pain expression twisted amongst your rested face.

You yanked your hand back after you had felt the splice of pain shoot through your hand, garnering a look of concern from Mael, who was your company. He held your hand immediately, taking a mental note of your injury; "Not too bad, you almost had me worried friend."

The reasoning behind such a small thing, seemed to be embarrassing enough on its own. You had reached for the wall of stone, adorned with great detail and crevices of stories, which had been lined with thorns.

Letting out a sheepish laugh you shook your head, watching as he healed the small injury. The way your flesh had knitted itself back together was almost terrifying, but reassuring as the healing process had been sped up by Mael's healing ability. He sorely was something to behold, even despite past atrocities he had no knowledge of engaging in. The archangel was purely himself now, which was the hugest reassurance in itself. You were rather surprised at how quickly the goddess had adjusted back to reality after the long-time malignant pain of three-thousand years.

But even though you knew beneath such an exterior, he was still largely burdened -- weighed down by the troubles of murdering innocents, nearly killing the ones he holds dear to his heart and about regaining his original identity after so long.

In the past, you had not known of him. You hadn't met him before he became Estarossa, so you had not been affected by the spell which had transformed the memories of all that had known the archangel. Before the New Holy War had ended, you did indeed cross paths with his brother Ludociel, at first impression; he was seemingly rather arrogant and prudent. Yet as time passed, you could tell the leader of Stigma was burdened with great sadness and cared greatly for Mael. Seeing the shock on Ludociel's face had you sympathizing for him, just simply imagining that where your brother was all along, alive after thousands of years, must be painful to know.

Mael let go of your hand with careful caution, watching as you had twisted and adjusted it with peculiarity. Seeing as you looked genuinely happy to feel more okay had lit a fire of happiness in his own chest. He was glad he could be the cause of your expression of happiness.

Your eyes flit to his face, not to his own, just somewhere. "Thanks, Mael." You weren't sure if you could handle looking at his eyes, so that was the next best thing.

In a way, to stare at the sun was to be burned, and you simply couldn't dare to stare at his eyes. To hold eye contact, would sincerely result in you getting very, very embarrassed.

"Of course," He drawled, "Don't want you getting hurt next time, so be careful, will you?"

"Yeah." You muttered, shaking your head in affirmed agreement to Mael's words. Beginning to walk alongside him as you traversed the roadside, lamenting your previous actions before you had come up here with the archangel. Somewhat having a twinge of regret to agreeing to meeting Mael as you had a sparsely dense fear of heights, so you tried your best to keep away from the edges of the island.

After some time, you had decided to break the silence to pass the time. "I never noticed how beautiful the Celestial Realm is, I wished I could've seen it all sooner." You commented, taking the look around.

Mael turned his gaze to see what you were doing, a light chuckle escaping him as he had seen the expression simply lighting up the beautiful colors in your eyes.

"Rarely there had been anyone able to tend to the realm, so it was most likely the best you had not seen it in such a wretched state." He said, shrugging his shoulders with a forlorn expression. You turned back, letting out a sigh; then an idea struck you.

"If anything nature is taking back what was hers." You replied, balling your hand into a fist. Mael listened with inquisitive interest, humming as he heard you speak. "In a way, she was keeping it nice until someone could return to take care of it."

"That's..." He trailed off, then nodded slowly with a small smile, "Truly a good perspective."

You let off an intrepid smile of your own, "You don't have to personally look at it that way, but it can be a thought for reconciliation if you feel down in the dumps again." You lifted your hand, flicking his forehead which caused him to grimace, holding his forehead as he soothed the aching area.

"What was that for?" He winced, then you sighed, your brows furrowing for a brief moment.

Coming to stop, you rested your hands on your hips. "Getting depressed is not like you Mael, have hope." You pronounced, "Otherwise you won't get anything done."

Once he had been done soothing the sore area on his forehead, he chuckled, a genuine up-turning of his lips forming into a smile, something real this time around; "I'll keep that in mind."

"Will you?" You postulated, raised your brow.

"I will, it's my promise." He replied, a more firm tone taking residence.

You sighed, almost deflating as you walked forward once more, putting the two of you back on track to the main building on the island.

Mael sauntered along behind you, almost taking a more protective stance as he watched you. "Forgive my asking," Mael asked, leaving you to nod as a way to encourage him to ask his clearly wanting to know question, "How have you come to know the Seven Sins?"

"Oh those guys?" You repeated, a small smirk curling your lips. "We met a little ways back at the Edinburgh castle ten years ago." You raise your hands as the two of you reached the doorway, pushing it open with a grunt, yet it was immediately heaved open by Mael's efforts. You shook your head with a sigh, walking in as Mael waited for you to continue. "They were sent on a mission to capture Edinburgh, to take it back from the vampires that overran the castle."

"Ah the vampires?" He questioned, watching as you nodded with affirmation.

"I was actually one of the many, but I was just an accomplice of the vampires." You muttered with slight uncertainty, trailing off somewhat as you held your wrist. "Meliodas is truly one terrifying captain when he gets that way." Mael's eyes widened in surprise as he heard that sentence, clicking his jaw as he searched for words to even respond -- fill the silence surely.

"What do you mean?" He murmured, his eyes flitting to your appearance moving about the room, leaving traces of magic behind each of your steps. Each and every sound of your footsteps leaving resounding echoes in the stapes of his ears, "Did he do something to you?"

Your head shot back around, raising your hands and flailing about, "N-no! no..." You sighed, relaxing as you saw him loosen up now. "Sometimes, when someone can prove such power and exertion, it just reminds me of how weak I can be if I really tried to go against them."

He breathlessly murmured your name, leaving your eyes to flit to his eyes for once, "ah well, Meliodas was actually very nice. Reasonable out of the rest of the sins, because of him I was able to become friends with the sins."

"I see," Mael replied, almost relieved. "Meliodas truly is something else, I'll admit." He added with a forlorn smile, almost envious of the demon. The archangel sincerely wished he could be half as good or something even closer, to be a voice of reason and pure genuine connection. Mael knew though, that perhaps one day he'd be at that point, someone undeniably pure and a pinnacle of strength for those who know him.

"Don't doubt yourself." You snapped him out of his deepened thoughts, "Are you doing that again?"

He chuckled warmly, "No, just thinking."

"Okay."

You said, "How've you been with, uh," You tilted your head, "Ludociel and all?" You asked after a few moments of silent awkwardness.

Mael seemed to sincerely think about his answer, leaving you to snigger as you walked around, checking out the tapestry that told stories and the worn out walkways lighted by goddess magic stones. Then the ceiling, which was adorned with great chandeliers,

"Okay, I think." He verbalized with a slight hint of finality. Watching as you admired the gait of the environment once forgotten. "I must ask you to forgive me, I haven't been able to tend to this area just yet."

It was indeed true however, as he had begun watching over the realm — as there were no other living goddesses in existence at the moment — it was all sorts of trials and tribulations in order to clean up the isles, to reorganize and regain what was once lost. In due part to the former supreme deity that he had gained the authority to do so, to restore the celestial realm back to its former glory. All in itself was proving to be quite the difficulty, but Mael knew without a shadow of a doubt that the rewards would be worth it.

Yet the one thing he really wanted, was you.

No, no, no, he couldn't just spring that on you. Not then and especially not now.

Mael formed attachments too easily sometimes, loved too easily even.

But for now, he was content watching the gleaming life in your eyes. The boundless energy you exuded in such a way that had may as well already bring the less than tidy environment back to life. Which was in a way, refreshing, invigorating.

"Oh what's this?" You brought your hand to a wall, desolate, without decoration. Yet there were lines, indent to show an outline of a hidden doorway.

Mael traversed the space in careful steps, coming to your side as he tried to figure out the mystery. Then it struck him as he chuckled, "It leads to a deck, mostly purposed for watching the sky."

"So say if you wanted to watch the sun rise..." You trailed off with a knowing smile, your gaze moving to his, then the archangel immediately understood as he shook his head with a grin. Stepping forward, he reached his large hand to the uppermost middle of the door, ushering it open with one quick incantation. The door shuddered, and dust fell out as the door slid to the right, allowing light to peek in and fully light the way.

Mael gestured for you to go first, and so you did, not wanting to waste any time as you jogged forward. He was albeit surprised at your speed, but he decided to respond in kind, his feet leaving the ground as he flew behind you.

The sky seemingly stretched for endless dominations, centuries and centuries of memories the ethereal eyes had watched. Tears and love, rage and war, had all resided right on the surface of the earth. Seemingly every litle thing told stories, which had proven true to for as long as one can remember. You were in awe, gasping as the wisps of clouds traveling by. The sun shone brightly, a lamp light to show the way for travelers and kindreds alike.

You slowed to a stop, feeling the breeze cross on by and tickling the nape of your neck. It is all there it was, and all it ever will be.

Mael watched as you slowed, stopping to gaze at the breath of Lady Luck. He slowed down himself, his feet hitting the stone cobble of ground and the four wings furling in on themselves. He stepped forward, once then twice.

"It's..." You murmured, feeling the coldness of the breeze bite at your nose and cheeks.

"Beautiful?" He added for you, watching as you nodded in agreement. You clearly seemed to be rather in awe of the view, but he doesn't fully understand why. Mael always saw this particular type of viewing anywhere he went when he flew, so he was rather desensitized to the concept.

"Not something I see everyday, even the beauty of the sun gets better up here." You commented, "How wonderful."

"I suppose it is." He laughed faintly, coming up to your side as you watched him, "Goddesses who feel at loss, or want to be alone come here. Though there was few who knew of this spot."

"I can see why," You interjected, returning your gaze to the vast expanse of the ever eternal sky.

You walked toward the opening of the railing, and sat down. He hummed questioningly, following you once more and copying your movements. Mael had hoped you didn't mind he did so, "I am glad you decided to come here."

"Me too." You responded immediately, smiling upon him as you briefly glance at him. Mael's lips were agape, yet his jaw stilled. The immense beauty, handsome or beautiful, was rather distinct of your features.

The colors shone brightly again, it was again that the colors radiated, leaving him with a sense of fulfillment he had never felt before.

In the rays of the sun, he would be there, as you would be there for them.

To the once demon, to Mael, the archangel whom once held the Grace of the sun.

It was always enough.

#nanastu no taizai mael #mael x reader #7ds mael #mael seven deadly sins #seven deadly sins mael #nnt mael #mael nnt #mael 7ds #seven deadly sins x reader #nnt manga #nnt x reader #7ds x reader

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acupofqueercoffee · 1 year ago

Text

“Caught in a web, drunk on love”

Shutara Senjumaru x Reader

wc : 3100

cw : not really unrequited love // jealousy // misunderstandings // a sprinkle of drama // fluffy floofs

well what can i say. she’s so mommy and i’m a hoe for mommies so i couldn’t help it. always wanted to write something for her but i was just needing that little push which obviously her bankai gave me 😩

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Spider. A creature you have never been too big of a fan of. Those creepy crawlers with their beady eyes and fuzzy limbs are, and will always be the genesis of your nightmares. Simply the idea of the word will forever have dread burgeoning within you and ice cascading down your spine, or so you have believed. Why, then, are flowers blooming inside your chest as you watch the bane of your existence weaving a web? In other words, you are atrociously, irreversibly, positively, and utterly fucked.

In the Soul King Palace, you are one of the less important guards under the direct command of one Shutara Senjumaru. Less important of course than the esteemed Royal Guards, but certainly on par with the strongest of shinigamis. Although there is no official title to it, your position beside your lady is an equivalent of a Lieutenant down in Seireitei.

Ever since the beginning, the divine general of the north, with her onyx hair and golden halo, eyes oozing with mesmerism, and lips a delightful red, but the most arresting of all, her spindly automatonic limbs sprouting from her back like six unworldly wings, has reminded you of a spider: one that is elegant and teeming with splendour. The lady’s introduction into your life has seeded in you a habit of conjuring up her face whenever you see or even think of your once-dreaded friends. In fact, when you think of an eight-legged crawler, you are rarely thinking of one and very much thinking of the six artificially limbed stunner. Hence, you are decisively fucked.

In pursuit of comfort, your hand, as if having a mind of its own, glide towards your waist where a knitted red charm dwells, the tassel of which dangles from the white sash of your uniform. Running delicate fingers along the intricate patterns of fine silk, your lips flourish into a smile.

From socks to scarfs and whatnots, your lady, the great weaver as her name suggests, has tailored many a thing for you. Not only has she remedied a great many holes in your battle worn uniforms, she has also graciously showered you with a miscellany of pristine garments. After all, artisanship is your lady’s forte, occurring as naturally as breathing to her, and her six hands are either sewing, knitting, embroidering or doing all three of it at the same time. She does it with such great finesse and dexterity that she may as well be carving a statue of herself out of your heart, for it worships the very ground she walks on.

When you notice her presence, you smell it before you hear it. Delightfully floral with a touch of dark undertones, heavenly, mysterious and so undoubtedly her.

“It was my understanding that you have a strong dislike for them, no?”

Comes the mesmerising lilt of her voice, glazed with a trickle of tease, and you smile a little, knowing smile, bringing your gaze from the spider to its human counterpart.

“I’ve steadily started finding them charming I’m afraid.” The little blossom of a smile on your lips once you search her eyes is that of softness. Your lady regards you coolly with a barely noticeable smile, drenched in enigma by her siren-eyed gaze, the caress of which is well-nigh tangible on your face. It does a quick travel to your waist, and upon finding the gift that you carry on your body since acquiring it, a hum spills forth a pair of bewitching, blood-red lips.

“Walk with me.”

You take the hand that she offers, smooth, spindly and rather ample in size that you are only truly able to grasp two of her lithe digits.

“With pleasure, my lady.”

“Am I allowed to wonder what exactly is the architect of your change in impression of arachnid? You of yore would flee the site if she so much as catches a glimpse of an itsy-bitsy one, I’m sure.”

You love that she remembers things about you the way you do things about her. She fancies her tea with a drizzle of honey. Not unlike a spider, she does have eight arms, the two of which are of her own flesh and blood, and because she keeps them hidden under her cloak at all times, only a handful of people have witnessed them. You have, during a visit to the hot spring in Kirinden. Nobody has given her a gift personally hand crafted by them, so when you have made for her a braided charm, a very clumsy attempt at that, she has told you that she would cherish it, and cherish it, she does. Despite it being faulty, it has found its forever home tucked safely in the red sash of her outfit, the tassel of it peeking out from under her haori with every elegant step she takes. Playful banter is her favourite pastime and it amuses her greatly that you indulge her. So once again, you do.

“You have every liberty to wonder, my lady. The decision to answer lies in my hand after all. I will say this though, it’s who rather than what.”

“My,” So she drawls in a tone that deliciously tickles your spine, and when she stops, you do too, watching as lips reveal teeth in a kittenish smile. “is that so?”

You have an inkling that to an extent, she knows of your fondness for her, evident in the way she humors you. Judging from her behaviors, she does not appear entirely opposed to it, and you might even go as far as saying that there is a good chance of her considering you should you confess.

Suddenly, a droplet touches your cheek. In the small interval of time that it takes for you to look up, your lady has expertly woven an umbrella out of thin air, all the while her one hand holds onto yours. By the time a drizzle escalates to a downpour, you are well under the protection of your lady’s masterful craft. However, your heart is going haywire, for the space between the two of you has considerably narrowed when your eyes meet. Leaning forward, a cool pad of a thumb presses a delicate kiss onto your cheek, caressing the wetness away from your face which inadvertently leaves a pink tinge in its wake.

“Let’s call it a day, shall we?”

At your nod of approval, she adjusts her hold on you, slipping her fingers just so that your hands are intertwined together. The tips of her robotic digits easily reach your wrist, and when the cool pad of her thumb gingerly traces the hummingbird flutter of your pulse, the little creature coos inside your ribcage.

Roses are red.

The sky is blue.

And oh how you love Senjumaru.

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“Yoohoo Shutara, look who I found dilly-dallying around!”

The guffaw of Hikifune jolts Senjumaru out of her bath induced reverie. Her head tilts, propped up by her fist, the dark waterfall of her hair swaying slightly as her eyes lazily search her friend.

Think of the devil and the devil is here.

A ghost of a smile graces her lips, for she finds you tucked under the arm of the ruler of grain. It has been a while after all since the two of you have spent time together.

“Can you please unhand me?” More laughter ensues, louder this time, and your request is effectively nipped in the bud. Ruffling your hair, she tugs you closer to the point that you are smothered by her generous bosoms.

“Lady Hikifune, you- you’re-”

Killing me with your breasts! You wanted to say, but instead, you are left a sputtering mess.

“My my, haven’t you bagged yourself a cutie, Shutara!”

Granted, Senjumaru would find the sweet strawberry shade on your cheeks ridiculously charming, that is, if it had been a product of her doing. Certainly not after you have just been called a cutie by a woman who has her breasts shoved into your face.

And so, she rises with all the grace of a nymph, droplets on her body twinkling like little diamonds in the soft light.

“Why Kirio, I thank you on behalf of my girl for escorting her to me,” Meanwhile, she has effortlessly drawn you into her arms, one of which is slithering across your waist. Alas, the little wasp has been caught in a spider’s web. “but if I do recall, you have matters to attend to, have you not? By all means, do not let us hinder you.”

“Ugh now my mood is spoiled, thank you very much Shutara.” The divine general of the south’s voice drips with sarcasm, and that of the north replies just as sarcastically. “Of course.”

“On another note, I smell ya later cutie!”

With a wink thrown towards your way, the cheery general is gone.

“Wild woman.” Murmurs Senjumaru as two fingers pinch the bridge of her nose.

You on the other hand, through the flimsy fabric of your robe, can feel her body pressing into your back; all the ridges and the valleys, every dip and dent, and lord is she so wonderfully soft.

Suddenly, along with a ghost of a breath on the shell of your ear, her voice greets you. “Hello there, my girl.” Like a dollop of butter on a pile of warm, fluffy pancakes, you melt, all giddy and toasty inside. “Now that you’re here, could I trouble you to give my hair a wash?”

“It’s no trouble at all. I’d be delighted to.” You do not dare turn lest your legs fail you, and in a desperate need of a moment of reprieve for your sorry little heart, you chance a glance at her. “Why don’t you go relax in the water, my lady. I’ll be right with you.”

There is a beat of silence before you feel hands on your hips and a delicate touch of lips on your nape.

“Do not keep me waiting for too long.”

The milkiness of her skin practically glows in the warm water while her luscious mane, like the finest of silks, effortlessly slips through your fingers. The urge to bury your nose in her silky smooth strands is strong, but not as strong as the urge to nuzzle your face in the exquisite beauty of a neck that is captivating you from beneath those onyx mane. Lost in a daydream, you do not realise that you have paused amidst your task until your lady turns towards you. Without so much as a warning, she pulls you into the pool. The sorry excuse of a cloth on your body gives way to water, and you mirror your lady in that you are now thoroughly soaked and bare.

Her gaze roams, and you notice the exact moment that the warm mischievous glint in her eyes goes glacial. She has seen your body, or rather the marks peppered across your neck and chest in varying shades of red. Her face is unreadable, the very picture of aloofness, and although it stings, although it seems as if a chasm has suddenly appeared between the two of you, you try to bridge it, take a step, an olive branch of sorts. It is your darkest nightmare comes true however when she avoids the hand that reaches for her, a look of, dare you say, disgust etched onto her face, and without so much as a word, she takes leave.

What have you done wrong, you do not understand.

All you know is that you feel discarded as though you are but a stale meal.

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To have been branded by this enchantress of a woman and afterwards carry the very traces of herself on your body, even with a good chance that she will no longer have any recollection of your little moment together, has filled you with bliss as much as having her mouth on your flesh did.

Although her mien has betrayed nothing and she was the very picture of poise, you knew she was drunk as soon as endearments fell freely from her lips. “My darling sweetheart” so she has called you, and you have been too naive, too lovesick to believe that, albeit being under the influence of liquor, she has peppered you with kisses while thinking of you, while still being aware that it was on your body that she was leaving her traces. Alas, it has never crossed your mind that you would turn out to be a cheap substitute for the one she truly desires.

“Oi oi Lady Senjumaru has brought a girl to her palace.”

When you have heard such murmurs amongst the guards, as selfish as it is, you were hoping it to be a falsehood.

Your little glimmer of a hope is crushed into smithereens once you are summoned to her chambers only to have your heart join the pile of dust on the ground. Nestled in your lady’s arms like a baby bird, a naked girl mewls and trembles whilst red lips leave messy kisses along her jaw and down the length of her neck.

The spider is making a show of devouring its prey, but instead of fear, you fall victim to pain, oh wretched, unforgiving pain. She is being deliberately cruel because ultimately, you are an audience to this play only due to her invitation.

“My darling little sweetheart.” And you watch, drenched in melancholy, as your lady savours the lips of someone who is not you.

Oh.

“You.” Comes the voice, indifferent unlike the loving coo that was just uttered to the girl cradled close to her chest. “I want you to tidy up my place while I take my darling home.”

Oh.

A nod, or rather, a bow is all you can manage so as not to bare your features that is now marred with an endless cascade of tears.

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Peeved would be a horrible understatement. It does not bode well with Senjumaru that while you were all she could think about, you had been cosying up to another, who, for all she knows, could have been one of her friends. Judging from the little display the other day, it could very well have been Kirio. How laughable she must have appeared, being all overly defensive for naught.

She admits however that she was unnecessarily cruel with her reaction, and that her little act of revenge was childish at best. Essentially, she has only herself to blame, misinterpreting your innocent admiration for her to be something else, something sacred. And now, with that calloused display of hers, she might have even ruined the bond that the two of you have shared.

No matter how she reasons with herself, it still perturbs her after all, and once again, something ugly rears its head when she finds more of those lingering hickeys on your body while she crosses paths with you in Kirinden.

Good and evil play a tug of war, and evil emerges victorious.

“Back from another fun, I presume?”

“Why do you care?”

“My, what gives you the impression that I do? I’m merely curious which one of my comrades’ bed one of my guards is diligently warming every night.”

“Curiosity kills the cat, Lady Senjumaru.”

Rising out of the pool like a predator on a hunt, she corners her prey. Whereas her spindly arms manipulate you so that you are facing away from her and then, trap you against the wall, her two hands find home in the dip of your hips, pulling you until your back fits into the curve of her body.

“And oh does it pounce!” Growls the hunter as lips find your nape, teeth bestowing bruises and tongue soothing stings, all the while you shake like a leaf in her bodily confine.

Her hands wander over to your ribcage, holding you there, thumbing the soft underside of your breasts. It has your back curving into her body.

“Swift work is my biggest selling point, you understand. Do not underestimate the name of Senjumaru.” The sinking of her teeth directly into the throbbing vein on your neck triggers your fingers to dig into the flesh of her thigh. “Shu- ngh- Shutara.”

Senjumaru remembers a dream, an all too tantalising dream. In it, her charming little prey was deliciously caught in her web, and the great weaver has taken her sweet time savouring the delectable creature. What a divine little thing her prey was, squirming in her grasp and panting her name, ambrosia to her ears, while her mouth has mapped as many inches of skin as she could manage, committing everything to memory. It stays with her even when dawn breaks, except that, the dream she had was all but a dream, eluded Senjumaru.

Amidst her arm twining round your chest, she hears it, a broken little sound that is but a tiny whisper.

“Why are you doing this to me?”

The lady turns you in her arms. With gentle fingers, she tucks a few wayward strands behind your ears to reveal more of her colourful works, which she gingerly traces with a delicate digit.

“These were my doing.” It is not a query, merely a statement.

“I understand that you have mistaken me for someone else.” You release a sigh, eyes slipping shut when a thumb presses onto a particularly sore spot. “So please, just let me be.”

“Is that what you want of me? To let you be?”

“What I want doesn’t matter.”

“Why doesn’t it matter?” Your attempt to flee from her gaze is effectively put to an end by a hand cradling your jaw. Mindlessly, a thumb bestows soft caresses to the apple of your cheek. “Answer me.”

“It just doesn’t, alright? Because I’m not- I’m not what you want.” When you look into her eyes, she finds in yours the first dew of tears, and before they could escalate into a cloudburst, she pulls you into her six-armed embrace, your face safely tucked into the nook of her neck. Along with a soft lingering press of a kiss atop your temple, she breathes her words into your skin. “Though I have a penchant for darning, it seems I’m superb at tearing the one thing I want perfectly weaved.”

“I hate you, my lady.” By the way your hands are fisting into her flesh as though your life depends on it, she begs to differ, though she only indulges you, a ghost of a smile hanging loosely on her lips. “Do you now?”

“Very much so. I hate that I love you.”

“Oh, but my dearest, how I love that you love me.”

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#shutara senjumaru x reader #senjumaru shutara x reader #senjumaru x reader #character x reader #shutara senjumaru #senjumaru shutara #squad zero #royal guards #bankai #bleach women #bleach x reader #bleach x you #bleach tybw #mommy mighty fine 😮‍💨#wlw #fluffy #angsty

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