Junko

ᡕᠵ᠊ᡃ࡚ࠢ࠘ ⸝່ࠡࠣ᠊한᠆ࠣ࠘ᡁࠣ࠘᠊᠊ࠢ࠘𐡏~♡ ♡ ♡

꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷

Hello♡ I'm Junko, my selfships are,

꒰ঌ candygrave- junko x flins (genshin ♡ romantic)

꒰ঌ bulletwound- junko & boothill (hsr ♡ familial)

꒰ঌ butcher's knife- junko x sonju (tpn ♡ romantic)

꒰ঌ tragicomedy- junko x elliot (stardew ♡ romantic)

꒰ঌ sugargloom- junko x idia (twist ♡ romantic)

⏔⏔ Plum-tinted Lips I Desire to Kiss ⏔⏔

My lady has sugar plum-tinted lips and I love them so.

Every word that leaves her lips is a gift I cherish. Especially when it's my name that leaves her lips.

The words that leave her tongue never struggle to leave me utterly dazzled. Her soft tone and melodical giggles send my heels right over my head. I utterly adore her. My darling Junko.

The one thing that brings me anything but joy when it dances across those darling lips, is the request for a bouquet she uttered at Pierre's counter.

It was a winter's day, but even the leathered coat and scarf I wore could shield me from the coldness I felt within my heart.

My fingers trembled as she handed over the gold in exchange. And before I knew it, she had left. Left without knowing I had ever been there, and left me what felt irreparably shattered.

There was only a miniscule chance that the bouquet would make its way into my hands in the end. What was so likeable about me anyway? My flowery words likely felt like empty flattery to her and I was likely taken as pathetic rather than a romanceable item. We had only ever been friends, nothing more. No matter how I wished, that was likely how it'd stay.

I took a deep and shaky breath and made my way through the saloon's door with a creak- tapping the dirt off my shoes in a few taps of my feet.

Upon ordering my favorite, pomegranate wine that I saved for special occasions due to its pricy nature and crab cakes, I sat at my usual table.

It was splintered and Leah had carved her name on the bottom once in a drunken stupor, but I had many memories of it, call me a sentimental fool if you will, but that’s just the way I was. Tears built up in my eyes, glistening in the lamplight.

My hair billowed out in delicate curls akin to roses around the table where my head lay. I traced her name on the table as his shoulders slightly shook from my bout of crying.

After I'd eaten my fill of crab cakes and drunk a bottle's full, I had begun to take my leave (Gus wouldn't let me drink anything more). By the time I'd made it to the bridge on the path to the beach I'd finally realized there was another set of footsteps other than mine.

They were the clicks of heels. Her heels. My heart skipped a beat and I had a change in my judgement. Maybe, just maybe I thought.

She grabbed my hand and pulled me to a stop. She then said my name just the way I liked it- Soft and endearingly, though this time, it was what was said alongside it that I felt was the true gift.

"Oh Elliot, would you do me the honor of being my lover?"

She outstretched a bouquet of roses and darling red pomegranate blossoms wrapped in lacy pastel tissue paper and a pretty pink bow towards me. Yet again, he burst into tears. Though the ones that graced my pink-tinged cheeks this time were brought on by joy.

I grinned, dimples highly visible and took the lady I adore deeply into my arms. Twirling the hair that brushed her ear with my finger, joyfully proclaimed my agreements to her offer. I spoke of my adoration and absolute requitement I felt towards her.

I spinned her around in the sand, her dress billowing up around her as she twirled akin to a falling maple seed coated in bows and pearls and all things like that of a doll. Only now, she was my doll.

My lady has sugar plum-tinted lips and I love them so.

Every word that leaves her lips is a gift I cherish. Especially when the thing that leaves her lips is one asking for the title of my lover

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

It's a cold night, the kind of night that without proper clothes leaves you vulnerable and weak. The frost stinging at one's nose and fingertips, leaving you raw and shaky. The girl silently making her way through the park knows this very well, having donned nothing more than a nightgown and whatever shoes she had nearby her before she left. Her name was Junko, and she had a dull look in her eyes, empty and hollowed with only a single goal in mind. Tonight she would kill herself. In her hand, grasping tightly was her weapon of choice as though it’d disappear the second her grip loosened.

She took her time moving, as if savoring what she could as it lasted. Underfoot the snow fallen from previous days crunched softly. The zooming of vehicles mumbled in her ears. Along her path were trees draped with glittering flakes, she always loved the way winter looked, she'd surely miss it.

The red bench caught her eye. That was the place she always imagined they'd find her body on come dawn. Maybe then they would care. Care enough for her to realize they cared all along. For her to realize- forget it. She'd thought of this night for a very long time, she’d made her decision. She’d made her bed and she’d lie in it.

Her stomach was uneasy, to the point she couldn't hold it down, and upon sitting, she had to lean to the side and hurl. She pondered whether it was from nerves- or from forcing oneself to eat food she hated, and having it catch up to her now that she'd made her decision and had a chance to think on non-deathly matters.

She re-adjusted her attention onto the metal in her hand; she'd instinctively moved her hands into the proper position to handle it. Taking a deep breath, she began to shakily raise it towards her, moving her pointer downwards too.

He stepped into her vision finally, allowing himself to make noise this time. His soul on the inside of his flesh was scratching at his inner walls to tell him to stop. He wasn't versed in people, especially not those who walked the finite storied stairway steps of life. He would surely mess something up, embarrass himself, in fact he'd thought of millions of scenarios where that'd happen. He was a reaper named Idia. And he was here for her soul.

Normally, you don't interact with reapers. As death is solemn, cold, and unforgiving. And in cases of self-ending, there is no afterlife. Just the ebb into nothingness for eternity. But he's newer to the job- hellishly socially awkward on top of that too. But, he throws caution to the wind, for a soul he'll never see again, a voice who'll probably only judge him once- that is, if she proves his low self-esteem riddled fears right. All because he found her to be pretty.

So, he interacts. He sits beside her and listens to her. Her tears fall, face all flushed. As she breathes, pale billows come out of her mouth, a thing he's unused to, as the dead are what he's far more accustomed with. The only thing he knows about it is how to mimic it.

Snow starts to fall around them. Her head becomes a resting place as it falls. Some even make their home on her eyelashes and nose, and the bench, although occupied on the other end, accumulates it as well. Though, not a flake is to be seen on him.

She tells him things. All about her life- why she hates living. Everything- sorrows relating to others, and sorrows relating to oneself. Words riddled with deep-set anger and honest despair fall out like a waterfall. The hands holding her weapon of choice shake. Whether as a result from the cold, or from crying, or from fear she tells not. He simply nods along. Sometimes, inputting his own thoughts and worries. From incompetence over himself, his job, how he dislikes the fate placed upon him by blood, and all the like. It eases her, afterall, nobody likes someone who only talks about themselves and learns not of any other.

He reluctantly, yet resolutely tells her of the reality that awaits her if her end is of her own hands. Nothingness. Truly an end, not the beginning of a new chapter in the realm of under. She sighs, says she supposes that makes sense, and laughs. A worn smile graces her frostbitten face. His heart aches. Though logic is true, it isn't always what the heart enjoys. And, now that he's made himself known to her, it's not as if she could go back to living, even if she decided it's a fate she desired again.

She laughs, it's the same laugh as before, sweet, but bitter. So utterly bitter. What a fate she's locked herself into. He can't help but agree. Unfortunate indeed.

The fate of blankness has a small loophole, and it is for him to take her life himself, he shares, albeit reluctantly and partially by accident due to letting himself speak a bit too unguardedly for too long. though one must add, that's an intense crime unforgiven by all in the world of hell. One he'd have to take to the grave as an unspoken secret, however that works for someone whose dead but hasn't ever died. Quite the opposite of the lady beside him whose alive but has never truly lived.

You could do that, she asks, curiosity in her tone with a lining of a few other things he's unused to trying to tell apart from a life of socially awkward induced solitude. Well, yes he could, though if caught though he'd lose his- well everything he has. His title, his worth and anything else.

Though, he never asked to be in the reaper lineage, and he'd often pondered a reality unshackled by it. She doesn't beg, rather instead asks politely. It pulls at his heart- far harder than any of his dating sims routes ever had. She takes the long bout of silence as denial and pushes no farther. She sighs. Well, she supposes it's time. She does not elaborate. They both know the context all too well. She tells him how kind he was, how he was odd, so odd- but it held a rather high amount of charm, and she laments him not having been a soul tied to the living, as she and him would have gotten along very well. Maybe a little too well if she be far too honest.

Her hands tremble, and he turns his head away as he cannot bear to watch as he takes it into his own hands instead. He lowers his hood, hair alight like flames dancing delicately, casting a blue glow on all that surrounds. A handsome face he had. One she'd remember for all eternity if she could. Her breath hitches, quite unfortunate as she'll soon lose the sensation of breathing altogether.

She'll descend, but not alone. She won't be alone in forward’s time, and now a secret lies in her heart, which now beats only near him, connected to the tale she's never to tell to another ghost. Locked between them.

Of how the memory she held most dear was that of which ended covered in liquid crimson.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

His footsteps are like he's playing a game of imaginary hopscotch, it's awfully endearing she thinks with a pale pink dusting her cheeks. A glint of adoration present in her eyes currently lost to the booze lingering in his breath.

He leads her from the Saloon and down the cobble bridge, her heels clacking as she tries to match his haggard pace that quickens and slows at untimed intervals. Her dress bounces behind her making her akin to the moonlight jelly they watched only a fortnight or so ago. He chuckles and supplies a compliment laden with sugar.

His grip tightens and his pace softens as their feet hit the sand that sparkles under the moonlight sky. She gazes around at the autumnal beach scenery. If it were a few degrees colder she'd be able to see her breath- how it stopped as she and him met the door of the cabin that he fumbled open and held for her to go in first.

The floor boards creaked with every soft step she took, only this daring from the liquid courage surging through her body. He pulls her close to him and whispers sweet nothings at her that fall on deft ears as she's more focused on the hands roaming around her body fiddling with the buttons on the back of her dress.

He compliments the curls in her hair, two buttons down. He compliments the way her eyes curve up in joy when his name leaves her lips, four buttons down. The last two are undone with their faces entwined in a deep kiss stained with pomegranate flavored wine.

She slides out of her dress and tosses it onto the floor next to his bed that he crawls into immediately after her. Pastel blue and pink ruffles meet the floor in a crumpled mess. Pastel pink kiss marks line around his face to his cheek to down his neck. He laughs softly with every kiss- eyes full of drunken mirth and a deep love inside.

Hands slid off her knickers as hers undo the final buttons on his shirt which quickly parted ways with him, just alongside his reason which left by the time he'd drunk his second glass.

He admires her figure and laments having only been able to gaze upon it in this state. Kissing her chest in a silent promise to himself to one day gaze upon it in a state where his only intoxication is his infatuation towards her. One which is silently yearned for inside her heart.

Their touch is synchronized in an utter symphony lust and love dancing in tune until they find peace in rest in each other's embrace.

Just as the moon begins to dip, she begins to stir. After a long gaze at her nighttime partner and a second to fondle his copper-tinged locks she begins to slip herself out of his bed delicately. She redresses herself quietly, as if the drop of a bow could cause the entire world to awaken. She waters his plants, as he tends to forget on the more hungover dawns, then she places the fall rose she'd intended to give the eve of, then gingerly leaves the cabin. Locking the door with the secret key behind his door's seasonal decor she'd been told of a month or so prior.

When day broke and the town began to bustle with life and she made her way around she heard Elliot recounting the horrible turnover his round of drinks left him to whoever was near. She hadn't been close enough to tune into anyone but him. She'd huffed when he told of how he was troubled to recount anything.

Such was the first night of passion for Elliot and Junko.

𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔢𝔫𝔡