crazy to see the bullshit mark lee as pulled so quickly into his solo career. his label releasing some pathetic “whoops he didn’t know 🥺 it’s vintage” man fuck you, you’re canadian and lived in new york, you learned about that racist symbol in school. i don’t understand why he’s trying to larp as a conservative racist right wing white man from mississippi because he knows damn well he would also be discriminated against but that doesn’t stop him i guess!
one of your close friends is from chicago. born and raised and went to glenbrook north high school and i know damn well that UNITED STATES HISTORY IS A GRADUATION REQUIREMENT IN ILLINOIS. did you guys not think??????
you’ve worked with so many people who are black. dem jointz literally made your whole career what the fuck are you doing mr christian nationalist ahh
NO WAY we traded away our first round picks. NO FUCKING WAY chicago is picking for the first time in the SECOND ROUND. oh i will miss you caleb malhotra
maybe it’s a sign of maturity but i’ve had an epiphany today. deleted hinge, cleared my camera roll of screenshots i didn’t need, removed people i didn’t want to see or interact with on my spam instagram, etc. maybe ill delete the side blog i spent a while working on because i never use it and it’s not organic enough for me anymore. i downloaded substack. i created to-do lists for the rest of summer and more importantly, tomorrow. i really need to clean my room and bathroom and do so much laundry and pack and make other lists of what to do, what to buy, etc. but i feel like im having fun again. i want to be healthier, eat better and work out more, sleep properly (as i write this at three in the morning) but at the same time i dont want to have a productive summer the way my parents want me to: work somewhere for two weeks before i leave for vacation, and then school starts again. i think resetting my life instead of rotting all day, which i’ve essentially been doing since school ended, is what i need to hard reset my life, including even the instagram algorithm and rebuilding my notion for things i’ll actually use and cut out everything i dont need or will push me back into my old habits.
i know this isn’t the stuff i usually post on my tumblr, but at the same time i think i need to take agency of my creative spaces again and get past my own mental blocks of which space is meant for what. i want to post a little less porn and a little more nuanced prose, and write what i want to instead of chasing notes like i kind of have been for the time i was actually active on this blog. i do want to write more think pieces but that is more for substack rather than tumblr, but i am a creative in some way or another and i want to keep putting out my creative work even though i feel myself growing out of past phases i’ve had in my life.
hi! i was wondering, in your profile when I click the ask button, the one labelled '🪷' it has a background color! how did you do/edit it? i can't find it in my settings. if you have time to answer this, that would so greatt, tysmm !!
hi! i think it’s just the accent color that changes it! on mobile, it’s the paint palette emoji that you can change it with, and i think on web it’s in blog settings!
when you're forced to marry the zen’in heir to save your clan from bankrupcy, you're prepared to swallow your words, live as a dutiful wife, and try your best not to mess this up. little did you know, naoya's got too much hanging on the line to consider letting you go.
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masterlist — pt 1 — pt 2 (you are here) — more parts to come!
18+ mdni
naoya fanart credit: @maronjapan9art
you didn’t get to sleep until maybe three in the morning.
by the time the zen’in brothers had stopped making snide comments at each other and you somehow snuck out to finish your food, it was midnight. and then you had to find naoya, think about whether or not it was worth interuppting what looked like a budding fight, and then wrench your brand-new husband away from your brand-new brother-in-laws and then deal with said husband’s mini misogynistic tantrum about how women should know their place. and after all of that, you had to stand there behind him as he finally ate his own dinner and then your brother had ran in saying that there was an accident on the bridge and now all your belongings were going to be arriving in two hours instead of already being here, and the moving people were also suing because your cat had scratched up one worker’s face. so when your things did arrive, naoya was already furious and had practically dragged you to his car, throwing you into the passenger seat and driving like a bat out of hell, not even paying attention to whether or not the moving truck was following.
so when you actually got into his house, found your cat and clothes to change into, and naoya had barked out a furious five-second tour of the zen’in mansion, you nodded and sat in a corner wearing a too-big t-shirt and ratty pajama pants and fell asleep almost immediately.
he, on the other hand, wanted to kill someone. the mess of the day was starting to catch up to him, but it manifested as murder instead of exhaustion.
he stared at you sleeping from across the room, dressed in random clothes with your wedding robes in a pile next to you, the orange monstrosity you were cooing at the whole drive here wriggling in your limp arms. how is she so carefree? he thought angrily, throwing his hakama down with a little too much force. as he crossed the room in nothing but his boxers, a little voice in the back of his head said something along the lines of maybe you should put some more clothes on? you’re not in private… but he shut it down just as fast. “this is my fucking house and my fucking bedroom. and she’s my fucking wife,” he spit out furiously under his breath. “i can wear whatever i fucking want.”
your figure stirred in the corner and he froze mid step, eyes locked on your slumped body. when it was certain you weren’t waking up anytime soon, he put his foot down gingerly, walking much more carefully towards the folded bedrolls than before.
he pulled his own out, arranging it on the floor as per usual as he hummed some top 40 song under his breath that was no doubt looped on the radio one too many times the last few weeks. he busied himself with the familiar actions: rolling the mat out, piling blankets, punching the pillow a few more times than needed before he flopped down, stretching out like a starfish and letting out a dramatic and loud sigh. “i need a massage,” he muttered, wriggling into his cocoon of warmth.
a sound from the corner broke through his reverie. he turned to see tora, the fucking cat of all things, meowing at him, almost helplessly. and you were still asleep, head at an odd angle that was sure to hurt in the morning.
“shut up, you little-“
the cat meowed louder, as if in protest.
“fine. fuck you.” naoya unfolded from his bed on the floor, standing up to tower over you with his hands on his hips. his foot kicked your shin once, twice, and almost another time before you groaned, blearily looking up at him.
“why-what’re you doing?” you mumbled sleepily, adjusting your neck.
“feed your damn cat. be thankful i’m not making you do your wifely duty tonight,” he snaps back, delivering yet another kick to your shin.
he steps away, thudding his way back to flop into his pile of blankets.
he’s got a cute ass, you think dimly. and he is an ass. and he’s kind of cute. oh, what the fuck.
but you stand up slowly, picking up your cat and scooping some food out for him. “sorry, baby,” you say to tora, petting him as he scarfs it up. “mommy’s gonna get all your stuff tomorrow, okay?”
in your preoccupation with tora, you completely miss the way your husband sits up, spine ramrod straight at the word baby. or the involuntary twitch of his dick at mommy.
by the time you turn around, realize the selfish bastard hasn’t put your bedroll out, and then set it up and get into bed, stretching out slowly on the thick mattress, he’s snoring softly next to you, half his limbs already encroaching into your space. thick veiny forearms, dark lashes and lips parted in sleep, the expanse of a very toned yet scarred back, and his sleeping position (on his stomach, curled up) made him look like both an innocent little boy and also a zenin machine. you couldn’t decide which was worse.
— — —
you woke up to a heavy hand draped over your waist and a face pressed into your skin, nose brushing neck and mouth ghosting over collarbone. the sun was filtering in thin grey rays through the closed curtains, but the weight of your husband literally on top of you made it certain you weren’t leaving without waking him. and seeing his attitude last night, you weren’t exactly the most excited to find out what morning naoya was like.
so you lay there, counting your heartbeats and staring at the ceiling as he sighed into your throat, tugging your body closer like you were some sort of teddy bear for him to cuddle in his sleep. he looks unbelievably young and peaceful like this, so unlike the screaming menace he had been at your wedding the day before, and you found yourself beginning to become more intrigued by force behind his assholery.
maybe, rather than trying to detonate this marriage from the inside out, you’d see it through. or at least stick around long enough to see what naoya zen’in was really like.
you hadn’t realized how long you had lay there pondering until he shifts, pulling you with him until he’s pressed against you, chest to chest. the blanket slips down his back, sunlight slipping down and his face nudges more into the crook of your neck just as you try to move it.
big mistake.
the light of the morning and the absence of sleep gives you a clear view of your new husband in almost his full glory as the cocky bastard’s in nothing but black boxer briefs, morning wood very visibly pressing against the fabric.
“put some clothes on,” you say in lieu of answering his question, voice soft as you avert your eyes.
he scoffs, standing up and padding over to the closet. “you’ll be seeing everything soon enough, woman. no need for me to shy away from my own comforts in my own home.” nonetheless, you watch him pull on a blue worn hoodie and black sweatpants, ruffling his hair as he goes.
you swallow a few choice words before you stand, too, folding up the bedclothes and putting them away. “tora,” you call as you fold, scanning the bedroom for your orange cat. “where are you, baby? cmhere, mommy’s gotta feed you!”
you do notice, this time, the way naoya freezes at the endearment. midstep towards the bathroom, eyes wide. the swallow.
problem is he noticed that you noticed. “stop calling your fat feline that,” your husband finally chokes out, putting his foot down with a solid thud. “and stop calling yourself that.”
you blink once, and then decide to fuck with him a little. “stop calling myself…what?” you say innocently.
“you know,” he bites out rather desperately. his ears are pink. “that.”
“oh, that? you mean mommy?” you can’t help it, it’s too fun to tease him.
his eyes widen for a split second before he turns his head sharply, avoiding your eyes as you lean, trying to catch his expression. “shut the fuck up. enough,” he manages to get out, before he turns and practically bolts for the bathroom door.
author's note: ermmm hey chat i’m back…here’s part two
