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lynxgriffin · 3 months ago

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Eldritchrune - The World Revolving

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Story Setup Eldritchrune Masterpost

While exploring the ruins of Card Castle, Kris stumbles across a bound god of chaos hiding just under the surface...a foe way more formidable than any they've faced yet!

PHEW I swear, it feels like I've been working on this particular scene forever! Been distracted by many things...other comics, continued wrist troubles, winter break, etc... but finally, it's done and here! This one is probably the most gnarly one yet in terms of body horror, so heed the warning tags!

The latter half will be out tomorrow!

Alt text for these pages is under the read more:

Page 1

Panel 1 - A wide shot as Kris, Ralsei, and Susie make their way through the card kingdom castle…a wrecked ruin, with half-broken towers and ripped banners fluttering in the open air. Lancer sits happily on top of Susie’s head. “Are we there yet?” asks Susie. Lancer replies with a simple “No.”

Panel 2 - Closer on Kris as they look downwards. Something has caught their attention. In the background, Susie and Lancer repeat the exchange: “Are we there yet?” / “No.”

Panel 3 - Kris notices what looks like a trail of parchment torn into different shapes, leading down into a lower level of the ruins.

Panel 4 - Kris begins to follow the scrap paper trail across large stones, straying off of the pain path through the castle ruins.

Panel 5 - Ralsei notices that Kris has wandered away from them. Susie and Lancer also look on in the background. “Kris? Where are you going?” asks Ralsei.

Panel 6 - Kris points at the scrap trail leading down into the rocks, still focused on it. “The old shopkeep, Seam…they mentioned something about a path cut from pages…”

Page 2

Panel 1 - Side view of Ralsei as he watches Kris descend down, and cautiously holds up a hand in warning. “It’s not wise to wander too far off-course, Kris!” he says.

Panel 2 - Kris doesn’t seem to pay attention to the warning. In a wide shot, we see them following the trail down a series of large stone steps that seem to be shaped into a spiral. At the bottom of the spiral is another stone with unknown markings on it. “They said there could be something useful to us at the end of it…” Kris says.

Panel 3 - Wider shot of Kris now at the bottom of the spiral. Ralsei, Susie and Lancer watch warily from above, back on the main path.

Panel 4 - Kris approaches the stone at the center of the spiral. It seems to be covered in moss, but something else catches their attention first–

Panel 5 - Closer on the stone, it shows that it has markings on it: a cross, divided up into the four card suits. Kris leans in closer to observe and brush the dirt from the stone. “There’s something here…” they say.

Panel 6 - From high above, Ralsei sees Kris focusing on the stone in the spiral. “Kris? Hang on just a second…” he says, holding out a hand in warning.

Panel 7 - Closeup on Kris’s hand as they brush against the marked stone. Their thumb touches a trigger hidden on the side of the stone, which gives a sharp ‘CLICK’.

Page 3

Panel 1 - Kris lets out a surprised yell as very suddenly, they plummet down beneath the stone–

Panel 2 - Their yell continues as they vanish into what is revealed to be a sudden trap door, opened right below where they were standing.

Panel 3 - The remaining Fun Gang look on with shock and surprise, and call out as Kris vanishes. Susie gives a shocked “Woah!” and Ralsei cries out “KRIS!”

Panel 4 - A vertical panel as Kris plummets down into open darkness, their limbs flailing. Light from above shines on them as they fall.

Panel 5 - With a grunt of pain, Kris lands on what appears to be a sandy hill–

Panel 6 - And continues to tumble down the hill, sand trailing behind them–

Panel 7 - Very wide shot as Kris’s fall continues, showing that they are sliding down an enormous sand hill, like the inside of an enormous hourglass. Only a single shaft of light shines from where they fell. Otherwise the area is empty darkness.

Page 4

Panel 1 - Kris’s finally slides to a stop somewhere in the sand. They grit their teeth, and try to get back onto their feet.

Panel 2 - Kris suddenly springs back up, eyes wide in shock, as a strange, bellowing laughter booms around them: “UUH HEE HEE HEE…”

Panel 3 - Kris looks ahead of them…at the very bottom of the sand pit, like an antlion at the bottom of a pit trap, sits what appears to be a bulb, or a closed circus tent.

Panel 4 - Wider shot as Kris gets to their feet, very wary. “Who’s there?”

Panel 5/6/7 - Multiple panels as the enormous circus tent moves, and begins to unfurl itself…showing massive hands made of bone and stretched tent material, like sinewy skin. Each bony finger is tipped with an enormous scythe. The creature lifts itself up enough to show the a jester’s head, hanging upside down from the bottom of the tent. The jester’s face sports slit eyes, multiple hoop earrings on its pointed ears, and a smile of jagged teeth.

Panel 8 - Wide shot as Kris stands tiny before the enormous form of Jevil - a creature of bones and tent skin and scythes, balanced precariously upside-down over what appears to be a bottomless pit. Jevil looks at Kris and declares, “WELCOME, WELCOME, LITTLE LOST HUMAN! YOUR FREEDOM IS WITHIN REACH!”

Page 5

Panel 1 - Kris looks up in fear and confusion at the giant creature, and tries to step back. “What are you?!” they ask.

Panel 2 - Focus on Jevil’s upside down face as he grins back at Kris, and says, “A GOD, LOST HUMAN! A GOD OF CHAOS, CHAOS!”

Panel 3 - Kris stands small against the chaos god as he continues to grin down them. “COME CLOSER, AND WE SHALL ENGAGE IN SUCH MERRIMENT!”

Panel 4 - Kris eyes the enormous scythes at the end of the fingers, and continues to step back, extremely cautious. “A god, is it? I think I’d prefer the rest of my party be here for any ‘merriment’,” they reply.

Panel 5 - Jevil twists his head to the side with curiosity and glee, and replies. “I INSIST! I SEE YOUR SOUL DESIRES CHAOS! WHAT EXCITEMENT, WE ARE KINDRED SPIRITS!”

Panel 6 - Focus on Jevil’s scythe fingers as they begin to move through the sand, creaking with the effort. He is beginning to spin.

Panel 7 - Shot from above on Jevil as he spins faster and faster, the tent body and splayed scythe fingers blurring into a hypnotic spiral. The wind howls around him with the spinning.

Panel 8 - Kris jolts forward as the winds pick up around them. The spinning is creating a gyre, drawing them in closer.

Page 6

Panel 1 - Kris tries to slow their slide as Jevil continues to spin and spin, drawing them in closer. The winds and movement are hard to resist. “LET US PLAY, PLAY!” Jevil cries in delight. “TRUE FREEDOM AWAITS YOU!”

Panel 2 - Kris looks up at the revolving god, unable to stop their slide through the sand. The winds whip their hair and cowl around them. However…

Panel 3 - “If I can get past those blades and make the jump…” Kris thinks to themself, as the scene shows Jevil’s smiling face through the whirlwinds.

Panel 4 - Closeup on Kris. They grimace to themself as the wind continues to buffet them and pull them in, and finish the thought: “...One good swing should sever the head and end this!”

Panel 5 - Kris pulls out their sword as they continue to slide closer to the edge of the gyre. Jevil looks on as they say aloud, “I don’t know that I trust a bound god’s concept of freedom.”

Panel 6 - Jevil tilts his head down at them, still smiling as always, and replies, “BOO HOO HOOEE HEE! AND DOES YOUR SOUL KNOW IT?”

Page 7

Panel 1/2/3 - Multiple panels as Kris slides down the sand, holding their sword at the ready. They ready their sword in another panel, back to the camera, facing down a laughing Jevil. The final panel includes a closeup of their hand gripping the sword, although their hand is shaking. Across all panels, Jevil continues to taunt them: “IN THE BELLY OF A ROAMING BEAST, IN THE OWNERSHIP OF A DEMON PRINCE, IN THE RIGID RULES OF YOUR LIGHT WORLD? IS IT THERE?”

Panel 4 - The scythe fingers swing by in a blur as Kris slides into the gyre, and pulls their arm back, ready to strike with their sword–

Panel 5 - A black and white abstract panel - something sharp slices through the darkness, and strikes home.

Panel 6 - Closeup on Kris’s face as they look shocked into silence–

Panel 7 - And the camera pulls out to reveal that their sword arm is gone, sliced off completely at the shoulder. They can only look down at the stump where their arm once was in horror.

Panel 8 - Kris screams as they’re thrown helplessly into the center of the whirling gyre, blood streaming behind them from their severed arm. Jevil faces them with glee and declares, “NO, NO! YOUR FREEDOM IS HERE!”

Page 8

Panel 1 - The panels are jagged now, coming apart along with the world itself. Kris is trapped in the searing whirlwind, orbiting around Jevil’s spinning head. The world is a blurred tornado. Jevil cries, “A SIMPLE CHAOS IS ALL YOU NEED! UNRAVEL MIND, BODY AND SOUL!”

Panel 2 - Kris is subjected to the god’s command. They scream into the void as their body is unraveled in the gyre, starting at the stump and spreading out to the rest of them in strips of cloth, flesh and bone.

Panel 3 - A massive panel as Kris is completely torn apart at the seams. Their glowing soul is revealed as their body is peeled away in stips from them, leaving only a few bones and muscles trying to stay together.

As Kris is pulled apart, Jevil’s voice rings out: “SEE, SEE HOW ALL THE RULES AND ORDERS HAVE TRAPPED YOU? HURT YOU AND KILLED YOU?” In the strips of Kris’s body pulled apart are scenes that seem to confirm Jevil’s worldview: Empire guards chasing down Kris as a young child. Toriel kindly shooing Kris away from a pie they were interested in. Asgore keeping Kris from plants he knows are dangerous. Kris on the altar as they are sacrificed to the demon. Kris giving up their soul to Ralei. Kris being devoured by Susie. Kris trapped at a door by Mr. Society and Mr. Elegance, keeping them from advancing with rules. Kris being revived, again and again, by Ralsei’s control over their soul. “BUT HE HAS SHOWN ME, IT ALL MEANS NOTHING, NOTHING!”

Page 9

Panel 1 - The panels continue to be jagged and harsh as the rest of Kris’s body is completely obliterated in the whirlwind, leaving only their soul spiraling in the gyre. Jevil’s voice continues: “NO RULES, NO HURT, NO PRISONS FOR YOU! SHARE YOUR JOY WITH ME!”

Panel 2 - Kris’s soul begins to break under the strain of Jevil’s version of joy: a swirling mess of eyes, teeth, claws, screaming faces, beasts and sinew and armor. They all close in on their lost soul in a mess of chaos and madness.

Panel 3 - As the winds turn to pure darkness, Kris’s soul begins to dissolve in the gyre as well, broken in the relentless chaos. Jevil’s voice rings out once more: “SHARE YOUR SOUL WITH ME, A TRUE CHAOS, CHAOS!”

Panel 4 - As Kris’s soul is nearly dissolved and lost in complete blackness, another voice cries out: “KRIS!” From the darkness, Ralsei’s glowing eyes and fiery claws reach out to grab Kris’s soul before it’s lost.

#lynx art #eldritchrune #deltarune au #kris #ralsei #susie #lancer #jevil #cw: blood #cw: dismemberment #cw: body horror #cw: psych horror #WHY DID THIS PART TAKE SO LONG TO DO #like I'm fighting the Jevil boss battle IRL

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hellygetyourgun · 2 months ago

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I've seen a lot of confusion over why Devon calls Harmony and the idea that its bad writing but honestly? It makes a lot of sense to me if I'm considering Devon's POV. She goes to her brother's house to talk corporate espionage, and all of a sudden he starts SIEZING ON THE FLOOR, only for a random woman to emerge from his basement and start scolding her, telling her that her brother is in the process of reintegrating, does not seem too concerned with getting him medical attention, doesn't answer whether she's actually a doctor, you get the idea. THEN this lady confirms to her that her sister in law and close friend is still alive and trapped at Lumon. That is an insane amount of shit to take in! And so Devon basically thinks of the only other person she knows who has been on the severed floor and tries to make shit happen. And this is crucial: Devon has never interacted with the person WE the audience know as Harmony Cobel, she has only interacted with Mrs. Selvig, the eccentric woman who owns the shop, a woman she actually spent time with. Mrs. Selvig genuinely, tangibly helped her when she was a new mother! She told her funny stories, she built TRUST with her. Devon thought she kidnapped her baby when she discovered she had been lying about her identity but then Harmony actually just put her in some random room, so truly the worst thing Cobel has done at this point is lie about who she is, from her POV. Devon has never been exposed to who Harmony actually is, and neither has outie Mark, if we're thinking about it. Devon also JUST met Reghabi and has literally no real reason to trust her implicitly. She sees Reghabi as the person who is putting her brother in mortal danger. Imagine the terror of seeing your sibling collapse on the floor like that and not knowing WHY. Devon doesn't have the information that the audience does. When Harmony answers the phone in this episode, Devon literally calls her Mrs. Selvig! She knows that's not her name, but that's who she is when Devon hears her voice. It's actually not bad writing at all, Devon is literally just operating on the knowledge that she has as a character! Of course WE know its not a good idea, but her character doesn't. And of course we get why Reghabi would dip, but Devon doesn't

#severance spoilers #severance #like am i crazy? this makes sense to me #devon scout hale

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prettiest-thing-in-the-morgue · 3 months ago

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Lone Warrior

summary : reader is put into emergency foster care after a tragedy , despite living with the Wayne family for a bit , reader takes it upon herself to move away and start anew since she clearly wasn't welcomed , after many years have passed Damian finally joins the family and after a particular spat w his father he finds himself in reader's room and an interest in them has sparked.

a/n : this story is a wip ( work in process )

part 2 , part 3

Reader's POV

Beginning

Everyone knows biologically , a child needs a father and mother to come into existence . Growing up I had exactly that , a mother and a father . I had what many would consider a good childhood , a mom who brushed my hair everyday before I went to school , a mother who would have prepared meals and would have read me several stories . I had a father who would pick me up everyday and let me get a treat from the nearby parlor everyday after school. We certainly weren’t rich but we had enough to make do and I was content with it - I was content with my life until life struck.

My mother got laid off from her job - it was some run down mill cashier job at an old mechanics pit stop but it brought in money no matter how grimy the place was . I remember my younger self sat in front of the television when it was broadcasted - Joker , Prince of Gotham held three hostages at gunpoint in the shops and sadly despite Batman’s efforts , one hostage suffered a car falling onto their legs - crushing them instantly - the news anchor panned their camera onto the car and how it’s green front bumper was smeared in crimson blood.

Since then mom had been home while father went to work . It was fun at first , we had dinner earlier than usual , mom started back sewing and she even took up gardening since she loved planting tomatoes in our backyard garden . Everything was good but gradually - mom began feeling trapped like a bird in a cage . It started off slow - mum and dad arguing every night after dinner , sneering at each other as they walked past one another . It evolved into dad sleeping on the couch and mom sleeping in their bed . I was young and too naive - I assumed like the silly little girl I was , that mum and dad were just arguing about the dishes in the sink.

One day, it got extremely bad. It was a Tuesday morning and I had ran into mum’s arm’s , comb in hand, waiting for her to brush my hair like every other morning but instead she screamed at me to get out of her face . I ran away, of course, crying and brushing my own hair since then. Every day since that point had been utter agony - mother grew even more distant - began shouting , screaming at everything and everybody .Every day was a new struggle , she had no luck finding a new job, and there was no luck of her getting any better .

One day , dad just hugged me before he left out the front door . He kept muttering ‘sorrys’ and ‘i love yous’ and he kept weeping . I recall hugging him back , telling him it was okay, and he just smiled at me and left . He hadn't come back since. Mother grew furious that night, and for the first time - she screamed at me , blamed me , cursed me , cried about how I ruined everything, and then she choked me . I remember my young , frail body clawing at her tight grip desperately - pleading with her to let me go, but she didn’t let up . She kept squeezing me, and I remember going in between conscious and unconsciousness - I remember hearing police sirens blazing in front of our house.

I don't remember anything after that point . Memories were all a blur, but I recall a police officer handing me off to Mr. Wayne at his porch step. I remember the look of uncertainty, the look of pain and burden flashing in his eyes when he looked down on me . I remember him holding me by my elbow and guiding me through his foyer until he reached his butler.

I watched them both converse , the butler glanced at me every other moment. Eventually , Mr. Wayne leaves me alone with the butler and returns deeper into the mansion. The butler smiles down at me, though, and I just looked at him as he guides me down some halls and into a room.

It's been a full week , I've only ever known my room , the garden, and school. I haven't met anyone besides Alfred - the butler and my teachers. Alfred kept assuring me that I had brothers who would love to meet me and that my 'dad' , Mr.Wayne was busy, so I should bear him patience.

I hadn't really cared about Mr. Wayne's absence , as far as I considered my father, was out there somewhere and had left me, and I had no interest in having siblings. I hadn't told Alfred any of that, though - I had been silent since I had arrived here . Two weeks passed, and Alfred introduced me to someone named 'Ricard' , Mr. Wayne's eldest .

This Richard had given me a tight-lipped smile and a half hug that I didn't reciprocate . I could tell he felt uncomfortable and forced, and I respected his boundaries because I would of reacted the same way if I got introduced to my new supposed 'sibling' .

Alfred had told me that Richard lives away and visits when he can since he too has work . Since then, I haven't met anyone . Maybe if you count seeing Mr. Wayne walking in and out the foyer then maybe .

Months passed, and it's been the same process - I wake up , scarf down whatever Alfred makes , go to school , come home , sleep, and repeat. Now and again, Richard may perhaps drop by, but our meeting were just exchanging pleasantries before we go our own ways.

I was still mourning my parents. It's weird to mourn when they aren't dead. Today I had I.T class , meaning I had access to a laptop . Using what minimum sites I could , I dug up that my mother was admitted to Arkham asylum and was deemed ' mentally unstable ' . It's weird seeing her in that old , grimy straight jacket and her worn hands in silver cuffs . It's weird that she is the same person who used to bake me fresh cookies when I was sad and used to so attentively braid my hair everyday - It's weird to know that somehow my pure , kind mother somehow turned into what she is.

I hadn't found out nothing about my father - reports just suggested he moved to another city or somewhat - some speculated he manipulated her into the abuse - but I knew my father went far away to start a new life - a new life that hadn't involve me .

It stings every time I think about that, though , that my dad thought I was so much of a burden he had to leave me to start anew . A part of me loathes him - wants to tear him out , another part of me wants to cry and scream ' how could he ', but the biggest part of me has already grown numb to everything around me and has accepted the fact that it's better off being on your own.

Months continue to pass on - nothing really changed , I haven't 'bonded' with anyone at the mansion , Alfred keeps making excuses for their wariness and coldness. I discovered through him that recently, one of Mr.Wayne's children , Jason, had recently passed due to a mishap with the Joker . He hadn't gone into full detail, but I understood the pain and grief - the pain of losing your loved ones and having to bury them.

Days blurred into one another, but as recently, I have been seeing advertisements for a youth camp. It's new to be supposedly based in Russia and aims to teach children survival skills, and for some odd reason, it called out to me . I became further intrigued when on one particular evening , my English teacher pulled me across after class and handed me a pamphlet for it , I remembered her saying " I thought ...maybe you can use this Y/N maybe they can help you " . I remember taking it home and staring at it for a good while.

That same day - apparently we got a new member to the family named Tim , I saw him walk in the foyer , Mr. Wayne's hands practically draped over his shoulder with a proud 'dad' smile on his face . I exchanged pleasantries with both, but the Tim guy was giving me a dirty look .

After that night , after careful consideration, I decided to join this youth camp but in order to do so I would of course need money so that very nigh I applied to some jobs . A week passed since Tim and I didn't really get along . He kept glaring at me, and I just kept ignoring him .

Apparently he didn't like that and one morning when I was leaving for school he pulled me across and with a nasty snare said , " can't believe Bruce and I bust our asses every night protecting the city and people like you get to squander away - you know for someone who uses so much of Bruce's resources I don't understand why he hasn't gotten rid of you ".

I slapped him in response and walked out - I won't and don't tolerate shit - especially from someone so far up their ass . Alfred walked in on us in the foyer and began lecturing me on the spot, but I had a cold, hard look - challenging him . Alfred just tutted and carried us both to school.

Yes - apparently, this Tim person goes to the same school as me, and I had to listen to him nag Alfred about it on the way there . I rolled my eyes - seriously, he sounds like an entitled brat . Alfred dropped us off . The moment Tim stepped foot in school lots of kids approached him - probably because it was publicly known he was a Wayne , I on the other hand wasn't- hell I didn't even take his name I still kept my father's surname .

I left him and continued my day like normal, and after school, I went to my waitress job on the block. It's a quaint little cafe waitress job . It was nice and had good pay, so I wasn't too bothered. Of course, a week into my job and Tim had to already cause a scene .

The brat had to walk in with his group of little friends and had the audacity to demand I get them a table . I sat them down, took everyone's orders, and this man had to order some complicated shit with absurd add ins. Why order expresso and complain it's too bitter ?? Why order no flat decaf when decaf is already flat ? Why , when I explain to you , you snare at me .

The brat even had the audacity to say ' I was embarrassing the family by working here ' . I stepped on his foot, causing him to flinch and whispered to him , " Frankly I don't give a fuck what you or anyone thinks or has to say - you can frankly kiss my ass and see if I could care " and walked off .

He didn't leave a tip sadly and walked out of there with a nasty glare . I came home that evening and met Alfred, leaving out my dinner in my room , " Master Wayne restricts you joining dinner tonight since you are behaving too violent." I just gave him a look . For one pathetic of Tim to tattle to Daddy darest - another many reasons why I don't want siblings and secondly I've never joined anyone at dinner , I live and breathe in this room and unless the mansion is burning down I won't leave it to go anywhere unnecessary.

Months like this pass , Tim and I glaring at each other. Occasionally, Richard stops by to check on Mr. Wayne, or simply hang out with Tim and I was steadily saving money to go to this youth camp.

On my final day , I paid off for the youth camp registry and began packing my things - I simply began packing my clothes , I left behind any things deemed unnecessary like my record players , little nicks and knacks friends gifted me , the very painful photos of my parents and I and the home sewn clothes I once made in tech Ed.

Everything held very little value to me here , especially since I wanted a fresh start there . I packed my bags that night and left without a trace. Downtown Gotham was dangerous but had useful people for the wrong things. I carefully knocked on a banged up door and waited .

I heard a latch move itself and a wrinkly , obese man peers through at me . " What you want, kid?" he grunted . " A passport and a straightway ticket to Russia tonight," I say monotonous. He stared at me for a moment and left . Moments pass and he returns and slips me a passport and a ticket . I let our a small grun before slipping a $100 dollar bill in the latch before taking off in the night.

Training

Russia was cold - but for some odd , maybe sick and twisted way, I loved it . I loved the feeling of the cold nipping at my fingertips , I love the ghostly feeling when the cold air blows in you and I love the way it makes me feel alive .

The youth camp was a successful idea - marvelous even . Though many in my unit complained about how strenuous the training was , I enjoyed it . Every morning , from 4 am to 6 am , our mentors took us on a two hour long jog in the snowy forest of Cheremkhovsky .

It was hard at first , I had literally fainted on my first go, but as I eased into this , it became easier . After that jog , we had breakfast, and then we trained in our combat , hand to hand , handling weaponry such as guns and knives, etc.

My mentor , Kerry Lenz, took me under her wing when I joined . She saw my raw potential, my greedy need to feel alive and belonging . She had practically made me into what I am , a trained assassin .

While most of my peers were asleep in the dead of night , she took me out into the forest , regardless of whether it was snowing , raining, or a massive heatwave . There, under the start nights, she taught me the art of murder , she taught me how to effectively hide a body in plain sight and taught me how to read a person thoroughly , taught me how to stalk a prey and how to notice the tiniest details no matter how absurd .

She taught me like a mother hen would to her chick, and it made us closer. I came here to Russia at fourteen, and now here I am, graduating at eighteen into Russia's CIA program.

She kissed both of my cheeks that day and hugged me, and for once , I reciprocated it . " My beautiful rose , be the strong daring girl I taught you to be," She sobbed into my shirt . I smiled and hugged her , my eyes brimming with tears as I nuzzle into her shirt - her smell of rose scented perfume and Columbian cigar wafted into my nose .

" I promise to be that strong girl , mom," I promised her that day . She smiled at me and patted my shoulder . " hun , this life is a life you can't back away from , it digs its claws into you and keeps you hostage, promise me , you would not deter."

I nodded into her and tightened my hold on her . Since my graduation , I , out of the twenty five candidates at the youth camp , graduated into Russia's CIA task force . Our missions were never easy , every one we face the brutality of human nature - from sex traffic rings , child predators , serial killers to huge organizations abusing civilians , we were tasked to handle them all.

Every mission had its difficulty, a loss albeit one of our own or a victim, or maybe it's the mind-numbing pain of killing . Every mission had its fair share of shit but that didn't deter me one bit - I loved my job - I lived knowing that when I killed another child predator that I saved another child.

What's the use of arresting them in a system we're they are bound to be free and face no repercussions? Doing this job made me look at persons like Batman and his folk and a bit differently - he knowingly puts people like the Joker back into the Arkham asylum, knowing they'd break out and wreck havoc again.

Damian's p.o.v

If anyone told me that I of all people would feel out of place I would laugh at you . For my whole entire life - I've been a man sure of everything - down to the nitty things - I've been sure of everything.

I knew what I liked to eat , what shirt I wore with its specific pants , what show I like to watch , knew for certainty I wanted to be Robin but here - in this family I'm at a loss.

I'm always cleft confused and rather frustrated . My father's eldest , Dick , keeps lecturing me about how 'violent' my ways are , how I'm not suited to be Robin , that Robin is not 'violent'.

How is a boy supposed to believe the methods he's had instilled in him from birth are considered wrong - considered too orthodox. We both always argue - he always pushes me to my wits end . Today, though - today, he took it a notch further .

Today he involved father in our spat . It was a simple situation - a simple stake-out , a robbery being done in some small local supermarket , the robber noticed us before we noticed them and took off running and I had simply launched a batrang into his leg to stop him.

It led to the robber bleeding out in the road and almost dying, but wasn't the objective met ? Father and Dick seemed to think otherwise considering I was berated for it for fifteen minutes straight.

But what got me was when dick said , " You're a monster like your mother." I literally launched myself at him - almost prying out his eyes but father managed to pull me off and send me off to my room with a glare.

I didn't go to my room - I was far too angry, so I just roamed around the mansion . I have never been to this side of the mansion - to be fair, I don't even think Alfred ventures down here, but somehow - the quiet halls bring a bit of peace to me .

I walked down a hall and stopped at a door left abit ajar - weird I thought all doors in this house automatically closed . Approaching it , I carefully opened the door and peer in , inside - inside looked like a bedroom.

The bed looked like it was purposely shoved up against the window , it only had two pillows but frankly sat plush in-between them was a small plushie of a penguin. The room held minimum decor - whoever lived here may have been a minimalist or has long since moved on .

It had a quaint dark oak desk covered in dust and had several stacks of books that looked well used . Next to it was a wardrobe in matching oak that had a red,very worn , backpack hung on it's round handle . The room had a vanity , a cute miniature white one that every little girl must dream off , it held a simple comb and hair ties in a singular cup but the mirror was covered in old polaraid pictures.

So someone definitely lived here - but who ? I've seen Dick's room , even though he isn't here often Alfred cleans it and he has those stupid posters all over , it can't be Tim's either because his room is all dark and has a bunch of clothes strewn around , it's clearly a girl's so Cassandra? No she's too neat for this - steph ? No , I remember her decorating her room with pink frilly ribbons last Christmas- Jason? - no so then who -

" I see you've come across y/n's room " comes a sudden voice behind me . Turning around , I am met with Alfred, who looks around the room so - so sullen ? " Pennyworth, why such a cres- fallen face ?" I enquire . Alfred looks everywhere but me .

" This is y/n's bedroom " he says as he steps in. " y/n ?" I ask perplexed - father - hell no one has mentioned y/n to me ever .

ty for reading !!!

incorrect quotes

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almostwisegalaxy · 14 days ago

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Where she sees me

Yeon si-eun x fem reader

The reader has a shy character in this story

..................................................................................

Bus 23, late afternoon. The sky hung heavy and gray, as if the city was holding its breath. Raindrops pounded the metal roof, a crescendo of dull beats. Yeon Si-eun, backpack on, shirt immaculate despite the humidity, stood still—rigid, frozen like a sculpture rain could never erode.

And she was there. For several weeks now. Same stop. Same silence. Y/N. Always sitting in the same spot on the bench, shoulders drawn in, fingers intertwined, staring at an imaginary point ahead to avoid all human presence.

He’d noticed her on the second day. Not because she stood out—she never sought to be seen—but because she had a quiet, constant presence. He’d watched her from the corner of his eye, never too long, never enough to betray interest. But he saw her. Every day. And soon, he began to search for her with his eyes the moment he left school. He hadn’t told anyone.

Except Su-ho. Because Su-ho saw everything.

"You’re scary, man. You look at her like you’re trying to solve an unsolvable equation."

Yeon Si-eun hadn’t answered. Because he didn’t have the words. Because Y/N escaped him. Like a recurring dream whose meaning always slipped away. He just knew she worked. Every evening, without exception. She always looked exhausted, like fatigue was stitched into her skin. She never carried a backpack. Never any sign of school. She lived a different reality.

That day, the rain fell harder. Passersby ran, umbrellas open like shields. But not Si-eun. He stood there, unmoving. He hadn’t brought an umbrella. He hadn’t expected the downpour. He could have run to the bus. But he stayed. Near her. As always.

Then she stood up. Slowly. Walked over. He didn’t move. And she raised her umbrella over his head. No words. Just that gesture. Then she handed him the umbrella. He wanted to speak, to refuse, but she had already slipped it into his hand. Then she walked off, soaked, leaving behind a deafening silence.

Su-ho had seen everything, of course.

"Tell me that’s not love. The guy’s on the verge of a stroke over an umbrella."

He had laughed. Loud. And Si-eun had looked away, slightly blushing, unable to respond. Because something had shifted inside him that day. Not a lightning strike. Not a tidal wave. More like a slow crack in his wall of control. He had never felt this. That soft burn. That need to understand her. To get close.

But he still hadn’t spoken to Y/N.

Days passed. He kept the umbrella in his locker, like a talisman. And he kept watching her, endlessly. Same bench, same weariness on her face. He imagined her days. Work. Exhaustion. She hadn’t chosen an easy path. And him? He fought in alleys and rooftops, armed with pens. He felt dirty. Unworthy of her.

"You know, you don’t need to recite her a poem. Just sit next to her."

That was Su-ho’s plan.

In the bus, as crowded as every evening, Su-ho suddenly stood up with suspicious speed, giving his seat to Si-eun—right next to Y/N. No warning.

Si-eun froze. Literally. Back stiff. Ears red. Y/N glanced up, surprised, but said nothing. Silence settled over them like a lead weight. Su-ho, two seats over, was watching with a wide, mischievous grin.

"Don’t sit there like a robot! Relax your shoulders, man!"

Y/N turned her head slightly. Si-eun tried to sit up straighter. Failed. He caught her gaze for a fraction of a second before jerking his head so fast he banged it against the window. Su-ho burst out laughing.

"Did you see that?! He’s gonna give himself a concussion just to avoid eye contact!"

Y/N had smiled faintly. And Si-eun felt swallowed whole by that smile. He wanted to say something. But the words were still trapped.

In the following days, he sat more naturally. Always next to her. One day, he pulled out a small handkerchief and handed it to her when she sneezed. She took it, almost surprised. Then she said:

"Thank you."

A soft voice, tired. But it was the first time he heard her.

And the silences grew denser, more charged. As if they held all the words they couldn’t say.

Then came the fight. Violent. Si-eun’s face was bloody, clothes torn, knuckles burning. He hadn’t seen her coming onto the bus. He climbed on without thinking, eyes blank. Passengers avoided him like an open wound.

But not her.

She got on too.

He wanted to get up, to flee, to hide. But she sat beside him. And without a word, she pulled out a tissue and gently wiped the blood from his cheek. He closed his eyes, unable to breathe. He wanted to cry. Scream. He felt ashamed, miserable. But she didn’t run. She was there.

And that’s when he understood. This wasn’t an obsession. It wasn’t fascination. It was love. Raw. Intense. Silent, but vast. Something beyond him, draining all strategy, all planning.

That day, he said:

"You shouldn’t see me like this."

She simply replied:

"But... I see you."

And that was enough.

Later, he told Su-ho about the scene, omitting the most tender details. But Su-ho understood.

"You’re done for, man."

And he was right. Because from that moment on, Y/N was in every heartbeat. In every fight plan. In every silence of his day. She wasn’t just the girl at the bus stop anymore. She had become his peace. His fixed point in the chaos.

And even if he kept fighting. Even if he bled. He knew that, somewhere, Y/N saw him. And as long as she stayed, he’d hold on.

He’d hold on for her.

And for the first time, Yeon Si-eun wanted a future. Even a blurry, uncertain one. As long as it had Y/N in it.

..................................................................................

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sunderwight · 9 months ago

Text

Further speculation on Shen Yuan transmigrating in some kind of Beast:

Werewolf Shen Qingqiu.

And like, major emphasis on the wolf, in his case. Not wolfman. Every full moon Shen Qingqiu has to make arrangements for himself to turn into a gigantic silvery-white wolf that retains extremely little of his consciousness, and mostly just seems to want to do Wolf Things, though according to PIDW and all information he has on the matter, he ought to be turning into a violent and bloodthirsty predator.

However, it turns out that the wolf form does retain some awareness from the mind/soul of the human, meaning that the reason SJ's wolf was so incredibly unsafe to be around was because it was constantly trying to process SJ's trauma in wild animal terms. So, it was hostile towards the vast majority of humans and in a heightened state of anxiety, always anticipating violence (and reacting accordingly) whenever something unexpected happened. Matters were not helped by SJ's decision to try and lock himself up for every transformation, which of course freaked his wolf out even more (trapped) and resulted in self-harm as it desperately tried to escape. It was just that SJ interpreted the self-harm as a sign that the wolf was so extremely violent that it would cannibalize itself rather than go a single night without the taste of blood.

SY, who is a lot less traumatized, conversely has a much more calm and curious wolf. Like he's extremely cautious and nervous about the whole thing, because he's expecting it to be violent based on his information, and since he doesn't retain much awareness of his transformations he has little idea of what his wolf-self does. But he also isn't great at locking himself up like the original goods did, and he never really seems to wake up covered in blood or anything? Once or twice he thinks he might have hunted a rabbit, but they definitely were rabbits and not like his subconscious somehow going after children in the middle of a wilderness somewhere, because when he came to the wolf had brought the leftover bunny bits along back to the ruined temple he was supposed to be shutting himself up into.

The new Shen Qingqiu consequently gets a bit complacent about the whole thing. He can only blame himself. Maybe he should have anticipated Luo Binghe, with his boundless curiosity and interest in his shizun, would notice the oddities in his schedule and follow him out one night. Everyone's supposed to believe that he's just going to brothels and engaging in purely mundane debauchery, though, so why would Binghe doubt his story?

But he did, and so of course Luo Binghe ends up witnessing his shizun's terrible transformation into a wretched and hated beast. Stunned, the young disciple stands transfixed (no doubt in horror) in the moonlight. The wolf sees him, and though Shen Qingqiu doesn't retain much memory, he recollects the running, the leaping, the... uh... licking...?

Well. Turns out that even Shen Qingqiu's subconscious wolf mind recognizes Luo Binghe as pack, and thank goodness too, because at least he didn't attack him!

Although after that it becomes an extreme challenge to explain to Luo Binghe why he can't accompany Shen Qingqiu for his transformations every month. It's not safe, the wolf is unpredictable and Shen Qingqiu can't promise that he won't startle or suddenly change his tune and lash out, and even though Binghe's cultivation is progressing in leaps and bounds, the wolf also isn't limited to normal mortal strength. It would be able to track his scent and follow him relentlessly, chasing him down to catch and pin him beneath its massive paws, and... Binghe why is your face so red? Are you feeling alright? If it's too frightening, then let's not describe it any further, but the point is that it's dangerous.

Shen Qingqiu has to put his foot down. In the end, he has his suspicions that Binghe is still circumventing him, as he could swear he sometimes remembers running around the wilderness with company. (Binghe is absolutely sneaking out to go spend time with Wolf Shizun.) But there's nothing concrete enough to be certain. Meanwhile, Luo Binghe has at least agreed to keep it secret (for now -- probably not once the time comes for Shen Qingqiu to be put on trial) and fusses over his shizun, helping him keep track of the moon scheduling and always making sure he has a full belly before he goes into wilderness seclusion (Shen Qingqiu never says, but somehow Luo Binghe guesses anyway that he doesn't like waking up to find that the wolf had a snack during the night...)

Another hazard: lycanthropy in the PIDW setting is a curse. Like admittedly it's kind of a kickass one, but it still has tons of negative associations, most commonly befalling impoverished individuals or travelers who get bitten by wild wolf demons, and survive only to find that a piece of the wolf's spirit has gotten stuck to their own. Cultivators with lycanthropy are often associated with demons and disrepute, like Wu Yanzi, and there are countless tales of them turning on their own people or being revealed as violent, depraved criminals. It's only slightly more acceptable than being a demon outright.

In other words it's not a desirable circumstance.

And yet, for some reason, Luo Binghe is reprehensibly lapse in his protections against lycanthropy. Shen Qingqiu has told him all of the precautions he knows against it, and yet it's almost like Binghe keeps doing the exact opposite things! Listen, wolves are cool. Shen Qingqiu knows that. He's actually kind of fine with turning into one, since it seems to be less of a ravenous beast situation than he'd feared. But there are still social consequences to this kind of a thing! Luckily, it doesn't actually matter much because even with his uncharacteristic youthful irresponsibility, Binghe's heavenly demon blood protects him from ever being cursed. The only way he'd get lycanthropy would be if he deliberately let a werewolf bite him and then just refused to excise the curse, and even then, he could purge the tainted wolf spirit from him just by force of will whenever he wanted.

Seriously, though! It's only when Shen Qingqiu points out that Luo Binghe is going to make people suspicious with all his negligence towards basic precautions that Binghe finally smartens up about it.

(Luo Binghe, out in the woods during a full moon: Wolf Shizun please bite me? Bite Binghe? Then we can be together every full moon! Look here I'll stick my hand in your mouth... just, just chomp down... no don't lick... *sigh*...)

Anyway, the plot still goes mostly the same, except that when Shen Qingqiu put into the water prison it's the full moon. He expects this is part of Luo Binghe's plan against him -- Binghe probably couldn't reveal the lycanthropy without also admitting he'd known before and helped hide it, but this way, Shen Qingqiu can just get caught as a wolf by the palace guards. But Luo Binghe's just been so frazzled and distressed by everything that he genuinely forgot what phase the moon was on. Shen Qingqiu's expecting a lot of things when he wakes up after transforming in the Water Prison, but being back out of the Water Prison and snuggled up to the protagonist's chest wasn't on the list.

Turns out that after his confrontation with Luo Binghe and the Little Palace Mistress, Gongyi Xiao went to check on him and found him transformed. After Gongyi Xiao alerted the rest of the palace, the Palace Master determined that Shen Qingqiu being a werewolf was as good as a confirmation of guilt, and had the wolf dragged out to be killed. Luo Binghe intervened, Shen Qingqiu took off, and between one thing and another the whole night was spent with Huan Hua and Cang Qiong cultivators trying to catch him (for different reasons).

Of course it was Luo Binghe who eventually cornered the terrified wolf, at which point the wolf actually, finally did bite him. But when Binghe failed to react, it whimpered and went back to its usual behavior, and let Binghe lead it out of the city and off to its usual territory near Cang Qiong. The wolf then proceeded to act like an overjoyed puppy whose owner had finally come back from war, until Binghe broke down and sobbed himself to sleep. It must have curled up onto his chest afterwards.

Shen Qingqiu is deeply embarrassed, but... somehow Luo Binghe doesn't seem to be taking revenge on him?

He's going to need to treat that bite wound soon, though.

Binghe.

Binghe, you are going to treat that--

#svsss #bingqiu #scum villain #long post #scum villain's self saving system #luo binghe you can't be a half demon AND a werewolf #even though it's really cool #because of reasons #people already called you a gary stu on the forums you don't need to give them this kind of ammunition #not that he was ever beating the allegations anyway but that's not the point

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madamechrissy · 7 months ago

Text

Silent Serenades

♔ An arranged Marriage with Duke Gojo ♔

♔ Pairings: Satoru Gojo x you - in this chap it's Satoru Gojo x random girl, Nanami x you It's messy and will get messier.

♔ Warnings: Sex, infidelity, mentions of disordered eating of the reader, descriptions of reader physically (just ties in with the story here) cheating on both ends, cruelty from Duke Gojo, cunnilingus, fingering, first time blow jobs, toxic attraction. OOC. ANGST. SO MUCH TENSION. More Mr. Nanami. Gojo is TERRIBLE still, you're warned

♔ Word count this chap: 10k

♔ Summary: you are the diamond of the season, he is the charming Duke, it’s the marriage of the decade. Prominent families joining, and it so happens that Duke Gojo is gorgeous. But, he doesn't want you, and now you're trapped in a loveless arranged marriage. Royal AU, dark bridgerton vibes, Cruel Gojo x reader. OOC Set in 1800s England. Gojo is awful at first, HEAVY angst Basically- Gojo is a royal dick and doesn't wanna marry you

A/N: Half Gojo's POV, Half yours. LONG ONE

Part Four - Masterlist - Playlist

Part Five: The Masquerade

Your POV

It’s the night of the Gojo manor masquerade, it’s so odd to think this is where you’d met Mr. Nanami years ago, in this cold man’s manor, long before you two were betrothed. Sometimes you wish you had just ran off with Mr. Nanami that night, but it was a foolish little idea, wasn’t it? How could you have happiness like that, when this is where you live.

After that night you’ve completely avoided the Duke, he has not just disgusted you, you’ve disgusted yourself with your reaction. You’d laid there for hours that night, and at some point Gojo had come into your room, you had acted asleep, of course so as not to face him.

It was late in the night, long past those disgusting noises you had to hear of Gojo and his Mistress, so you assumed they were asleep. You were just able to breathe finally, just able to exist a bit without feeling that tightness in your chest. Then he was there, you struggle to stay still as you hear your door open, hear it creaking gently in the night.

You could hear his footsteps in the night, bare feet padding along the old floors of the room, then he’d just stood there, like some creep, well he was, wasn’t he? A confusing, evil, cruel ass of a man. A man that had ripped your dress to shreds, and the worst part is you had been thrilled, you’d never felt more alive then when he’d consumed you.

You felt horrible, thinking of Nanami, someone you could see some future with, some happiness, his tired eyes and smirk on those lips. The way you felt so fucking safe in his arms. Not stupid Gojo, not the damned Duke who absolutely ruined your life, that wrecked your psyche. As confident and strong as you act, the Duke had single handedly destroyed so much.

Now he back tracks his words, shouldn’t have said this, shouldn’t have said that, but it’s poor, sad excuses. You cannot allow yourself to fall victim to him again.

He is leaning over you now, and your eyelashes flutter just a bit when he pulls your blanket up over your body, up on your shoulders, before you hear him sigh just a bit, brushing the backs of his fingers on your cheek. You want to smack him, you want to jump up, but then he’d know you were pretending, so you just lay there, exhaling and trying to keep still.

After a moment he’s gone, just like he was never there, leaving your cheek burning from the odd touch, and your mind more confused at this man. What even was his problem, why would he come here after fucking his whore, why would he watch you as you sleep!? The man who hates you so.

You shake off that weird night, and you had not said a word to him all day, even going so far as to eat breakfast in complete silence. He had just looked at you every so often, and you’d peeked back, raising a brow, expecting some nasty remark or comment, but he’d not said a single word. You’re not sure it’s much better than his cruelty, this weird silence.

You stand before the mirror in your room, your heart racing as your maid and Nan dress you in the gown of a glittery silver, the fabric shimmering like stars. It’s so very beautiful. Mei and Utahime absolutely did impeccably. It fits you so perfectly, cinched in with beautiful jewels along the bodice, it’s surely the finest thing you have ever worn or even seen.

“My, you’re a vision, your grace!” The maid says, and you smile at her, feeling yourself flush under the praise.

“Indeed, you’ll be the belle of the ball. Like a Princess.” Nan says then, and you twirl a bit, watching the light catching the flouncing skirts.

“You two are most kind. I do feel most lovely in this.” You admit, as you look at your reflection in the gilded mirror. Your hair is piled high on your head, adorned with a diamond tiara that sparkles brightly. You look like a princess, like a vision from a fairytale that’s come to life, and for a moment, you let yourself believe in the illusion.

Your mask is a thing of beauty as Nan ties it around your face, a delicate little creation of lace and velvet that covers the top half of your face, leaving only your eyes and lips exposed. You feel so mysterious with it, as if you could be anyone you want, and who would you want to be?

It feels as if you lose yourself more and more here.

You glide down the grand staircase now, the silk of your gown whispering against the marble as you descend into the masquerade ball, the violinists and cellists making the most beautiful melodies, mingling with the cacophony of laughter and conversation. As you step down further, the room is full of ladies in white, and gentlemen in black, dancing and mingling in pretty patterns.

Your heart is beating out of your chest as you step down, curious if Mr. Nanami may make an appearance, curious if your ‘husband’ would pretend to be kind or not. His mother is here, along with your parents. As you enter the ballroom at the last step, your lace gloved hand on the bannister, heads turn and eyes follow your every movement, until they’re all looking at you.

Well everyone but one person, Satoru Gojo, he’s laughing with those bright white teeth, in his white suit, different from every other man in black, along with a dark blue cape and dark blue mask, covering half his face. You can feel the air change, as they’re looking at you, and everything quiets. There are whispers then, as you nervously stand there, alone and in the center of attention.

‘The Duchess!’

‘She looks like a Princess!’

‘Beautiful!’

‘Breathtaking, look at that gown…’

You smile at them, as they look to you in awe, the many masked women and men, amongst a sea of butlers, waitresses and performers, no one moves a muscle. You see the familiar figure of Lord Geto and Lady Shoko, waving at you, and you look further, until you see his strong figure, in a suit that’s fit to him like a glove, those hazel lazy eyes twinkling.

You smile shyly as you see his lips part in shock, and you then watch everyone stare at Duke Gojo, someone tapping his shoulder then, and he looks to where you’re standing now, amongst the whispers. You expect the same coldness in his gaze as usual, but when his eyes land on you, something in them flickers.

For a moment, he’s stunned, his hand frozen mid-gesture, as they fall slowly, and he slowly walks toward you, as you now nervously fiddle with your own gloves, in front of your lap. You know he’ll try to ruin your confidence, even in this moment where hundreds of people are staring at your gown, your tiara, your beauty, but you know the damage the Duke can do.

He’ll show them what they need, he’ll pretend to hold your hand and smile as if you’re both great, but the coldness he emits will freeze you. He steps up one step now, holding his hand out now, eyes glimmering a shocking blue as he looks every inch of you over, making you nervous. Is he looking for some lack of perfection? Is he looking for something to mock?

“Duchess.” He says hoarsely, clearing his throat, and you hesitantly put your hand in his, gasping a bit when he pulls you towards him, your glittering heels stepping onto the floor below.

“Duke.” You respond, curtseying then, and Duke Gojo bows at the waist, then his lips part, then close. You watch his Adam’s apple bob as he leads you to the dance floor now, and the people gush over the two of you.

If only they knew, the real man, that looks so charming and fun, that’s so elegantly holding you at your waist with one hand, the other up, and you put your little one in his, which swallows yours. You suck in a breath as Gojo just stares at you then, as the music starts once more, and everyone’s gaze is on you both.

He begins to lead you into a waltz, elegant in his steps, your heels and his dress shoes clicking and echoing on the floor, as the music softly crescendos, and you’re spinning, in a dance with your fake husband. You keep your eyes affixed to his elegantly tied cravat as your body gets dizzy, as you brace for the blow.

He says your name, and you tense, looking up then. “I hope I am adequate looking tonight, Duke.” You murmur, and he turns you, before pulling you against him, dipping you over his arm, then slowly back up.

“You know what you look like, you had everyone in the room with their mouths open, what do you need a compliment from me?” He says then, through his terse lips, and you scoff, rolling your eyes behind your mask.

“I do not expect one, I expected you to say passable or the like.” You retort, and he laughs, his grip on your waist tightening and making you wince a bit, as his gaze burns you.

“You look… you look…” He sighs then, spinning you once more, and now your back is against him, his hand on your tummy, as one of his hands slides down your cheek, your neck, before spinning you back, your leg over his now. He grips your leg over your skirts, bending you low again, and your breaths come in quick pants.

“Not passable? Oh dear. I’m so sorry, husband.” You whisper, right against his lips, then you smirk at his glare. “I’m sure someone here will call me beautiful.”

Satoru’s grip gets tighter, as everyone starts dancing around you now, and the room is lively again. You see your parents by the buffet with Satoru’s mother and stepdad, watching you all curiously, then when you’re facing Satoru again, his eyes are lidded, snowy white lashes lowered over them. His hand is trembling slightly as it holds onto you.

“Is your lover here?” He demands, and you smile softly.

“How many of your lovers are here?” You counter, earning a scoff.

“Tch, insolent brat.” You scowl.

“Man whore.” He grits his teeth.

“You’re just a whore, then.” Your own eyes narrow as you spin once more, away from him, and he watches you with his fists clenched, as your gown glitters from the chandeliers above, bouncing light all over. You bow down, as does he, then your hands join once more.

“Can’t wait for this dance to end.” You say, and he’s sighing, a hand slipping up your back and making you tremble. “I know you also wish it was done.”

“You think you know me at all?” His voice is softer now, and your eyes lock, as you feel it, something just different now.

“You hate me, so I imagine having me in your arms is quite the task.” He brings you up then, off the ground spinning you, and you hate how you actually enjoy it. “Careful, don’t hurt-”

“You weigh nothing, stupid fucking girl. Less than nothing as you continue to ignore your meals in front of me.” His hiss is dark, and you sigh, looking away.

You realize you’re dragging out that comment, and for once you decide perhaps you should stop, Gojo has not said anything else about it since and you’re making it an ongoing issue, one that’s affecting you severely now. You let your anger consume you. “Very well, I will stop such comments, I am being…”

“You’re fucking beautiful, the most beautiful thing here.” You step back, nearly falling as your mouth opens wide in shock.

“You can’t just say that, it’s not what you think! You’re such a manipulative, confusing ass of a man.” You stomp on his foot then, and he snarls at you, hopping on a leg.

“You stomp my foot for a bloody compliment? Stupid fucking brat.”

“Yes well it’s false, I like you better when you’re honest.”

“Honest!?”

“Indeed, when you tell me how much I disgust you.” His grip is so brutal you feel it through your layers, as it digs in. “What’s wrong Duke?”

“You know how beautiful you are.” He whispers those words, and they feel foreign from his cold lips, and now the song is changing, but he’s just standing there, holding you for a moment. “Do not play stupid.”

“You ever think you’ve knocked down my thoughts of myself!?” You hiss out the words then, and he looks down, backing away and dropping his hands as if you are a fire that burns him.

“As if you’ll take a compliment from me.”

“Because it’s a lie.”

“It’s not!”

“Hello, love birds.” Comes Satoru’s mother then, elegant in her gown, with her stark white hair flowing down in waves, smiling at you both now. “You’re the prettiest lady I’ve seen, why you rival Her Majesty’s style.”

“Oh thank you, Mama.” You say then, kissing her cheeks, and Satoru is still fuming, fucking glaring at you.

“Satoru. How have you been treating your wife?” She asks then, and Satoru scoffs, opening his mouth, but you cut him off.

“He’s been so kind, Mama, truly.” You say, and Duke Gojo scowls at you now, earning his mother’s confusion. People all around are going to get refreshments, talking and mingling. Satoru’s mother has a confused purse to her lips.

“I’ve heard things, from servants and friends alike. That you two share no room together. That Satoru has live in Mistresses? Plural. This isn’t true, is it?” She demands, and Satoru says nothing, he’s still looking at you with disbelief in his eyes, forcing you to clear your throat, smiling brightly.

“You cannot trust gossip, Mama. Oh, hello Mother, Father!” Your parents come over then, and you hug them both politely, you and your parents had a decent relationship, but not too close. They were very about appearances, and trained you to be as well, it’s partly why you hide emotions so well.

There are no warm smiles, but polite ones, they had never been cruel, just they had not spent much time with you growing up. You were raised by governess, Nannies, and the like. You suppose it’s the way of nobility, but you know if you ever had children it would be very, very different.

“I was just asking how the marriage was, you said it’s going well, Duchess?” Satoru’s Mom asks again, and you nod, grabbing Satoru’s hand, and it’s stiff and unyielding, even when you give him a look behind your mask, he’s still staring at you, not saying a goddamn thing.

“It’s going well, isn’t it dear husband?” You ask, earning his lips parting, then closing, as he sighs. Then his hand enwraps yours, and for a moment you enjoy it, huge, enwrapping your little hand, entwining his fingers with yours. You suck in a breath at how good it feels, and how much you hate it.

Duke Gojo’s POV

Satoru is holding your delicate little hand in his, and it feels so good he can’t stand it, he can’t take it, how good you smell, how good your skin feels, how breathtaking you are. You’re a vision in this silver, glittery gown, you stand out in this sea of people, a diamond doesn’t even begin to describe you. As he danced he’d seen every set of eyes on you.

Even his mother loves you, everyone does, don’t they? And how can they not, when you smile brightly, those tempting lips hiding your true feelings. You look up at him then, with that lacy mask on your perfect face, only making you sexier, making him fill with want he has to shove down. Your glittery eyes, filled with tears just the other day, look right into his fucking soul.

He squeezes your hand back, watching your breasts heave in your dress, pressed up and delectable in that corset, fuck your body was so beautiful, Satoru couldn’t help but picture you when he fucks his mistress now. Now that he’s tasted you!? He wishes he could every day, fuck he wants to worship you on his goddamn knees.

But he can’t, can he?

Why are you lying for him, after what he’s done, what he’s said!? Saying you’re a pig, when you’re the complete opposite, making you not even eat in front of him. It breaks him, his cruelty and its effects, watching you slimmer and slimmer because he was evil and lied. Even if you’ve forgiven him, how will he forgive himself?

How can he forgive himself for your panic attack when he said the cruelest things, or the wedding night when he smacked your precious face, leaving a huge red hand print? You should hate him, fuck you should hate him more. That was his goal, for you to hate him, and he succeeded. To protect himself, because you look so much like her, so much…

So much like the love of his life that destroyed him. Fuck if you two weren’t related, she was all he could see when he first saw you, at that masquerade years ago, you were young. That night she had destroyed him, that night she had slept right with Satoru’s own father, and fuck if Satoru wasn’t glad that man was dead. She’d had no shame either.

As soon as Satoru became Duke, he sent her far away, and then who’s there but you and you’re the spitting image damn near. You were softer, prettier, not nearly as practiced and seductive, but seeing you had made him sick. Then your confidence and poise made you even more similar to her, she had Satoru ready to destroy the world for her.

He’d spent his entire money on her, he’d given her everything, only to have found her one day with his father, because his father had more money. Satoru had never forgiven him, even on his fucking death bed, and he let his dad know then that he will never give him an heir. That disgusting man had died in horror, and Satoru had just fucking grinned.

But fuck if you’re not more beautiful, and she was a gorgeous girl, but your energy, everything about you makes it worse. Now he knows you have some lover, and it brings it all back, he imagines you riding someone, he imagines you as the one who did that to him, that made him cold. Because of her Satoru closed himself off, drowned himself in alcohol, gambling and whores.

And he was living that life just fine until you.

Now, however, as he sees the dulling of your brightness, he knows what he’s done is so fucking wrong, but he’s too far gone in this, and now you’re rightfully gone. You moved on so quickly, to someone who surely worships you, and Satoru thinks maybe that’s for the best, no chance of you two ever being together, in any way, shape or form.

But when he’d kissed you?

Satoru had never felt anything like it, not when he kissed who he thought he ‘loved’ and Satoru had never tasted anything like your honeyed arousal on his tongue. As a man who gets sucked, who fucks rough, all he can think is having you gush down his mouth, down his tongue, he things of it as he strokes himself after his Mistress failed to make him cum.

He’d snuck in your room and watched you, with tears irritating his blue eyes, as you looked so tiny, so fragile, shivering in the cold. Having to listen to him, having to see him, he’s cruel, he’s terrible. You did nothing to deserve it. And you’re so fucking strong, so composed, so determined, you thrive even as he tried to shoot you down. He can’t even understand you.

It’s too late, isn’t it… and even if not, could Satoru not hate you, when you remind him so much of everything he hates? Could he ever even express an emotion, could he even compliment you, no you think they’re fake, and he understands. Even on your wedding night, looking so beautiful it made him ache, he’d lied, and you’d so easily believed that lie.

Why would you lie for him?

Take the opportunity, let his mother reprimand him, let him be made a fool of, he deserves the worst. Perhaps the worst is just beginning for him, now that he knows you have someone that makes you so happy. Your marks on those lush breasts, your slick wet cunt he knows someone licked, touched before him, it makes him furious, so furious, but he can do nothing.

“Indeed, we are doing well.” Satoru says softly, and you both talk to your family about a dinner coming, before you smile prettily up at Satoru.

“Could we get refreshments? My throat is parched, husband.” You say, and he just nods, leading you to the table where there was punch, and he did not ever wanna let your hand go. But you pull it away, leaving him empty. “I’m sorry, I just needed to get away, you don’t have to get me a drink.”

“Why?” He demands then, fists clenching on either side of him. You blink a bit, before pouring your own drink, Satoru would never even afford you a kindness like that, fuck he treats you like shit, he loathes himself more every moment.

“No need to cause a scene. I figure it best we handle an annulment after some time, especially if you wish to keep my dowry. I know you’re rich, but we technically are even richer.” You sip some lemonade, sighing, and he watches a little droplet fall down, right to your chin. He delicately swipes it off, and watches your intake of breath, your eyes darting to his.

“Why do you care if I have your dowry?”

“I figure it’s why you want to stay married. This gives us both what we want, me my freedom, you the dowry, and you never have to look at me again.” Your words are like a punch to the gut, how cold and detached you sound.

“Freedom to marry?” Satoru asks softly, pouring his own drink with trembling hands, usually so sure, but you have this stupid effect.

“Possibly, one day.” You get a soft, dreamy smile, as the chandeliers reflect off your glowing, soft skin, your gorgeous gown. You look like a Princess, perhaps more beautiful than one, not that he’d say it. Not that you’d want it from his cruel lips. But he knows someone else here will say it, and will whisper it in your delicate little ear.

Fuck he hates himself.

He hates you.

“Married to some baker?” He says, and you giggle then, fuck you’re so bratty, how you’d bragged about your breasts, about cumming, you confused the living fuck out of him. Intrigued him. Filled him with need.

Fuck.

“Maybe, Duke.” You would never call him his name, would you? Well unless you were cooing to your stupid puppy. “I think we’ve made our presence known, we should be free to spend the evening apart.”

He blinks rapidly, as you smile a bit into the crowd, and go to leave, but he stops you with a hand on your little waist, stiff and jeweled in that corset, making you pause, looking up curiously. “You are off to see your lover, like a whore?”

You smile then, that mean little smile that is full of hatred. “I will absolutely see him tonight. When he compliments me, it’s sincere, you know. Not for show.”

“You’re stupid. You’re fucking stupid.” He whispers, earning your glare now, your hand shoving his chest, burning through his dress shirt, starch and stiff. He imagines actually touching you, making love to you, doing the things you would do without him, watching that pretty face cumming? Fuck.…

“Duke Gojo, go have fun yourself, be discreet for appearances please. It’s not like I care. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” You peel his hand off, and it drops, as he turns and watches you glide through the damn crowd, a sea of ladies and gentlemen, and all that stands out is you.

Your skirts swish as your perfect silhouette disappears, and everyone greets you, everyone signs your goddamn dance card, including Suguru, who he knows has it bad for you. Fuck Suguru would have been good for you, but you’re stuck with a man you don’t want, aren’t you?

You don’t want Satoru at all. You’re the only woman who hasn’t. But he pushed you there, and now he has to watch everyone fawn over his wife, a woman he’ll never have, who he didn’t want. A woman he hates, because not just how she looks, how she acts, but what she’s doing, making him feel things he swore he never would, and then when he sees you light up…

That smile brightens the giant ballroom, as you’re in a man’s arms during the next set, a tall blond man with broad shoulders, and he’s grinning along with you, his hand on the small of your back, as the other caresses your cheek for a second. Just a second but he saw it. He sees your blush even far away, how you giggle, how your head tilts to the side.

That’s him, isn’t it?

You will never look at Satoru like that, why would you anyway? What’s he done to make you smile, laugh, or have any joy, all he does and continues to do is treat you like dirt, worse than dirt, kick you down. And you blossom in this man’s arms, and Satoru’s picturing you with him, under him, and it makes him sick.

One of the lady’s he’d fucked a long time ago comes to him now, asking him to sign her dance card, and Satoru decides to throw himself into the dance, to flirt with her, to smirk. To whisper in the shell of her ear, making her shiver as his fingers brush her upper back. Women were games to him, soft and easy, aside from you.

He hates himself.

He hates how you confuse him.

He hates you.

Your POV

Shaking off the very odd interaction with the Duke, you are now dancing in Nanami Kento’s arms, and he has a surprising grace - well was it surprising? - the man exudes elegance. But as a businessman unaccustomed to such events, he is a perfect dancer, and you can’t help but giggle every time he looks at you, earning his soft chuckle as you both turn about the ballroom.

“Imagine seeing you here?” He says then, and you giggle once more.

“Imagine, Mr. Nanami. Meeting here.” You tease back.

“I missed you and it was only a day, sweet girl.” His voice is husky now, and your heart is thudding in your chest, as you melt into the dance, almost tripping over your normally sure feet. Your gloved hand in his clutches tightly, your other hand on his chest, where he wore the most handsome black suit.

“You surely make me a blushing mess.” You say softly, earning a glint in those hazel depths, his big hand tightening just a bit on your waist.

“I’m honored to have such an effect on the most beautiful lady I’ve seen.” You look down a bit, nearly tripping, and he catches you with ease, chuckling a bit. “You surely know you’re a vision tonight.”

“Thank you, Mr. Nanami. You also look quite dashing, you know Sir.” You say now, as he spins you gently, pulling your back against his chest, and then your eyes catch him.

The Duke.

His blue eyes are boring into you across the room, staring straight at you, to the point you can feel that gaze like a brand. He’s dancing with a lovely lady in a white dress and a white mask, and you watch his fingers slip up her back then, as he bends down to whisper in her ear. You blink a bit, taking a breath and then looking away, up at Nanami behind you.

“You are an even more skilled dancer than last time, Sir. Do you have a secret hobby, amongst the rest?” You ask then, teasingly, and Nanami scoffs a bit, spinning you back around, pulling you close for a moment before you both step back. He bows and you curtsey as the song ends.

“No hobby, darling. You give me too much credit.” He goes to touch your hand, then pulls back, realizing he can’t, and you watch his jaw tense, that Adam’s apple bob a bit. You frown.

“I’m sorry you cannot take my hand, Kento.” You whisper, looking away and clutching your layered gown tightly. “It’s selfish you see?”

“Darling, I’ll be fine. You’re not a bit selfish.” You look back to him, as you see his hands open and close at the sides, before they land in his trouser pockets, and your heart aches, your mind swirling in confusion.

As the music starts to die down later that night, and you’ve made several rounds with everyone, currently finishing a set with Lord Geto, you notice the Duke’s eyes on you again as he’s just laughing and leaning against a wall, and the girl is blatantly against him.

“He’s still being terrible, isn’t he? Fuck, any better at all?” You sigh, looking up at Lord Geto, who had danced twice with Lady Shoko, which put quite a smile on your face, but they seemed just friends for now. She had headed home and you two had danced a beautiful quadrille, dancing with Suguru was always so fun.

“He’s slightly better. I suppose. I told him we would annul the marriage in time, and he seemed… angry? It’s hard to understand him.”

“Mmm. I suppose. He’s never really acted this way, aside from a long time ago, he did have someone break his heart. I never met her though.”

“Duke Gojo had a heart?” Geto grins at that, and you both laugh a bit, as he leads you to get a drink, pouring one for you.

“I suppose he did. Here, love.” You take it thankfully, sighing as the cool condensation of the glass hits your lips.

“You’re a gem, Lord Geto.” You say, brushing his shoulder with your hand and smiling brightly.

“And you’re a diamond. Clearly, look at you, glittering everywhere.” You giggle softly, shaking your head.

“That’s sweat, probably, my Lord.” Geto rolls his chocolate eyes with a smirk, and then you pay attention, as the entire masquerade shifts.

People are kissing everywhere, as the music gets heavier, and much of the older ladies and gentlemen leave. This was around the time you had to leave as a young lady, but now you were in full view, as they now brought out several ladies, scandalously dressed and dancing. As the ballroom clears out slowly and others are sneaking into little alcoves.

“Oh… Is this…” You trail off nervously.

“This is how these tend to go. Horny ton members.” He teases, and then studies your features. “What do you think of such things, Duchess?”

“I’m not quite sure.” You see the dancers saunter by, one comes to you, brushing her pretty nails along your cheek, smiling at you, and making you flush. She then comes to Geto, a hand on his chest, dragging him by his tie. He looks at you, and you wave him off.

“I should stay with you.” He says, and you shake your head with laughter as the dancer pouts.

“You have fun, Lord Geto. Not too much though.” He snorts, finishing his drink and then kissing your hand.

“Find me if you need me, Duchess. Holy… you bend that way!?”

You turn away in a fit of laughter, as alcoholic drinks are now being served, and you can feel the tension in the air as you sip on bubbly champagne. The whispers of scandal and passion whirl in your ears as the music builds to a crescendo, the dancers in the middle of the ballroom now, for all to see, as people in their masks are hiding their identities, kissing in dark shadowy corners.

You see Nanami again, and you walk back over that way, passing Satoru kissing now in his own corner, and you watch his long fingers dance along her waist, and for just a moment you feel them like they’re touching you. His eyes are shut, his pretty face concentrated as her head lolls over to the side, and he’s kissing her neck, before they open, and catch you watching.

You pause, breaths coming in little pants as he pauses his kisses, his hands sliding down her slowly, as he watches you so intently, his eyes going down your body, drinking you inch by inch. You are just frozen, and why? Why do you care, he’s not yours, you don’t want him.

You don’t care.

You don’t.

When he’s grabbing at her ass blatantly, you do look away, walking by quickly, past more and more couples kissing, caressing, sighing. Is this what you missed as a young, unmarried lady, you wonder? Where there were hundreds and hundreds of people, there were about fifty left, and all quite busy.

You hear the rustle of silk and satin mixing with the low murmur of sultry whispers and cries, as you’re right in the middle of it, your heart racing with the thrill of it all, shocked by what you see. But Satoru’s image is burned in your brain, and you fucking hate it. You don’t want him. You don’t care.

He’s disgusting and cruel.

You shake off such an odd feeling, as the night reaches its peak, the music changes, the tempo slowing to a seductive crawl, and it almost gets hard to breath, as you walk over to Nanami now, and he smiles over a glass of neat whiskey, sitting down in one of the arm chairs. He pats his leg, and you look around nervously, slipping off your gloves and clutching them.

“I believe you can feel a bit more free tonight, Darling.” He says, and you nervously sit on one of his thighs, squealing as he pulls you against him, wrapping an arm around your waist.

“I fear I’ll still be under scrutiny.” You whisper, looking around, but you realize several people aren’t with their partners, some are with multiple partners even, two men kissing on one woman’s neck, two women on one man's lap. “I’m the only one wearing silver, Nanami.”

“Indeed you are.” He chuckles warmly, pulling you down softly, kissing your lips, and you exhale against them, how good it feels. “These events tend to be secret, as they do not wish their secrets shared.”

“You are rather familiar with these, Sir!”

“Mmm, I’ve been to some events with my business.”

“And what is it that you do?” You ask, leaning against him, your fingers brushing up and down his chest. You sip your champagne, and he takes the glass, setting it on the table along with his whiskey, pulling you closer, so close you feel how hot he is, how hard that body is.

“I tend to do a little of everything, up to and including baking cookies with a Duchess. I’m rather important.” You grin then, as your heart swells, as his hands touch you over your layers of gossamer and satin. One hand reaches down and runs up your calf, over your white stockings, and you sigh in pleasure.

“You are important to have such a baking partner, Sir.” His face is more serious now, though, behind that mask that you want to rip off, to see his handsome face, as his hand rests on your thigh, and you feel your core tense, heat building as he’s so, so close to where you’re currently getting wetter and wetter.

“Should I have such an angel on my lap?” He whispers, sliding even further, until he’s right where your lace pantalets sit, and he’s slipping his thumb down into that waistband, watching your every expression. You nervously cling to him, rolling your hips just a bit, and he exhales. “You’re so wet, darling, is this all for me?”

You hear it then, Nanami clearly wants you for himself, and you know that’s foolish for now, but you want to have that dream, of you and a man that wants you, that is so obsessed with you, and it makes your mind fuzzy as the champagne. You whimper when he finds your clit, rubbing in little circles, between damp folds, and you can barely form a word, clutching onto his shirt tightly.

“It is, Mr. Nanami…”

“Kento.”

“Kento. Mnh! Kento…” You whine out, as he’s rubbing you now with two fingers, flicking back and forth as he plays your cunt in public, right under your pretty ball gown, with your damn husband somewhere. It feels so wanton, so naughty, but so fucking good you’re dripping, craving more and more, gasping as he watches you, hungry eyes glinting in the dark.

“Mmm, so beautiful darling, that face when you feel so good? And it’s me making you feel that way?” He moans softly, the sound does things to you, and you find your lips against him now, pressing so deeply, wanting more, more, more of him, of his sure touch, of his sexy voice.

You gasp when he sinks a finger inside of you, right in this ballroom, and your walls are fluttering around it. “It is, Kento… it is.”

Duke Gojo’s POV

Satoru walks by, as he intends on being alone to rekindle the passionate encounters he and Lady Elaine used to have. She’s married to a rather old man who cannot take care of her needs, who is he not to assist? He’s grabbing a bottle of the finest wine, as he passes by to head up the stairs, then he stops in his tracks.

His heart drops to his stomach, his head pounding with the blood pressure that rises when he sees you, in your gorgeous fucking gown, on that man’s lap. Your slender arms are wrapped around his neck, one hand in his blond locks, and it’s like a stab in the chest, he stops right in his tracks, fuck he wants to grab you by your perfect little neck and yank you off him.

Satoru wants to bend you over something, beat your ass (fuck what does that look like!?) until you sob, pretty tears, then fuck you so good your tiara clatters to the goddamn floor. He wants to fuck you so good you can’t speak, can’t run that mouth, can’t do anything but drool. He wants to kill this man who dares to fucking touch you, wants to kill him right in front of you.

He feels the anger roll through him in waves, hot fury and something else… he’s hard under his trousers, straining against the stiff fabric as he watches your hips roll under those flouncy layers, as he watches your head fall back, and that man kiss your throat. Duke Gojo wants to do that, he wants to kiss you, touch you, so badly precum leaks against his pants.

But he can never have you.

You’re so out of reach, and he caused it all.

The man’s hand, bruised and cut and in no way a gentleman, grabs you so familiarly, the other mysteriously missing, but he watches your skirt rise and fall, then he knows. He’s fingering you wantonly, like you’re some whore, not a whole fucking Duchess, not his wife. He has no care of who sees you like it, and you clearly are enjoying, fuck he can damn near sense your desire.

He remembers it, how hot you got, how wet, only for a moment, glistening out of your perfect pussy, and he craves it so badly he can’t think, how good would it feel inside of you, to break you, to cum inside you? Something Satoru hadn’t done since her, along with licking a woman’s cunt, it’s not that he didn’t love it, it’s that it was too much to bear.

That overwhelming need to have cum spraying on his face again, and with you, who looks just fucking like her. Was he cursed, to not just repeat this vicious memory over and again, but worse, because he needs you more than her even. And he at least had her, for that time, constantly begging her, pleading with her, for affection, for her touches, for her looks.

Satoru was pathetic with her.

Now he’s more pathetic for you.

“Is everything all right, your grace?” Lady Elaine asks softly, and he notices her then, eager and ready to fuck clearly. But all he can think of is tasting you between your thighs, but you have another man’s hand there.

Fuck you, fuck this, fuck his thoughts.

“Nothing is wrong, let’s go, love.” He says softly, yes he calls her love, but he calls you Duchess, or bitch or something cold. Just as you call him Duke, or something colder.

He stomps by, passing you, and you pull your lips off the man long enough to look to him, fuck he’d been fondling Elaine right in front of you, shameless as you looked, with something in your gaze he couldn’t place. Not hurt truly, not even curiosity, what was that look you gave him, burned into his goddamn brain, as he takes her to his room.

Satoru has her naked in quick haste, she has a beautiful body, but for some goddamn reason he thinks of you, he can’t stop thinking of you, wishing he was the one fingering your eager cunt under your skirts. Why, why, why!? Why do you do this to him, you don’t want him, do you? How could you? How could you want him? If you did, it was physical, it was nothing else.

He’s not even good enough for you.

Is anyone good enough to look upon your pretty face, to taste your sweetness, to caress your soft skin? He imagines your eyes looking at him with desire, not with goddamn hatred, as he kisses Lady Elaine, as he slides his fingers into her cunt, which is soaking wet. He wishes it was tighter, like yours, he wishes he could feel it. Would he ever even get to touch you again?

Satoru flips Lady Elaine around, not being able to stand her face, pretty as it was, instead fingering her as she’s face forward against his wall. He’s listening to her moans, they should be sexy, shouldn’t they? Then why does he have to stroke himself, from the base to the tip of his huge cock, as he shuts his eyes and imagines rubbing that tip between your plump lips.

Why does that get him hard, not Lady Elaines’ rather lucious ass pressing out, her head thrown back, as Satoru’s mask brushes against the back of her neck. Why do you torture him existing? He told you, he wishes you didn’t exist, he remembers as he slides into her entrance, and she sucks him in greedily, and Satoru’s hands are on either side of her body as he fucks into her, braced on the cold door of his room.

Do you know you’re all he thinks of as he fucks her pussy?

Would you care?

Why should you?

Will you get fucked tonight, will you lose your innocence to him, to that man that you light up for? Does Satoru have any say in that, when he pushed you there? But the thought crushes him, as he rests his head down on her bare shoulder, as he fucks her against her cervix, and she’s screaming out, cumming all over him. All he thinks of is you.

All he thinks of is how he’s ruined everything.

All he thinks is how he’s a fucking idiot, for fucking this girl he cares nothing for, when he wants you, fuck he wants you. And it just gets worse every moment he breathes, and as he struggles to focus, rubbing her clit in circles, all he can do is imagine your pussy pulsing around him, your wetness down the ridges and veins of his cock, but you’re going to be that way with him that damn man.

Satoru ignores the tears pricking his blue eyes, fucking her harder and harder, chasing a feeling of anything other than you, other than you sitting on that goddamn man’s lap in your beautiful dress.

Your POV

You hate how you feel when you watch Satoru walk by, when you’d seen pain in his goddamn gaze, and for what!? It’s not as if he doesn’t have another woman he’s with, what’s this four in the short time you’ve had the unfortunate circumstance of being his ‘wife’. What did it matter you finally had some pleasure, with a man who cherishes you, who plays you so well.

You turn back to Nanami, eyes fluttering shut as he crooks his fingers up, and you’re so close you hold back, gasping, thighs tightening around his hand. “Mr. Nanami… somewhere private?”

“Of course, Darling. I got carried away.” He says softly, inhaling, pulling his hands out of you and helping you stand up. “It’s your home, Duchess. Where to?”

“My chambers, if you’re comfortable? Is it too… mad?” You ask softly, and he cups your face, bending down, his mask brushing right against yours as you both stand in the ballroom.

“Of course not, darling. You lead the way.” You take his hand, biting your lower lip nervously as you lead him through the corridors, up the winding staircases to where you must pass Satoru’s chambers to get to you own, hearing loud moans of a woman. You ignore whatever you feel, continuing to pull Nanami into your room, alone, shutting the door behind you.

You both stand there, breathless now, and your lips brush back against each other, the kiss is soft at first, tentative, then it deepens, growing more passionate and desperate with each passing second. His arms wrap around you, pulling you closer, and you can feel the thump of his heart against your chest, echoing the rhythm of yours, his hands roaming your body.

Nanami Kento pulls back, sucking in a breath, and taking off your mask carefully, licking his glossy lips and exhaling. “You’re so beautiful, darling. I feel I’m having another dream, in my Duchess chambers.”

“Oh, Kento…” You take his mask off gently, heart racing as you feel heat washing through you, along with the alcohol spreading heat in your body.

“What does my darling want? I’m at your command.” Nanami’s handsome face looks down at you, and you take a shaky breath, sliding your hands up his strong shoulders.

“Your darling would like to see you. Please.” He steps back, and you’re eagerly helping him undress, taking off his suit jacket, then his vest and shirt, until he’s bare chested, and he’s gorgeous. You feel your tummy tighten as you look at him, so built like a statue of a god, muscles thick and sinewy under golden skin. “Oh my, Kento you’re so beautiful.”

“Me, Duchess? You.” He huskily says, pulling you against him, bending low and kissing you, as you feel his hands unlacing your corset deftly. You soon are just in your skirts, which he gently takes off with great care, leaving you in pantalets and a chemise. “Darlin, look at you.”

“I see you, Kento, I see you.” He blinks a bit, gulping audibly, before pressing you against the door of your own room, you feel the cold wood press against your back as he slips down to his knees, and you gasp as he pulls your pantalets down.

“And I see you, darling. So wet, so ready. Do you want to cum on my mouth again?” He asks, and you whimper then, nodding eagerly, clinging your hands to bare, hot shoulders.

“I want to make love, Nanami.”

“Darling…”

“You’ll make me wait? Not at my command?” You feel his chuckle against your inner thigh.

“I’ll let you go further tonight, but not just yet. Let me enjoy my time?” You nod then, embarrassed you’re so eager, as you look at his handsome face and he’s pushing your chemise, silky up your thighs, and pulling a thigh over his shoulder. “Good girl.”

Good girl!?

You can’t take it, as soon as his tongue slides up your slit, you’re screaming out, moaning so loud it’s ridiculous, you’re so ready you can’t stand it. And Nanami is staring up at you, pulling back and grinning. “Darling, your husband is next door.”

“Shit.”

“You cuss like a man.” He kisses your clit, and you struggle not to scream out again, but you fail.

“He doesn’t care.”

“Mmm, let’s be a little quiet, wild girl.” You nod then, and he’s drinking you up now, your wetness pouring into his hot mouth, and your eyes roll back, toes curling in those glittery heels you still have on, rolling your hips for more. Nanami eagerly licks and sucks your little clit into his mouth, and you struggle not to scream, but fuck it feels so good.

Duke Gojo’s POV

Are you moaning in there!?

He hears you, wanton little whore that you are, he wants to be the one that makes you cum, fuck he’d make you cum so good you’d forget whatever he has done, you’d know nothing. You wouldn’t speak, if he had time with you, you wouldn’t even make those little moans, you’d be screaming.

Satoru is still pumping in and out of Lady Elaine, on her hands and knees in his bed, he’d been going at it for some time, but now he’s furious. How dare you be moaning with another man, what are you doing, and would he ever get a fucking chance to try?

How could he when he’s still inside a woman.

He’s no better than you, no he’s worse.

The tragedy of listening to you and picturing you just makes him fuck her harder, as her moans grow loud in the room, do you hear in your chambers he wonders, do you even care? Do you care about anything but surely dripping out cum down another man’s mouth, or worse?

Fuck he hates his thoughts, why are they always of you!?

Your POV

You hear Satoru’s moans as you’re pressed against the door, as Nanami is working on you, but you shove them out of your mind, what do you care, Satoru is no matter, not when you’re cumming so good. Not when you’re shattering over Nanami’s handsome face, knees so weak he has to catch you so you don’t fall as you scr4eam out your climax.

“Kento!” You cry out loudly, and Kento moans softly, pulling back, standing and kissing you deeply, and you flip him then, pressing him against the door.

“Darling?”

“My turn.” You unbuckle his leather belt, and he’s breathing heavy, thick muscled chest rising up and down as you work him, as you push down his trousers, your eyes locking on his.

“Darling…”

“I know you won’t make love to me yet, but will you let me pleasure you? Please?” You ask softly, and his cheeks are flushed and his eyes dark with lust, and he nods a bit, making you smile softly.

“Wanton girl, you’ll end me.” You giggle softly, as his pants fall away, revealing his cock, it’s huge and thick, with a reddened tip that’s leaking something white and pearly on the tip, and you bite your lip at the sight, your pussy clenching with anticipation.

“Kento… you’re so…”

“You don’t have to-”

“No, no. It’s so big.” You say, blushing yourself, stroking him hesitantly, watching him suck in a breath, clinging to you.

“Fuck, let’s have you sit, I don’t want your knees hurt?” You think of that then, of Satoru’s mistress sucking him on her knees, and it fills you with something you hate. You lead him to the bed, and sit on it, looking up at him now, hands clutching your red silk blankets.

"Show me what to do, please?"

Kento nods, his hand reaching out to guide your head. “Open your mouth, darling.” He orders softly, and you obey, earning a moan. “I’m dreaming. Okay darling, lick and suck what you can, if it’s too much, tap my thigh. Yes?”

You nod eagerly, tongue out and ready, and soon he’s guiding his tip in, and you’re taking his length in, feeling the heat and the velvet of his skin on your tongue. He groans, a sound that goes straight to your core, making you want to do more, making you want to make him feel as good as he’s made you feel.

“Fuck… darling don’t go too deep.” You pull back a bit, suction popping as you let go for a moment.

“You taste good, Kento.”

Nanami moans, bending down to kiss you for a moment, cupping your face, hands rough. “Darling you’re so perfect, fuck. We can stop here.”

“No, please. Please.” He nods then, opening your mouth with two fingers, shoving his thick cock back in you.

“Play with yourself, darling.” You look up, eyes wide, pulling back again.

“Um…”

“Oh fuck… rub it like I rub you?” You nervously slide up your chemise, finding your clit and whining out, so sensitive it twitches. “That’s it, that’s my girl.”

He shoves his cock back in, and you take more of him in, looking up at him, seeing the desire and pleasure on his handsome face, his cheeks hollowing as he’s stroking your hair now, his eyes on yours as he watches you suck him off. It’s oddly intimate, it feels so good to pleasure him you’re wet again.

Is this what that girl did to Satoru?

You hear him, Satoru is moaning again.

Your tummy clenches as you ignore it, as you focus on sucking Nanami, and your finger circling your clit, struggling to take more. “Breathe through your nose, darling.”

You follow his instruction, and your eyes water as you suck, but you keep going, because you want to please him, you want to feel him come apart in your mouth, like he’s done to you. You wrap your hand around the base of his cock, stroking as you suck, and he’s bucking into your mouth, his hips jerking, as he groans.

“Darling you’re so good at this, fuck. Fuck… darling, I’m close.”

You pull back, shaky. “Can I drink you, like you do me?”

“I’m dreaming, fuck maybe I’ve died.” You giggle then, a bit breathless, still rubbing your clit, as he pulls your hair, still clad with that tiara, heavy on your head, on your heart. “You can, but if you don’t enjoy it, please tell me.”

“I am sure I will.” He’s back in your mouth, and you’re rubbing faster, until you’re cumming from your own touch, and he’s groaning, fucking your mouth, but it’s different than you saw with Satoru, he’s gentle, he’s soft, he’s caring.

Satoru…

Fuck Satoru.

“I’m cumming, darling, ah- fuck…” Nanami groans then, pulling back a bit, then your mouth is filled with thick, salty liquid. You choke a bit at first, but suck it all down, feeling his tip quivering, and he’s groaning, his handsome face contorted in pleasure, stong hands shaking. “Darling… oh my god…”

“Was it good?” You ask after a moment, coughing a bit and swiping your lips, your answer is him on top of you, pressing you into the mattress, kissing you over and over, fingering you again, with two fingers. “Kento!”

“Good!? Good? No. Perfect.”

Perfect.

Hmm.

Why does this word hurt?

“Kento… Kento!” You’re whimpering and oversensitive, as he pumps his fingers, looking down into your eyes. “Please… inside me.”

“Not yet, but soon. I promise. I want you to be sure.” You sigh, shakily nodding, and he’s fingering you harder, scissoring in and out until you’re screaming out, as he’s kissing you, drinking your every cry, until you’ve soaked him. Soon he’s easing out, and his breaths are labored as he caresses your cheek. “Jesus, you’re too good for this Earth.”

“I’m not, I absolutely just sinned so many sins.” He laughs, his sexy little laugh, his handsome grin that fills you with warmth.

“Too angelic looking to be a real sinner.”

“Indeed, Sir!”

Soon you’re in your night shift, and Nanami is back dressed, and you’re seeing him out, kissing him over and over. “I’ll dream of you until we meet again.”

“As will I, Kento.” You say softly, and he is hugging you so tightly, as you walk out into the cold halls, and Kento bows to you, as he walks away, a distant shadowy figure. You take several breaths, tasting him still on your tongue, leaning your back against the hallway walls, struggling to come to.

You’re buzzed, you’d sucked a man, you’d wanted to go even further… what were you doing?

Was it the right thing?

You enjoyed it so much, but something gnaws at you, as the door to Satoru’s room opens, and he steps out, sweaty and shirtless. You stand there, still, as his eyes meet yours in the night. You both just stand there, staring at each other, and you expect him to call you a whore, to say his nasty fucking words. But he doesn’t, he walks to you, he presses you into that wall, leaning over you.

You just look up at him, eyes wide, and his blue eyes torturously analyze you, emotions making them glossy, as he then punches that wall next to you, chest shaking as he lets out a shaky breath. And you touch his bare chest, nails digging in, as you stare up at him, tears pricking your eyes, as you know what he’s done, and what you have done.

Both of you shouldn’t care.

What’s it matter?

Why can’t you breathe around him!?

“Did you have a good night, Duke?” You whisper, earning his broken laugh, as he leans down and cups your face, tears on his long white lashes.

“Did you, Duchess?” He asks, so soft it’s like it’s not his voice, and you just look away, unable to face those brilliant, insane blue eyes.

“Good night, Duke.” You say then, turning, and opening your door knob, for him to grab you by the waist, shoving you against him, and your head leans back, as you eagerly rock against him. You hate it, your reaction, as he’s sobbing against your ear, as you’re sobbing against the cold night air.

“Good night?” He whispers brokenly, and you just nod, shoulders shaking. “Good night… good night!?” He’s pulling your hair, as he’s pressing you so hard against him you can’t fucking breathe, you are so consumed by him, you’d bend over right here and have him fuck into you.

What’s wrong with you!?

You can never!

“Yes… um… is something…”

“Wrong? Everything’s fucking wrong. I can only imagine licking your perfect cunt as I’m fucking her. I can’t get you out of my goddamn head.” He curses, sliding your chemise up and you’re trembling, thighs shaking. “Please just let me taste you, please… just once. Please.”

At his begging, at his insane desire, you just nod then, spreading your thighs, this is insane, it’s insane… “Taste me, then.”

“Fuck.” He’s swirling his fingers along your clit, and you damn near cum from that, throbbing so hard it hurts, as Satoru Gojo’s fingers shove up into you, and all you can imagine is his cock, and you’re crying out, trembling, as he moans. “Fuck, fuck I hate you.”

“I h-hate you too. I do. Fuck!” You’re grinding your cunt on his hand, and he’s so hard against you back, as he’s pulling his fingers out then, and you bend over, gasping as you turn, watching him suck you off his fingers, closing his pretty eyes, white lashes fluttering.

“Goddammit. Goddammit.” He curses, shoving you against the wall now, and you look up at him in shock. “Fuck you, Duchess.”

“Fuck you! Fuck you, Satoru!” He pauses then.

“Satoru?”

“Duke. Duke Gojo. Fuck you.” You shove more and more, and he moans, resting his head on yours before he disappears into his room, and you’re left in shock, in confusion, in disgust.

What is this?

Who is he!?

Who are you.

Enjoy the shitshow, dear Masochistic readers.

Part 6 here

#gojo x reader #gojo smut #satoru x reader #jjk gojo #gojou satoru x reader #jjk smut #duke gojo #silent serenades #bridgerton au #royalty au #arranged marriage #gojo x reader smut #nanamin #nanami kento #satoru smut #satoru x female reader

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hedgehog-moss · 5 months ago

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Pls give recommendations for Odd books 🙏

Here we go, a list of literary oddity :) This post contains majestic spheres, alien taxonomies, cruel subway polytheism, a fourth-dimensional cat, disturbing earthworms, infinite space football, existential mussel terror, a Parisian absurdist time loop, and a picture of a telegraph-pole-man-cheetah. I'm not exactly recommending these books, in the sense that I won't take any complaints if you find them more odd than good, and some of them transcend the concepts of good and bad anyway.

• The Other City, Michal Ajvaz. It's all like this:

• Contes du demi-sommeil, Marcel Béalu ('Half-asleep tales') —is the book that prompted my post about stories that have no ambition or justification beyond being odd. I'm sad that it hasn't been translated :( One of the tales is about a strange opaline sphere that rolls on the road. It doesn't accelerate when the road becomes a steep slope but continues rolling majestically. At one point it floats away towards the sky. Someone wonders if it was the moon. Someone else says authoritatively "It was an angel's egg." Everyone is reassured by this explanation. The whole thing feels exactly like remembering a dream you had. There is also a man who reads too much and whose body atrophies so only his head is left and his wife puts it in an egg cup for better stability.

• Leonora Carrington— The Skeleton's Holiday, or maybe the Hearing Trumpet. I've read them so long ago but I think the latter is the one with the old ladies and nuns? There's also a guy who was murdered in his bath by a still-life painter because he said there was a carrot in one of his paintings, but it might not have been a carrot? It's hard to remember details from this book without feeling like I might be making them up. Bonus Leonora Carrington painting which kind of feels like a short story:

• The Codex Seraphinianus, of course. I wish there were more bizarre encyclopaedias out there.

Also I love this review:

• Sleep Has His House, Anna Kavan —I really liked the way this book used language; making life feel like a fever dream even more than in Samanta Schweblin's Fever Dream (which I really liked too.)

The eye is checking a record of silence, space; a nightmare, every horror of this world in its frigid and blank neutrality. The actual scope of its orbit depends on the individual concept of desolation, but approximate symbols are suggested in long roving perspectives of ocean, black swelled, in slow undulation, each whaleback swell plated in armour-hard brilliance with the moonlight clanking along it . . .

• The second half of Michael Ende's Neverending Story, where things get stranger! I remember the hand-shaped castle with eyes and the city of amnesiac former emperors and the miserable ugly worms who cry all the time out of shame then create beautiful architecture with their tears...

• The Gray House, Mariam Petrosyan. This is the one I had in mind when I talked about a 'museum of the strange, but one you wouldn't want to be trapped in after closing time'. Another book that made me feel uncomfortable in a similar (good) way was Edward Carey's Observatory Mansions, the protagonist of which is a man who curates an odd private museum and can't stand the sight of his own hands.

• Oh, speaking of uncomfortable, and hands—He Digs A Hole, by Danger Slater. To me this book was in the more-odd-than-good category but I liked its refusal to have a coherent philosophical meaning. It's about a man who can't sleep so he goes to his garden shed and saws off his hands and replaces them with gardening tools. Then he starts digging a hole. And then it gets weird. (Read at your own discretion if you have a worm phobia; there's some body horror featuring sexually aggressive earthworms. And then it gets disturbing.)

• 17776 — Someone sent me an ask a few years back to recommend this online multimedia narrative to me and I really enjoyed it! Here's the summary, borrowed from the wiki page: Set in the distant future in which all humans have become immortal and infertile, the series follows three sapient space probes that watch humanity play an evolved form of American football in which games can be played for millennia over distances of thousands of miles. The work explores themes of consciousness, hope, despair, and why humans play sports.

• Saint-Glinglin, Raymond Queneau —the author admitted that this book presents some "internal discontinuities." I didn't like it much but I respect the talent it takes to write a novel where everything feels like a random digression, including the key suspenseful scene that matters to the plot. The one digression I loved had to do with the way the narrator is existentially horrified by various sea creatures. It's like he dreads them so much he can't help but think about them when he should be telling a story.

The oyster... This gob of phlegm, this brutal way of refusing the outside world, this absolute isolation, and this disease: the pearl... If I conceptualise them even a little, my terror starts anew. The mussel is even more significant than the oyster and even more immediately admissible in the domain of terror. Let us indeed consider that this little sticky mass whose collective stupidity haunts our piers, consider that it is alive in the same way as a cow. Because there are no degrees in life. There is no more or less. The whole of life is present in every animal. To think that the mussel, that the mussel has, not a conscience, but a certain way of transcending itself: here I am once again plunged into abysses of anxiety and insecurity.

Near the beginning he philosophises about what would happen if a man and a lobster were the only two survivors of the apocalypse. The lobster would break the man's toe and the man would say, "We are the only beings that remain on this devastated Earth, lobster! The only living beings in the universe, struggling alone against the universal disaster, don't you want to be allies?" But the lobster would disdainfully walk away towards the ocean, and "the sight of the inflexible and imperturbable lobster pierces the sky of humanity with its unintelligible claws." (I can't overstate how little this has to do with the rest of the book.)

• Autumn in Beijing, Boris Vian —needless to say the story does not take place in autumn nor in Beijing.* To the extent that it can be said to be "about" something, it's about people trying to build a train station in a desert with tracks that lead nowhere. (I just went on goodreads to check the title, and it's actually called Autumn in Peking in English. I also discovered that it was featured in a list of Books I Regret Reading. I liked this book, but I understand.)

(* French writers love doing this—like when Alphonse Allais said about his 1893 book The Squadron's Umbrella "I chose this title because there aren't any umbrellas of any sort in this volume, and the important notion of the squadron, as a unit of the armed forces, is never brought up at all; in these conditions, hesitating would have been pure madness.")

• The Library at Mount Char, Scott Hawkins—I fear this one makes a little too much sense for this list, but you can't say it isn't weird; and I loved it and recommend it any chance I get.

• The Eleven Million Mile High Dancer, Carol Hill —this book was so wacky and made me laugh. I've not yet managed to successfully recommend it to someone; its brand of odd didn't resonate with the people I know who've read it but that's okay. You could say it's about a woman astronaut whose weird cat disappears into the fourth dimension (or the quantum realm?) and she goes to space to save him—but that makes the book sound more straightforward and less messy than it is. Her cat leaves her a note before he disappears:

• The Bald Soprano, Ionesco —fun fact, there's a tiny theatre in the Latin Quarter in Paris where this absurdist play has been staged every night for nearly 70 years, with the exact same set design and costumes and everything, like the actors are stuck in a time loop. They celebrated the 20,000th performance this year! There's an actress who has been playing her character for 40 years and said joining this theatre was like joining a religion. I've been going to see this play as a New Year tradition with my best friend since we were 14, so I love it madly, though I wouldn't say it's good, necessarily—the author said it was about "absolutely nothing, but a superior nothing."

• Statuary Gardens; or Les Mers perdues (apparently not translated) by Jacques Abeille. This man is obsessed with weird statues. Unfortunately I find his writing style rather dull—I feel like he takes strange ideas and makes them feel mundane in a bad way...! But his books still have a nice, quiet, oneiric atmosphere, and images that stayed with me, like a solitary gardener trying to grow stone statues in the depleted soil of a walled garden. Here are some illustrations from the second one:

I'll look into some of the books recommended on my previous post! (and I agree with the people who brought up Cortázar, Borges, and Junji Ito. <3) Some potentially-odd books I have on my to-read list: Clive Barker's Abarat, Goran Petrović's An Atlas Traced by the Sky, Salvador Plascencia's The People of Paper, Jean Ray's Malpertuis; Jan Weiss's The House of a Thousand Floors; Brice Tarvel's Pierre-Fendre.

#ask #book recs #i know i've made some of these sound barely readable but it would be risky to oversell them #it's funny how indignant i felt when i first thought that saint-glinglin didn't exist in english translation even though objectively it #wouldn't have been a huge loss and i don't think english speakers are clamouring for more crustacean existentialism after sartre's lobsters #but they should get to choose not to read this book!

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ashfae · 2 years ago

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Edit on 5/2/2025: I have mixed feelings about aspects of this essay these days but have chosen to keep it up and pinned as I'm still happy with my analysis even if I'm furious at NG, who is mentioned several times. TW for that. Argh.

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The thing about romance is, it makes a good story.

As soon as NG described season 2 as "quiet, gentle, romantic" I figured we'd be in for it, because as he's the first to point out, writers are liars. And the best way to deceive is with truth.

Season 2 is romantic. The trappings of romance are everywhere. Crowley tries to set up Nina and Maggie by trapping them under an awning during a rainstorm, a classic cinematic bonding technique. Aziraphale's chosen method comes from his beloved books: the ball, the dancing, appearing as a pair in public, hands held as you twirl gracefully with your heart thrilled and racing. If they can set up a sensational kiss that will unlock the happy ever after. They've lived on earth, they've studied the tropes, they know how romance works.

The problem is a story is only a story.

Nina and Maggie had the classic romantic setup completely by accident before Aziraphale and Crowley ever began trying to interfere with them. They get locked in Nina's coffeeshop. They can't escape or communicate with anyone else, they end up talking by candlelight because there's no electricity, Nina offers wine. Maggie mentions how she'd hoped for a chance to talk to Nina, and now here they are. It's every bit as much a standard as what Aziraphale and Crowley attempt to arrange. Blanket scenarios galore exist because of that starting point. We love that story. And there's nothing wrong with that.

But it's still only a story, it's not enough. Because once that moment of connection is over, however lovely it was, all the rest of the world comes flooding back in in the form of dozens of angry text messages. Nina's messy entrapping relationship hasn't magically gone away just because she and Maggie shared a romantic encounter.

And it's so tempting think oh well, that's easy. We'll just give them more romantic encounters and eventually those will overwhelm the rest of the baggage. Must do, because it'll make them fall in love, and once they realize they're in love that trumps all other considerations, right? So it'll be fine. Love Conquers All.

Neil also mentioned Pride and Prejudice.

Darcy knows he's in love early on and makes a disasterous proposal that shows that he has no understanding of Elizabeth's perspective, possibly hasn't even thought about it. They've been meeting in forest lanes for walks, conversing, had tete-a-tetes in the sitting room, danced at a ball. And while his turn of phrase isn't as flattering as he thinks, he's still offering her everything he thinks she wants and needs: affection, security, his good name, wealth, an escape from the embarrassments of her situation, the world. How can there be anything to object to? Why would anyone ever refuse so much of value?

Elizabeth quite rightly cuts him to pieces. He lashes back with a few hard truths of his own and they separate. During that separation, he thinks and he learns. He takes to heart the criticisms she offered, re-examines his assumptions, opens his eyes. Thinks about her perspective and how sometimes the only difference between pride and arrogance is where you're standing. He does the work. When they meet again he tries to demonstrate that he's learned--not in order to court her again (yet), but because the only real apology he can offer, the only one that would have weight, is to show that he's grown, he listened to her. He changed.

Elizabeth of course has her own journey, accepting that many of her own conclusions about Darcy were erroneous because they were formed without her having the full picture to hand, and once she's done that she has to apply it to her own situation as well. She loves her family, but they do place her at a disadvantage on a number of levels, leading eventually to full-out disaster as her younger sister carelessly ruins all of their reputations. It's hard to admit, it's mortifying, but Darcy was offering her a great deal she needs. His offer did have worth for all that she dismissed it as an insult. And as she learns to value his own character more highly, and then as she sees that he did listen to her even though she insulted him so thoroughly...well, she grows too. And when they do eventually come together it's not because of courting and balls. There's a big romantic gesture in his rescue of her sister but even that isn't why they'll get their happy ever after. It was just the catalyst for the conversation. They win because they've learned how to understand each other and how to communicate for the future. How they can strengthen and support each other, how to balance their strengths and weaknesses. The films leave them at the wedding, but the book shows a bit of their marriage too, and during it they keep learning from each other. Their relationship is held up as a superior love story for good reasons.

The end of season one was romantic too. Crowley stopped time rather than face a world where Aziraphale would never speak to him again, Aziraphale walked into hell to protect Crowley, they dined at the Ritz and toasted the world. But then they stopped. Sure they spent time together, talked, enjoyed each other's company. But if they were talking about important things would Crowley still be living in his car? They had a bit of respite but all that real world baggage that exists outside of the romantic moment hasn't been faced, none of it. Four or five years sounds like a long while but for beings who are quite literally older than the earth? That's just an intermission.

Nina's relationship ends, leaving her with a tangled mess; Maggie realises the sweet dream of love she's been longing for isn't as important as the real Nina. They talk. They plan. Nina will sort through her life, get closure, figure out what went wrong with Lindsay and what she wants from a relationship, learn how to ask for respect instead of just bending under her partner's demands. Maggie will support Nina the way Nina needs, which sometimes means helping her get oat milk for the shop and sometimes means giving her processing space. They're on the same page; they're going to do the work. That's why most likely they'll succeed. To quote one of my favourite fanfics: it's not happily ever after, but it's a chance. It's all going to be okay. (The Profane Comedy by Mussimm, who absolutely nailed this theme)

The romance is nice, it's lovely. We need it to keep ourselves going. To give ourselves the dreams that help us get through the days and nights. But it's not the relationship. It's not enough on its own. The wedding can be the grandest most beautiful ceremony ever with doves flying and sweeping music and bells ringing, but that doesn't guarantee the marriage will last.

Crowley and Aziraphale have had their romantic gestures, oodles of them. One wing raised to protect the other from falling stars, another from rain. Shared ground, shared interests, hands offered in friendship and held on a bus. They've tried to get to the same page, they really have. They just aren't there yet. The biggest most important things still haven't been talked about, and season 2 showed there are even more of those big important things than we'd realised.

The show paints Maggie as Aziraphale's foil and Nina as Crowley's, even to the point of Nina casually calling Maggie 'angel'. But Aziraphale's baggage is Nina's. The toxic relationship has to be processed and understood and closed, and it hasn't been, despite season one. Lindsay never really liked Nina very much, for all that they tried to keep her trapped; Heaven never really liked Aziraphale very much for all that he believed in it. They both let themselves be used. But Lindsay left Nina and went to their sister's, whereas now the head of Heaven has reached out to Aziraphale and said here, we can fix this, you can fix this, don't you want to fix this? Others are already writing about that and maybe I'll add to it later, not sure. And Crowley, like Maggie, has had a sweet dream that he has to set aside. Maybe he'll be able to pick it up again eventually, maybe not. But sometimes you offer support by buying oat milk or rescuing your beloved from the legions of hell, and sometimes you do it by standing back while they sort through their shit.

Quiet, gentle, romantic. It was.

But that's only part of the story. Now they have to do the work. They thought they had, but they were wrong, because there's so much they just hadn't touched yet and tried to cover over with relief and sleight of hand and alcohol and forgiveness. The apology dance doesn't mean much without showing that you listened and learned. They've faced so much trauma already and that should have been enough, we wanted it to be enough and so did they and it's such a blow for it to turn out that there's still more to do, that the baggage hasn't just gone away and can't be hidden under blankets or soothed with cocoa. The texts are still coming in and demanding answers.

But it'll be okay. It will. It's still a chance. And one that in the long run makes them better, builds something real that lasts.

The best stories, the ones that last longest and become classics, are the ones that don't end with the kiss under the awning or the blanket scenario or the wedding. They're the ones that heal us while the characters heal themselves. It's hard to accept that there's still more to do. Harder to imagine how it can possibly work out. And yes, bloody frustrating to wait and see.

And we'll get through that interim by telling even more stories. Because the story is never just a story. It's how we get through the work, it's what we tell ourselves so we can do the damn work. Stories are what we cling to and how we remind ourselves we're human and connect. A book is a person you can carry with you. We're not alone, none of us, stories connect us because we love them and see ourselves in them, which means we see each other.

Aziraphale's back up in Heaven to deal with his unfinished baggage; Crowley left his behind long ago and it's clearly going to come back and bite him in the arse however much he tries to go his own way. And they can't help each other with that. Not yet.

But they'll get there. So will we.

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malusokay · 3 months ago

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The Pomegranate Plague of Gen Z Poets

First, it was the moon. Then cigarettes. Then, girls by windows, ethereal in their ruin. Now? Pomegranates. (from my substack)

If you’ve spent enough time around poetry circles, you’ve seen it before. The doomed love, the Persephone complex, the vaguely sacrificial undertones. And, of course, the fruit.

The Persephone Myth (The Popular Version)

So you think you know the story: Persephone, wreathed in flowers, is stolen by Hades, dragged screaming into the Underworld. Her mother, Demeter, weeps and starves the earth in protest. Zeus, eventually deciding this is a problem, orders Persephone’s return—but oops, she ate six pomegranate seeds, so now she’s doomed forever.

That’s the version that survives in girl poetry, anyway.

What Promegerants Girls won’t tell you? The actual myth is a mess. There is no single, definitive version—just fragments, scraps stitched together across centuries. And the pomegranate seed detail?

It barely even shows up.

What We Actually Have:

• Persephone’s myth wasn’t even originally Greek. The story of a goddess being dragged into the underworld predates Greek mythology entirely.

• In Mesopotamian myth, Ishtar (Inanna) descends into the underworld to confront Ereshkigal, queen of the dead. She is stripped of her power and trapped, only escaping by offering someone else in her place—a theme that later appears in Persephone’s myth. This suggests Persephone’s story wasn’t a Greek invention but an adaptation of older Near Eastern fertility-death-rebirth cycles.

• Despoina (“the Mistress”) was worshipped before Persephone—and before Hades was even relevant. In older, pre-Olympian cult traditions, Despoina was the actual chthonic goddess of the underworld. She was venerated alongside Demeter and was probably a far more powerful, independent figure before later mythology reduced Persephone to “Hades’ wife.” Despoina’s cult was deliberately secretive, meaning much of her lore is lost—but she was deeply tied to the Eleusinian Mysteries, which were about life, death, and rebirth, not tragic romance.

• Hades wasn’t even a major figure in early versions of the myth. Before he was written in as “the husband,” the underworld was associated more with Gaia (Earth) and Nyx (Night). Hades’ later dominance in the story came as Olympian mythology reshaped older chthonic traditions.

• Persephone was originally Kore (“the Maiden”)—not a tragic heroine, but an archetype of the life-death-rebirth cycle tied to agriculture. She wasn’t a person; she was a function. The whole point was that she disappears, then re-emerges—her personality was secondary to the cosmic process she represented. Only much later did people start treating her as an individual.

• Hesiod’s Theogony (~8th century BCE), one of the oldest Greek texts, barely mentions Persephone. To him, she’s just Hades’ wife, no backstory necessary. This matters because it shows that her abduction wasn’t even a central myth at first—it developed later.

• The Homeric Hymn to Demeter (~7th century BCE) is our earliest and most detailed source. But forget romance—it’s a political nightmare. Hades kidnaps Persephone (the Greek verb used, ἁρπάζω, literally means “to snatch away”—no courtship, no tragic longing). Demeter shuts down the harvest, and Zeus steps in not out of fatherly love, but because no crops mean no sacrifices, and no sacrifices mean starving gods.

The pomegranate? One sentence. Persephone eats something in the Underworld, so she has to stay. That’s it. The number of seeds? Not even mentioned. The whole “I bit into a pomegranate and now I am bound to darkness forever ”dramatics? A complete invention.

• Ovid’s Metamorphoses (~8 CE) is where we finally get the six seeds detail—but Ovid was Roman, writing centuries after the Greek versions had already evolved. His retelling heightens the drama, turning Persephone into a tragic, doomed figure rather than a cosmic force tied to ritual.

• Later Orphic traditions tried to clean it up, recasting Persephone as the mother of Zagreus (a god later merged with Dionysus), tying her to death, rebirth, and mystery cults. At this point, the myth had already spiralled into layers of mysticism.

• Persephone wasn’t always tragic—she became terrifying. The helpless waif image is a modern fabrication. The ancient sources tell a different story—one where Persephone is feared, not mourned.

• In Euripides’ Helen (412 BCE), she is invoked as a vengeful queen of the dead.

• In Homer’s Odyssey (Book 10), Odysseus fears Persephone’s wrath during his necromantic ritual—she is powerful enough to control the dead without Hades.

• Hecate was Persephone’s underworld counterpart and guide. In later versions, Hecate leads Persephone back to the upper world, further reinforcing Hecate’s enduring role in the chthonic realm.

• In Roman tradition, Proserpina (Persephone) was linked to Libera, a goddess of wild fertility and ecstatic rites. This completely contradicts the modern image of her as a fragile, tragic figure.

The Pomegranate Wasn’t Inherently Tragic

• In Hippocratic medical texts, pomegranate juice was used for contraception and abortion remedies—a practical, everyday association, not one of doom.

• In Pliny the Elder’s Natural History (1st century CE), pomegranates were used to treat fevers and digestive issues. No poetic suffering, just ancient medicine.

• In Greek funerary practices, pomegranates symbolised rebirth, not entrapment. They weren’t about being bound to darkness forever—they were about the cycle of life continuing.

Why This Completely Destroys the Promegerants Version of Persephone

1. The myth is about agriculture and divine power, not doomed love. The earliest versions barely mention Hades—this was Demeter’s story, a myth about the life cycle, cosmic balance, and the survival of humanity.

2. Persephone wasn’t always Persephone. She was Kore, an agricultural symbol, not a tragic heroine. Her function came first, her personality second. The idea of her as a fully realised, suffering individual came centuries later.

3. She wasn’t even the first queen of the underworld. Despoina was worshipped before her—an older, more powerful chthonic goddess with nothing to do with victimhood or romance.

4. The pomegranate was never central to the original myth. It’s a tiny, passing detail used as an explanation for why Persephone had to stay in the Underworld. The number of seeds? A Roman invention.

5. The whole myth wasn’t even Greek to begin with. It likely evolved from Mesopotamian myths like Ishtar’s descent, meaning the Promegerants version is a distortion of a distortion.

6. Persephone wasn’t a victim—she was a force of nature. The later versions of her myth don’t show her as tragic—they show her as terrifying. She was a queen who ruled the dead, feared even by heroes. If Promegerants Girls really wanted to stay true to the myth, they wouldn’t write about Persephone tragically eating seeds—they’d write about her punishing mortals for disturbing the dead.

From Chthonic Queen to Tragic Girlcore

The Promegerants version of Persephone strips her of her original role and reduces her to an aesthetic prop. In the oldest sources, she isn’t even a person—she’s a cosmic force, an idea before she’s a character.

Persephone was never just a tragic girl in a dark room with red-stained lips. She was a goddess of cycles, a ritual figure whose presence dictated the survival of humanity. The oldest myths barely even cared about her personal emotions—because that wasn’t the point.

And the pomegranate? Once a symbol of fertility and power, now just a moody Tumblr metaphor for doomed relationships. Would the ancient Greeks recognize Promegerants Persephone?

Absolutely not.

They’d probably assume she was some mediocre Roman poet’s overdramatic rewrite.

In other words: the version we cling to is a late, Romanized, overly romanticised distortion of a much darker and weirder myth—one that was never about love, tragedy, or women choosing their suffering.

Why Has This Myth Been Hijacked?

Because it’s too easy. The modern interpretation lets poets turn Persephone into:

• A stolen innocence narrative—without engaging with its actual horror.

• A tragic queen figure—without ever giving her power.

• A martyr for womanhood—as if eating a fruit were some grand metaphor for the inevitability of suffering.

But Persephone’s story was never about being loved and ruined.

It was about bargaining, power, and gods who don’t care about human grief.

The Pomegranate Problem™

At this point, the pomegranate isn’t a symbol—it’s a decorative prop.

Its original meanings—fertility, power, the tension between life and death—have been stripped away, replaced with moody girlhood aesthetics.

Poets don’t use it because they understand its history. They use it because it sounds expensive—like a fruit for people who romanticise heartbreak in foreign cities.

But if your poem still works after swapping “pomegranate” for “grapes”, then what are we even doing here?

Read This Before You Write Another Pomegranate Poem

• Homer’s Odyssey → Pomegranates appear in King Alcinous’ eternal orchard, a symbol of wealth, abundance, and divine favour. Not doom.

• Euripides’ Ion → Associated with Aphrodite, symbolising fertility, passion, and desire. Again—not doom.

• Aristophanes’ Lysistrata → Used as an innuendo for female sexuality (which, frankly, would make for a far more interesting poem).

• Dionysian Mysteries → Linked to ecstatic rites, resurrection cults, and the cycle of life and death. If you want to write about pomegranates and darkness, this would actually make sense.

• Roman Religion → Sacred to Juno, particularly in marriage and childbirth rituals, reinforcing their connection to fertility and renewal, not suffering.

• Theophrastus’ Enquiry into Plants → Describes pomegranates as a cultivated luxury fruit, prized for its sweetness, medicinal properties, and status.

• Herodotus’ Histories → Mentions Persian warriors decorating their spears with pomegranates, symbolising strength, fertility, and victory.

• Pausanias’ Description of Greece → Describes pomegranate offerings at Demeter’s sanctuaries, representing fertility, rebirth, and ritual purification—never suffering.

• Plutarch’s Moralia → Links pomegranates to beauty, sensuality, and indulgence in Greek and Roman culture—so, more hedonistic pleasure, less tragic metaphor.

Next time someone writes about a pomegranate-stained mouth, ask them if they mean Persephone or Aristophanes’ sex jokes.

How to Write a Pomegranate Poem That Survives Scrutiny

If you must use it, at least be rigorous. If you’re going full Persephone-core, then be specific. Make it about something real.

Tell us if the juice stains the sheets, if the seeds taste like metal, if they stick between your teeth like regret.

Don’t just drop in “pomegranate” and expect us to do the heavy lifting.

Or consider letting the myth go.

There are so many other symbols, so many richer, underused classical references.

And If You’re Tired of the Pomegranate, Try These Instead

there’s a whole world of classical symbols that carry just as much weight—without the overuse. Here are a few:

Chthonic & Underworld Imagery:

• Asphodel – The ghostly, liminal flowers of the underworld in Greek myth, growing where souls linger. Less overdone than pomegranates, just as eerie.

• Lethe – The river of forgetfulness. Its waters erase memory, a far more unsettling metaphor for loss than a single piece of fruit.

• Orphic Gold Leaves – Real funeral tablets placed with the dead, inscribed with guidance for navigating the afterlife. The ultimate memento mori.

• Owls – Athena’s symbol, but also a nocturnal watcher associated with wisdom, death, and the unknown.

Fertility, Desire & Ruin:

• Fig Trees – Symbolizing sensuality, abundance, and decay (the Greeks also had fig-wood coffins).

• Laurel Wreaths – Victory and poetic ambition, but also a crown of temporary glory—since laurel leaves wither fast.

• Myrrh – A resin used for perfume and burial rites, evoking both seduction and decay. (Also linked to Myrrha, who was cursed to fall in love with her own father. Greek myths were wild.)

Dionysian Madness & Ecstasy:

• Thyrsus – A staff tipped with ivy and pinecones, wielded by Dionysus and his followers. Represents intoxication, divine frenzy, and the thin line between revelry and destruction.

• Ivy – Unlike flowers, it never dies in winter. Clings, suffocates, overtakes. A more interesting metaphor for entanglement than Persephone’s six seeds.

If you must use a pomegranate, at least make it bleed. But if you’re ready for something richer—there are so many other symbols waiting.

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markleessodalite · 3 months ago

Text

When He Realized He Loves You: NCT Dream

headcanon: what makes the dreamies understand how deep their feelings are for you?

warnings: none :D

word count: 0.9k

Mark:

He woke up thinking about you.

Its not like Mark has a lot of time on his hands to be thinking about anything other than his craft, so it wouldn’t be fair to say that you’re on his mind 24/7.

But when he first wakes up in the morning after a long week, sun shining through his window onto his messy sheets, the warmth under them too tantalizing to want to get up, his first coherent thought is how amazing it would be to have you enveloped in this warmth with him.

And that thought knocked him right out of his groggy state. How was he supposed to focus on his work now?

Renjun:

He started seeing you everywhere. Not literally, of course, even though he wouldn’t mind that either.

He just started seeing you in all the things he noticed throughout the day.

When he looked out the window at the sunset, he wondered if you would like to watch it sometime, or if you preferred sunrises. When he saw a cute stray cat while on a walk, he immediately whipped his phone out to send you a pic. When he saw that your favorite soda just released a new strawberry flavor, he bought you an entire case and dropped it off at your place.

Every little thing reminded him of you, until he eventually realized he thinks about you way more often than a normal friend probably would.

Jeno:

He got a little too moody. Specifically when he had to see you with another guy.

Poor Jeno, the introverted loverboy he is. Leave it to him to friendzone himself by never confessing to you how he feels, relegating himself to just watching you date various guys, all various levels of horrible, and helping you pick up the pieces after.

But the last of these guys was the straw that broke the camel's back for Jeno, and he didn’t care to hide his jealousy in front of you or your new man.

Jeno always understood he felt some type of something for you. But when seeing you with another guy made him feel like a bull trapped in a rodeo with a red flag waved in its face, he realized it was maybe more than a little crush.

Haechan:

He told his mom about you.

Like a true mama’s boy, Hyuck loves to update his mom about all the big things and little things happening to him everyday.

He told her about the funny conversation he had with a girl at his friend’s party. A few weeks later, he told her about how that girl introduced him to a new game he can’t stop playing. A few weeks after that, his mom noticed a new bracelet he was wearing, and he explained that you made it for him.

Now Hyuck may be a smart guy, but when it comes to realizing he’s in love he’s a bit slow on the uptake– it took his mom pointing out that you seem to be the main character in all of his stories, for him to finally see that he wanted you to be the main character in his life too.

Jaemin:

His life started making sense.

Jaemin has always been the kind of person to just do what seems fun, or seems wise, or just what seems like an interesting thing to do.

He didn’t apply a ton of reason to the decisions he made, which led to a life buzzing with noise and discombobulation.

Talking to you was another one of these thoughtless whims, and at first, your friendship blurred right into the buzz of his life.

But at some point, he started putting more thought into his choices– thoughts of what you would choose, or what you would think of the choices he made. He consulted you more and more for your input, and with every word you divulged, the blurring became clearer, the buzzing got quieter.

He realized he wanted to have this clarity for the rest of his life, he needs you for the rest of his life.

Chenle:

Everyone else realized it for him.

All Chenle thought was that he had made a new friend, something that comes so naturally to him.

He didn’t think anything was weird about him wanting to talk to you, or you being the first person he shared good news with, or you being the person he wanted to confide in when he felt upset.

Sure, there were times where he talked to you more often than even some of his own family members, but you were one of his best friends! Of course you would be on his mind a lot, right?

It wasn’t until those around him pointed out his specific smile that only appears when you’re around, or his adoring gazes that linger just a bit too long to mean nothing, that he finally realized the thing that everybody else already knew.

Jisung:

He found it harder to talk to you.

Oh, sweet sweet Jisung.

He was already shy with you at first, but as you two grew closer in your friendship, it became so easy for him to talk to you. Eventually he’d want to talk to you every single day, all day long, sometimes until his voice felt hoarse because he’s not used to talking that much with anyone.

Then, on one particular day, it felt particularly difficult for him to get the particular words he wanted out to you. Maybe he was just tired, he thought.

Until it started happening every time he talked to you. He was too busy worrying about not embarrassing himself (even though he’d embarrassed himself plenty of times during your friendship already), and it wasn’t until he questioned why he was worried that he realized he wanted more than just a friendship with you.

395 notes · View notes

bed-chemist · 2 years ago

Note

Smoking 🍃 with vinnie smut cause he’s so pookie bear (make it rough too please 💀💀)

❝FMB❞ - vinnie hacker x reader

─⋆♡ an: based on this ask. FMB means f⋆ck me back. hopefully it's rough enough. this is my first smut post so i didn't want to make it too too rough, just fyi. unedited so ignore any mistakes. i hope yall enjoy. ★ ˙ᵕ˙ liv

─⋆♡ summary: you and vinnie have a complex relationship. it all comes to a head when you become bold enough to confront him post-blunt.

─⋆♡ warnings: overstimulation, softdom!vinnie, smut, fluff towards the end, tiny bit of angst, 18+ black!writer, language, alcohol, drugs, D!NC, physical descriptors (brief), choking, spitting, slight exhibitionism if you squint, claiming, rough smut, squirting, anal play, unprotected sex (i do not condone irl, wrap before you tap).

⋆word count: 3.9k ⋆ masterlist ⋆

The loud bass of music floats in the background as I tap through Snapchat stories on my phone. The couch next to me dips and when I turn, I see Vinnie has joined me.

He doesn’t speak to me before pulling out a blunt and sparking it. As is, me and Vinnie’s relationship was complicated. We started off as friends, then smoke buddies. But the more we smoked together, the more we felt for each other. Or at least, I fell for him.

We had kissed and made out, but we’ve never had sex. After a few dates, I was becoming restless. The frustration of his mixed signals got the best of me. Now in the darkness of the crowded room, I’ve become bold enough to confront him.

I watch him as he inhales and exhales the smoke like a chimney. He seemingly notices my intense stare and stops. “Did you need something?” he asks with an attitude.

You can practically feel steam whistling out of your ears from how fuming your brain is right now. “Yeah actually. Give that to me,” I snap, pointing at his blunt.

He shrugs, ashing the blunt on the coffee table. “Okay,” he concedes, passing me the joint.

Letting the smoke dance in my lungs, I choke it out slowly. Now that the weed is hitting, I decide now is the time. “Vinnie, are you still interested in me?” I ask him abruptly.

He chuckles and takes the blunt from me. “Oh, baby. Of course I fucking am. Why would you even ask me that?” he shoots back with an eyebrow raised.

Frowning, I pick at my cuticles out of nervousness. “Because we go on dates, we kiss, but we’ve never had sex. I just don’t know what you want any more,” I confess, standing from the couch in a huff.

Of course, I want to take things further. But I’m not sure if he wants me anymore when he barely touches me.

He stops me from moving any further, tugging my hand. I grudgingly turn around, looking down at him. “Because, doll. We haven’t had the sex talk yet,” he discloses, rubbing his free hand up and down my thigh.

I roll my eyes and scoff, snatching the blunt out of his hands to take a hit. He places his hands on my hips, watching me intensely. “What do you mean by ‘sex talk’? I’m not 5,” I ask after blowing out a toke.

He stands until he’s staggering high towers over me. “I mean…” he pushes lightly, backing me into the wall so I’m trapped between his body and the drywall. “I want to know what you like, what you don’t like, and what you’ll beg for before I feel you cumming on my cock,” he whispers in my ear, licking a stripe up my neck afterward.

My head tips back in a moan, which makes him as hard as a rock. “Fuck, baby. Do you see what you do to me? I want nothing more than to make you feel good, in the best way that I can, for the rest of my life.” he presses his body into mine, slowly kissing up my neck.

One of the partiers comes up behind Vinnie and taps him on the shoulder. He ignores them, waving them off with the rest of the blunt. His hand moves to the inside of my thigh and he rubs me so close that I know he can feel the inside of my legs shake. “Should I take care of you right here?” he bites my neck, and I whimper, pulling his hair.

Vinnie pulls back from me, piercing a hole into my eyes. “Please?” I beg, gnawing on my lip.

He uses the other hand and wraps it around my throat, effectively restricting my breathing. He tilts my head to the side. “Do you think you deserve it?” he whispers against my lips with his eyebrow raised.

Struggling, I lightly nod my head in his firm grip. “Yes, Vinnie,” I squeak out, and he gives me one last squeeze on the throat before grabbing my wrist and yanking me through the crowd.

Bodies brush past me as Vinnie drags me up the steps to his room. “Wait, where are we going?” I ask, confused. He just asked if I needed to be taken care of right there and then... I did say yes.

“You think I’m gonna let everyone watch me fuck you?” he scoffs.

Once we got the sex talk out of the way, Vinnie makes quick work to get me undressed. I moan into the darkness of the room as Vinnie leaves love bites down my neck, only breaking the contact to lift my tank top over my head. He pauses his movements to take in the black lacy bralette I'm wearing. “Fuck, baby. You don’t know what you do to me,” he groans, then smashes his lips back onto mine.

He slams me against his closed bedroom door before slowly dropping down onto his knees. Watching him sink to the ground has an involuntary giggle leaving my lips. “Vinnie, I didn’t think you were going to actually-” he cuts me off, spinning me around so my ass is facing him.

Suddenly, an echoing smack verberates off the walls and my ass cheeks are on fire. Yelping, I sink my teeth into my bottom lips, trying to muffle the noise I’m making.

He slowly inches his hands up my legs until my skirt is fully pushed up to my stomach. His fingers meet my panties, and he runs my fingers over them, seemingly savoring every last moment. “Did you wear these for me, sunshine?” He hooks one finger under one side, pulling it back and making the elastic snap around my hips.

I reach out to support myself on anything to keep my knees from buckling. “No,” I joke, and he bends my knees a bit.

He rubs calming circles into the back of my thighs with his thumbs. “Don’t need you collapsing on my baby,” he informs me.

Taking both sides in his hands, he rips the fabric in half and shreds it off my body like paper. “Shame. I would’ve let you keep them.”

Gasping, I look down and watch them fall to the ground. He palms my ass, spreading my cheeks further apart. “Bend over just a little bit more, baby,” he instruct, kissing my ass on both sides.

Slowly shifting in his grasp, I whine as I bend over. I’m desperate for him, all over me. Filling every hole over and over again until I’m screaming for help.

He hovers his mouth over my pussy. “You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he praises me, running his pointer finger up and down my folds to collect my wetness.

“Let me tell you something, sunshine,” he grumbles, rubbing his fingers in circles on my puffy, swollen nub. “There's absolutely nothing I wouldn’t do for you. Do you understand?” he looks up at me, awaiting my response.

Unable to focus, I just nod my head.

“You have to use your words, baby.” he instantly retracts his fingers from my clit bringing them into his mouth. With a pop, he pulls them out, moaning at the taste of my arousal.

I groan, throwing my head back in frustration. “Yes, I know. Just please take care of me, Vinnie,” I practically beg for the second time tonight.

He returns his fingers to my pussy, slowly rubbing around my entrance. “If you asked me to shoot myself, I would,” he growls, slowly sinking his fingers into me. Curling them downwards on every thrust, his fingers search for that spongy spot. He pulls out and thrusts into me again, and my breath quickens. “If you asked me to slit my wrists, I would.” Quickening his pace, my moans echo through the large bedroom. “You gotta stay quiet, baby. I wanna be the only one to hear those pretty moans.”

He uses his free hand, bringing it up to my clit, rubbing fast circles on my sensitive bud. His fingers are thrusting into me at such an intense rate that I feel the world collapsing beneath me. My pussy contracts around his fingers and he groans deeply, sending a shiver up my spine. “Fuck yourself on my fingers, sunshine,” he commands, hitting my sweet spot.

I mewl, obeying his commands, and begin rocking back into him. My orgasm starts approaching rapidly, his fingers drive into me at an unrelenting pace. When my walls flutter, he instantly slows his pace. “Not yet, baby. You can’t cum until you’re quiet.”

Crying again, I bring my hand up to muffle the sound successfully. He applies more pressure on the quick circles he’s drawing on my clit. I arch my back again until I’m moving with his fingers just as he requested. I moan loudly, the coil in my stomach about to snap.

He blows a quick shot of air onto my exposed clit, the chill making the coil snap. My vision turns white as I quietly moan out, "Fuck, Vinn.”

“That’s it, sunshine. Cum for me, let go,” he murmurs underneath me, and I can feel the lust dripping off his tongue as my orgasm rocks through me. The pace of his fingers doesn’t slow as he works me through my orgasm, and I hear my nails scratch against the drywall. My legs quake and my back arches slightly, my mouth opening in a silent moan.

He slows his thrusting and pulls out of me, rising to his feet. He turns me around to face him, his eyes taking in the fucked out expression on my face. “You wanna know how good you taste, baby?” Grabbing my chin, he rubs his thumb over my bottom lip.

I close my eyes, trying to catch my breath and lean back into the wall. “Yes,” I whisper, and as soon as the words leave my lips, his fingers sink into my mouth. Deciding to tease him, I swirl my tongue around his digits, imagining my tongue on his cock. His fingers push back further into my throat until I gag a little, then he pulls them out. Fucking hope he’s impressed that I can take them that far without coughing.

Without another thought, I smash my lips against his, savoring the taste of my orgasm on his tongue. “God, you taste so fucking good. I could eat you forever,” he growls, moving my body back onto the bed.

He crawls on top of me and his bulge is pressed into me once again. “Vinnie, please. I need you.” I whimper into his mouth as my shaky fingers move to slowly unbutton his shirt.

But he grabs my wrists, stopping me. “I got it, sunshine,” he laughs, then makes quick work to remove his shirt.

I shamelessly watch as he slowly strips out of his pants and his boxers. Even though I’ve seen him naked in front of me before, he’s never fully been hard. His dick is beautiful. His swollen head is already dripping with precum, making him look good enough to deep throat.

Vinnie slowly climbs back onto the bed and my eyes widen, realizing what’s about to happen. My breathing quickens in anticipation as he comes down to kiss me hard and deep.

I moan into him, but my hands move to his chest to push him back as I look down, suddenly scared. “It’s too big, I don’t think it’ll fit,” I insist, crawling away from him.

He grabs my ankles, pulling me back down. “We’re gonna make it fit, baby,” he retorts, his eyes dark.

The tip of his dick moves back and forth in between my folds, collecting wetness. I whimper, squeezing his shoulders.

“Hey, sunshine. Look at me.” He grabs my chin until I make eye contact with him. “We can stop if you want to stop. I won't go any further,” he reassures, resting his forehead on mine.

I immediately shake my head, inhaling a sharp breath. “No, I want this–I want you. Just be careful, please.” I pull him into me for a heated kiss and tug his hair, making him groan and deepen the kiss.

Finally, he pulls back and lines himself up near my entrance, spitting and letting the dribble collect on his base. “This is gonna hurt, so just relax for me, baby.” My legs are pushed open a little wider.

I nod, trying to calm myself, and he laces his fingers in mine before he moves. The tip of his shaft pushes in, and I gasp at the stretch. “Shit, Vinnie,” I cry out, squeezing his hands until my knuckles turn white. Tears prick at the corner of my eyes, the burn from his girth sends fire into my core.

Immediately, he stops moving, looking into my eyes. “Do you want me to stop? I’ll stop,” he groans out.

I bite my lip, shaking my head no.

He kisses the corner of my eyes and whispers, “Okay, just relax for me, sunshine. I’ll try to make this quick.” He continues to sink slowly into me, bottoming out, and I wince again. To allow me to adjust to his length, he pauses his movements. “You’re squeezing me so tight. Fuck, I’m not gonna last long,” he breathes, bending down to kiss my neck. And then, he slowly starts rocking into me and the burn is replaced with a familiar warmth.

“Oh, god. Vinnie,” I moan, releasing his hands to claw at his back for support.

He’s hitting the perfect spot already, and he just got inside me. He continues to slowly push in and out of me, allowing me to savor the feeling of him inside me. I moan, biting on his shoulder.

“More.” My legs are already shaking. “Give me more,” I demand, kissing up to his ear.

Pulling back, he looks at me. “Are you sure?” His hand strokes my curls.

I pull him down into a kiss, allowing my tongue to explore his mouth once more. “Yes, please. Use me, fuck me,” I beg, squirming underneath him.

Vinnie fists the sheets below my head and adjusts his position. I brace myself. “The safe word is ‘moon’, Sunshine. Use it if you need it.” He kisses my neck once more and begins driving into me at a steady, even rate. The tip of his length kisses my g-spot with each stroke. “Fuccckkkk,” he growls into my ear, and I feel myself squeezing him when the words hit my eardrums.

“Vinnie,” I moan.

The only sound outside of our pants and moans is the sound of his skin slapping against mine as he fucks me. He wraps his tattooed hand around my throat, leaning in for a kiss. And as if I wasn't already in heaven, he brings his fingers down to rub quick circles on my clit.

“I’m gonna cum, doll. But I need to feel you squeezing me before I do,” he commands, and I cry as I arch into him.

He pounds into me steadily, rocking my body into the bed. Each stroke pushes me closer and closer over the edge until I feel myself contracting around him.

“Cum with me, sunshine,” he whispers against my lips, and it sends me over the edge.

Arching my back and screaming, I claw at his back and bite his shoulder as my orgasm hits me like a train. Just when I thought he couldn’t get any deeper, he lifts my hips slightly.

“Where do you want me to cum, love?” His dick kisses my cervix, and I know I’ll be bruised tomorrow. But I can’t bring myself to give a shit right now.

He twitches inside me, and I lick a stripe up his neck. “Cum in me, Vinnie,” I whimper, and he growls into my neck.

His seed spills inside me, his strokes becoming uneven. I moan at the feeling, and squeeze around him, milking out every drop of his cum as he paints my walls. It fills me up and I’ve never felt better after sex.

He stills inside me, kissing me breathlessly, and takes a few moments to catch his breath. Before he pulls out, I wrap my arms around him, causing him to bury further inside me. “Stay,” I plead, tears threatening to spill over in my eyes.

He softly strokes my hair, wrapping his arm around me and slowly flipping us over so I’m on top. “Okay, sunshine. I got you. Fuck, that was the fastest I’ve ever cum before in my life,”

Like I requested, he doesn’t pull out. Just pulls me closer into his body until I’m melting into the beautiful tattoos on his chest. His fingers begin tracing light patterns across my back.

I sniffle, looking up at him with a small smile on my face, and he looks at me. “You okay, sunshine?” he asks, and I shift on his length a little bit.

Sitting up to put my hands on his chest, I feel his dick twitching and growing inside me. “Yeah. Let's go again,” I giggle, bending down to kiss him. It surprises me how he’s already ready for round two, but I don’t complain.

He groans into my mouth, wrapping his decorated arms around my waist. Slowly, I lift myself until I feel his tip threatening to slip out. I slide back down onto him, filling myself completely and moaning at the change of position.

His hands tighten around my waist, helping me swirl my hips around. “I want you to know you’re mine, sunshine,” he groans, reaching up to play with my nipples as I moan at the feeling of him stretching me from this angle.

I pick up my pace, bouncing on his dick until he’s hitting my perfect spot over and over again. My legs shake, and I feel my third orgasm approaching rapidly. My hand moves to his neck, squeezing it hard. I feel so fucking powerful, making myself cum with his length.

Vinnie looks up at me with amazement in his eyes and slides his thumb in between us to apply pressure on my clit. I throw my head back and moan, still choking him. “God. You look so pretty when you moan.”

The pace of his thumb quickens, and I topple over the edge, crashing into my third orgasm with a loud cry. I release my hand on his neck, falling forward. Vinnie removes his hand from my clit to catch me and keep from coming down on his body. He allows me to rest on his chest as he starts to fuck up into me, elongating my orgasm.

“Vinnie,” I choke out, and my voice bounces off his walls.

He picks up his pace, driving into me from below. “That’s it, doll. Scream my name. Let the world know who fucking owns you.”

He pounds my body into his, and I grip his shoulders when I feel a tingling sensation on my clit. Wetness suddenly shoots out from between my legs, running down my thighs and covering his stomach. My whole body quakes, but he doesn’t slow down.

“Fuck, sunshine. Look at the mess you made, cumming all over me.”

My brain is on a different planet as he slows down, allowing me to glance down at the soaked sheets. He slowly pulls me off him and I wince, falling backward onto the bed. Then, Vinnie moves me so I’m laying on my side, out of the wet spot, before slowly pushing back into me, spooning me, and caressing my hair. “No one will ever fuck you ever again, for the rest of your life but me. Do you understand?”

Slamming into me at an unrelenting pace, he bites my neck. His hand wraps around my throat, applying a bit of pressure. Every thrust sends me closer to the edge, and the only thing I register is him kissing the back of my neck. I’m so fucked, I can’t speak. I can’t think.

“Yes,” I babble out, arching my back into him.

All I feel is pure bliss. The room is spinning, and I feel another orgasm rapidly approaching. He nibbles a love bite into my neck, hitting my G-spot over and over again. My thighs are lifted a little higher until I see white. “Cum for me again, Sunshine. You feel so good when you squeeze me,” he mumbles into my neck.

I shake my head, and gripping his forearm that chokes me. “I can’t,” I cry, looking at the view from his room— everything is spinning.

Vinnie increases his pace, slamming into me. “You can, and you will,” he snarls in my ear.

I feel the tears spilling over in my eyes as he applies more pressure on my throat. The overstimulation of his dick drilling into me repeatedly sends me toppling over another edge, and I wail his name, feeling my soul leave my body. Everything feels fuzzy as his thrusts become sloppy before he lets out an animalistic grunt. I feel his dick twitch, then, shooting hot ropes into me. The heat of it makes me feel like I’m going to pass out, and I moan at the sensation. He continues to slowly thrust into me, riding out both of our orgasms.

After we’re both spent, he buries himself deep inside me, stroking my hair and peppering kisses on my shoulder as I come down from my high. “You did so well for me, Sunshine. Fucking fantastic,” he praises.

He slowly caresses my hips as my body shakes against his. I wince as he slowly pulls out and scoots down to the bottom of the bed. Spreading my legs wide open, he watches our cum leak out of me. My swollen pussy contracts around nothing, pushing his seed out, and I hear him groan.

He brings his fingers up to my entrance and I wince. “Shhh, Sunshine, I’m just making sure we don’t waste a drop,” he coos, stuffing his fingers into me and massaging my g-spot.

An inevitable moan leaves my lips I arch my back to get closer to him. “You want to cum again?” He asks before leaning over to flick his tongue over her my. Crying out at the overstimulation, I shake my head.

“Too bad, baby.” he quickly thrusts into me with his fingers, moaning at the taste of our orgasms mixing. His tongue flicks over my swollen, puffy clit. I haven’t used our safe word, and I know he’s going to keep pushing me until I say it.

Vinnie removes his tongue from my clit and he uses his other hand to collect our orgasms on his finger. The pace of his fingers slows and he begins rubbing a circle around my tight hole. He slowly pushes his finger into my ass, fucking me with both hands.

I’m unable to control my movements as I thrash underneath him. His finders drive in and out, reaching the most delicious spot.

“Give me one last one, Sunshine. I promise I’ll let you stop after,” he orders, and I move my hands to his hair to tug on it.

He pushes his finger further into my ass, curling it a bit more, and I snap. Neglecting his noise warning, my screams and my moans erupt through the room. He moans as he works both of my holes through what I assume is my last orgasm.

As finally comes down, I whimper, “Moon,” and he stops and slowly pulls his fingers out, satisfied with my overstimulation.

He crawls up my body, grabbing my face so I'm forced to look at him. “You're everything to me–perfect and mine,” he mumbles into my mouth and I wipe away the tears in my eyes.

My brain buzzes with post-sex high. “Only for you,” I whisper into the night.

I did so well, and I am his.

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