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mountainsandmayhem · 4 months ago

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BDSMaid - Chapter 4

Series Summary: After recently graduating you take what is supposed to be a job to save money before you go back to university to get your law degree. Your best friend offers you a job cleaning luxury homes for clients you’ll never know. Easy. Simple. Mundane. Until one of your clients is home and everything you felt was missing in your life starts to fall into place. This goes against the NDA you signed and you could get fired. Or worse, you could fall in love.

Chapter Summary: JMKink is nothing and everything that you need and want it to be. Meanwhile, you are nothing and everything that Joel imagines you to be.

WC: 13.8k

TW: Warnings are below the cut in small red, feel free to skip them if you want to avoid chapter spoilers, but there are some descriptions of reader so I would classify this as more of an original character versus a blank canvas female reader.

AN: I actually cannot believe how many of you reached out all excited about September 1st approaching. From the bottom of my cold dead heart, thank you!! The more I write this, the more I picture video game Joel, so do with that what you will haha. Thanks so @ak-vintage and @lotusbxtch for beta reading for me. Support banners and dividers by @saradika-graphics. I recently got promoted at work (yay me), but the job is now waaaaaay more work than before, so enjoy this chapter slowly because I am not sure when I will be writing chapter 5.

Series Masterlist || My Masterlist

TW: p in v, dirty talk, sub dom relationships, age gap, alcohol consumption, flirting, voyeurism, description of a threesome and other sexual acts, use of sex toys, nipple clamps, female orgasm, talks of neglectful parents during childhood and loss of a spouse. Mutual pining.

“Hnnng, fuck yes, daddy.” He’s rutting into you deeper than anyone else ever has. Long, slow strokes of his heavy cock sending you into a spiral of white hot, sparkling nirvana.

“So fuckin’ wet n’ tight. Fuck, sweet girl.” His deep voice devours you - rattling around your skull, echoing slightly as if you’re in a large, empty room.

Everything is black; darker than the onyx pits of his eyes. You’re not sure if you’re up or down, and you’re either blindfolded or have your face buried in a pillow as he fucks into you from behind. All you can feel is the pleasurable push and pull of his thick, vein lined cock slamming in and out of you. The vast darkness and the feeling of him filling you so full is overwhelming

“Please, daddy. Please. I’m so close.”

The soft mushroom head of his cock is kissing right where he taught you to crave it, and you wouldn’t be surprised if that spongy spot had ‘Property of Joel Miller’ branded on it by now. Within seconds of him pressing inside of you tonight you had completely submitted to him; surrendering to the darkness, the sensation, the exquisite pleasure. This is exactly where you were meant to be, and he’s the only one you’d want to be here with. It has never been this good, and even with your limited experience you know that it will probably never be this good with anyone else.

“Don’t stop this time. Please don’t stop this time.” You’re an aching, crying, desperate crumb of yourself; wholly at his mercy.

“No coming until I say.” His voice seems further away with every word and dread settles in your stomach as it all starts to fade.

“No! Nonono. Please no.” You feel a hot tear run down your face as the euphoria fades. You can barely feel or hear him anymore as little slits of yellow light appear. You blink once, twice. After a third long blink your bedroom comes into view.

Fuck.

This has been the start of your new three part morning routine for the last few nights, since that kiss with Joel, since filling out your preferences and signing all the waivers. Since being asked to submit test results and proof of birth control. Since Joel Miller became your Dom. Night after night you dream of him fucking you, and night after night, right as you’re about to fall over the edge, he tells you not to come until he says and you wake up.

The second part of your morning routine is a lot more cathartic and vocal - very vocal. Your newly painted cotton candy pink nails (anything to stay distracted and busy) dig into the soft cotton of your pillow as you pull it out from behind your head, pressing it to your face and screaming until your throat feels raw.

Fuck.

When all the breath is pushed from your lungs, you put your pillow back and kick off the blanket. Your bare feet drag along the worn down carpet of your bedroom to the cold and cheap linoleum of your bathroom. You pee, avoiding your clit at all costs when you clean up. You know you’re down fucking bad when even the scratchy 1-ply toilet paper is enough to make you almost crumble.

Part three of your new morning ritual is probably the part that shocks you the most. You change into leggings and a tank top, slipping a ten dollar bill and your house key into the side of your sports bra. The old springs of your mattress creak as you sit to slip on socks and your lavender colored runners, that you honestly forgot you owned until the morning after your twenty second birthday. You sneak out of your apartment, careful not to wake your roommate and jog down the stairs from your fourth floor suite to step into the cool March morning air.

Fuck.

After shaking out each leg, you start to run. There’s no technique to your form or a planned out route. You leave your phone behind, only sounds are the morning traffic and your struggling breath to keep you company. It's just you, pushing your body to forget how badly you’re throbbing between your thighs and trying to erase the feeling of him. As you turn the corner at the end of your block you can see the bright green grass and leafy trees of the park. Your calf muscles burn with every step, but it’s not enough; you can still feel him. As you reach the park your lungs start to burn; they feel like they’re filling with fluid. Your ankles protest with every strike of your feet against the concrete. Finally, just as you swear you’re about to meet your maker it happens, the sweet release you’re pushing for. Finally every trace of the ghost of Joel Miller disappears.

Your legs slow below you and you clutch your side, wandering lazily around the park. The rush of blood through your ears is nearly deafening, almost completely drowning out the chirping of the birds and the trickling of the water in the large stone fountain. You suck in quick, deep breaths, essentially doing everything and anything not to pass out. You’re free from him, if only for a little bit, as you fight against what feels like death knocking on your door.

As you walk home you grab a coffee - black with just a splash of almond milk, apologizing to the barista as you hand her the sweaty ten dollar bill that was tucked into your bra and begin mentally scheduling your day. It’s Monday, which means you don’t work today and you can focus on studying and laundry. Your LSAT retake is just a few days away, today is your last full free day, and you have to get as much studying and practicing done as possible. The dread of taking that test again has your hot coffee doing flips in your stomach. Getting some college letters would really help put you at ease. You know you applied early but it would be nice to know if you need to continue to push or if you can finally rest.

When you get back to your apartment your roommate has already left for her classes. You check your phone and your heart lurches in your chest at Joel’s name across your cracked lock screen. There’s been no contact between the two of you since Friday night. You slide open the text with shaky fingers

Good Morning, sweet girl. Are you ready to learn?

You bite your lip as you respond.

Yes, please, Mr Miller.

You stare at the text thread for a while. Although you aren’t sure if a total of three texts can be considered a thread, but you stare anyway trying to will more messages into existence. After a few minutes you give up, locking your phone and stripping your bedsheets. The trek to the laundry in the building feels like it takes forever and you rush back to check your phone. There’s no response but you do have a little red bubble on your JMK app. You excitedly tap on the app to see a new menu titled ‘Dominant Preferences’ added at the top. When you click it, everything from your Reddit wormholes is revealed.

‘Joel Miller likes to participate in bondage play, nipple play, toy play, dirty talk, oral sex (both giving and receiving), and fingering. He doesn’t like brat taming, but is willing to participate in scenes where his submissive needs to be put in her place occasionally. He never has sexual intercourse - vaginal or anal, this is a hard limit for him and his submissives need to understand that there is zero room for negotiation on this matter. He’s very open to impact play, but believes that only good girls should get spankings.’

You click off the little ‘Read and Accepted’ box at the bottom without hesitation. As if he’s waiting for you to accept, he texts you seconds after your finger has made contact with the screen.

8pm tomorrow. I’m sending a car for you. You should dress comfortably.

The same kind faced man from your birthday waits for you outside your apartment at 7:30 the next night. He opens the door, smiling gently at you as you hop in; leather and new car smell wafting around you. During the drive to the club you learn his name is Arthur, but my friends call me Cap.

“Can I ask you a question, Cap?” You ask as downtown comes into view.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Do you drive all of Joel’s, umm, do you drive lots of women around for Joel?”

He chuckles knowingly from the driver's seat, glancing into the rearview mirror at you. “No ma’am. Joel is a pretty secretive man. I have driven him places when he’s alone, or I drive Tommy’s subs, but never Joels.”

You nod and look out the window. It’s just you, sweet girl, only you.

Cap rushes to open the door when he pulls up to JMKink. The club is in a different building than Joel’s office; that was in the tall building across the street. Three bright and expansive floors of that red stone faced building belonged to JM Inc. Assumingly, the home base for all the businesses he has his hands in. This building, however, is smaller amongst the tall skyscrapers of the Austin skyline. The entire building is coated in a shiny black chrome, from the steel framing to the windows, except for the golden JMK logo on the front door. You take a calming breath before heading up the steps, the blacked out glass door slides open automatically.

Your dark high heeled boots click on the black and honey flecked marble, the floor reminding you of Joel’s eyes. You wish the marble would suck you into it so you could live in that feeling you get when Joel looks at you. Where it might be seen as cold and intimidating to others, to you it feels warm and inviting, almost familiar, and that little box of feelings in the back of your mind stirs a little bit.

He told you to dress comfortably tonight, and you felt most at ease in a deep green sweater dress and knee high heeled boots. The dress just barely skims your thighs, making your legs look long and toned. You could use a tan, but it’s only March, everyone in Texas could use a tan at this point. You left your hair down in loose curls and kept your makeup minimal, as always.

There are three people in the small foyer. Two stunning women stand behind the hostesses desk in matching black dresses and collars. To the right of them stands a man who looks like he could kill you with his pinkie. He’s also dressed in all black, and stands in front of a large door. Everything here seems like it’s meant to intimidate but all you can see and feel is the safety that comes with knowing Joel Miller.

One of the women looks up at you, smiling comfortingly and asks for your name. Before you can respond, Joel's honey lined voice answers her. The sound of your name on his tongue feels like taking a breath of fresh winter air. Goosebumps break out across your skin, your own breath leaping in your throat as you spin slowly to meet his gaze. There’s no other way to around it, Joel Miller is fucking exquisite. His slightly outgrown curls are pushed back, silver reflecting off his temples and throughout his beard. Tonight he’s wearing a deep midnight blue Tom Ford suit with one jacket button done up, underneath he’s wearing a crisp white t-shirt, paired with brown dress shoes and what you assume will be a matching belt. One of his hands is tucked in the pocket of pants that literally look like they weren’t made for him, the other hangs loose at his side and you catch that gold ring again.

He doesn’t take his eyes off you as he speaks to everyone in the lobby, “You’re all to remember her name. She is my guest, my only guest, and as far as you’re all concerned she’s the most important person in this club. Understand?”

The little box of feelings lifts its lid a little. No, you say to the box, banishing it back to its dark corner.

A jumbled mess of ‘yes’ and ‘sorry’ fills the lobby but the only thing that’s clear to you is Joel as he wanders over, placing his hand on the small of your back, and leading you towards the large black door that the lethal looking man is guarding. As he pulls you into his side his voice quiets, his words a low growl meant only for you. “Hi, sweetheart.” When he sponges a soft kiss to your temple you press your lips together to stop the giggle that’s trying to burst out of you. Joel Miller makes you giddy in a way that you haven’t felt since you were much younger and saw a One Direction music video for the first time.

This afternoon, you had your easily predicted moment of panic. As with every decision you’ve ever made, you started to think that this wasn’t the right one. Maybe Tommy was the safer choice. Maybe you’ve bit off more than you can chew, or girlbossed too close to the proverbial sun. Or in kink terms, flirted too closely with the St Andews Cross. But now, being here tucked tightly against Joel's side as he guides you into your first experience with the world of kink you couldn’t feel any more sure of your decision.

You hold your breath as the shiny black marble door opens, this feels like one of those big climatic moments you see in the movies, like you know the main character's life is about to change, and a nervous excitement buzzes through your veins. As the club comes into view it’s nothing like you thought. For starters, there aren’t cages or naked people around, and at first glance it looks just like a lounge in a high end hotel or restaurant. JMKink is beautiful, breathtaking.

Light pine flooring is set in a herringbone pattern across the entire club. Directly in front of you are a few tall tables and then, situated in the middle of the space, is a large black marble bar. The bartender is surrounded by a halo of soft chiffon light that casts down from a brushed gold chandelier. The tables and bar top have tealight candles on them, making the entire thing feel sensual and soft. It’s just dimly lit enough that you can’t see beyond the bar from here. Joel guides you gently to the right. The booths that line the wall are only illuminated by the flickering candle on the table. Three of the booths are roped off, guarded by a tank of a man in a black suit. As Joel leads you towards them, you notice each of those tables have a gold plated reserved sign along with a name; Joel, Tommy and Tess.

Confusion swirls in your brain at the romantic feeling the club gives off. Part of you expected to walk into a sex dungeon or that red room that Christian took Anastasia to, but you definitely weren’t expecting this. If this place was just a bit brighter you could imagine studying here on weekends.

This isn’t a sex club, there’s no way.

As you slide into the furthest booth you’re able to see a small stage on the back wall and empty dance floor looking area on the other side of the bar. You can feel Joel’s warm gaze on you as you look around with wide eyes. Right when you’re almost convinced that you interpreted the information you found on Reddit wrong, your eyes land on the far left side of the room.

No, now that you see if from this angle, you are indeed in a kink club; a well stocked kink club based on the entire sex shop in the corner. You feel your cheeks flush and you dart your eyes towards Joel, pushing at your cuticle under the table, smiling shyly at him.

“What’s goin’ on in that pretty little head of yours?” His voice is syrupy and warm as two drinks land on the table. Whiskey neat for him and some sort of pink martini for you.

“Nothing..I just, it’s not what I expected,” you swallow the sand that’s found its way into your throat at seeing all those sex toys just out on display in the corner and flick your eyes towards your drink.

“That's a cosmopolitan. I can get you something else if you want, sweetheart. The female staff here seems to love them.”

“No, I should have said thank you. I’m sorry.” His hand comes to meet yours as it’s picking furiously at the non-existent skin of your nail bed. He wraps his hand tightly around yours, and brings them to rest on the top of the table together.

“Take a breath, sweet girl. You’re ok.” His words wrap around you tightly, calming you. You’re ok. Your heart rate slows and you relax into the plush velvet lined booth a little bit, smiling sheepishly up at Joel. “Better?”

“Yes, thank you.” Your free hand grabs the martini glass and you bring it to your nose, it smells like cranberry and lime.

As you take a small sip Joel says, “You really don’t have to drink it, baby girl. I can get you whatever.”

The vodka burns away any sand that remains in your throat. It’s tart, and dangerously delicious. You can see yourself getting very fucked up these with your girlfriends one day soon. “No, I like it. Thank you.”

After putting the glass safely on the table, Joel lets go of your hand, wraps his arm around your waist and slides you across the seat, pressing you to his side. “Is this ok?”

JOEL

His cock twitches at the little hum you make in agreement. You lift your leg closest to him and rest it over his under the table. He squeezes your side gently, sinking into the comfort of you and grabs his whiskey. “So if this isn’t what you thought, what were you expecting?”

He loves the way you blush a little before answering him. “People just, you know, it’s a sex club, so just having sex here.”

He lowers his head to yours and whispers just for you, “There are people having sex here, sweet girl.”

He laughs to himself as your eyes narrow and you look around at the other people in the bar. “Not out here, just because you’re in a sex club doesn’t mean you have to consent to seeing or hearing people fuck. Or to be having sex yourself, really.” He loves the way you look at him with surprise at his boldness. He cocks his head towards a guarded door between the stage and booths along the wall, “But behind that door - well, people are indulging as we speak.”

He watches the small shiver of your spine, pulling back to take a sip of his whiskey, allowing you time to look around and become comfortable in your surroundings. He watches your perfect lips part, finding himself jealous of the rim of the glass as you take another sip. Great, first spoons and now glasses. As he watches your neck work to liquid down he says, “So did you leave that little pussy alone like I asked?”

Your head whips to face him, he can’t quite place your facial expression. It’s a twisted mix of fear, shyness and embarrassment, like you’re worried that someone may have heard him say pussy; but if you only knew the kinds of things happening in this club right now.

“What?” you ask shakily.

“Did you come? Or did you listen?”

“Umm…I,” he can tell that you’re flustered, and he finds you nearly irresistible like this.

“Are you nervous, sweet girl?”

He’s not sure if you realize it, but when you’re tense and he calls you by that nickname you relax a little. Your shoulders lower, the little crease in between your eyebrows softens. “No,” you say, and he’s not convinced.

Joel deepens his voice, a voice he only intends to use when you’re at the club together. Or when she’s in my bedroom. He pushes any thoughts of you outside of the confines of this space away, “Lesson number one, don’t lie to your Dom. We have to be able to trust each other.”

You look up at him through your lashes and it damn near kills him. You’re so beautiful, absolutely glowing against all the black in the room. The soft golden light bounces off of every little perfect piece of you; from the deep cupid's bow above your top lip, to the caramel highlights in your hair. He can tell by the long breath you suck in that you’re about to do that adorable thing where you ramble. “I’m nervous, but it’s an excited kind of nervous. And no, I didn’t…that thing.”

He can’t fight the smile at your shyness, “Lesson number two, If you can’t say it then you shouldn’t be here. What thing, sweet girl?”

You close your eyes and say, “Come,” and then open your eyes to look at him again.

So shy. So cute. I’m fucked, so very fucked, he thinks. He takes another pull of his whiskey if only to keep his hands and lips busy and to himself. He usually enjoys the burn but with you beside him it tastes sweeter.

As you bring your martini glass to your lips he commands, “One more time, this time look at me when you say it.”

Over your glass, sparkling eyes locked on him you mumble, “I didn’t come, Joel.”

“That reminds me. Lesson number three, as soon as we cross the threshold into my private room, you will refer to me as Mister Miller only. Out here, and anywhere else, I can be Joel, but in there,” he tilts his head towards a door on the other side of the stage, this one isn’t guarded, instead there’s a security pad that you need to have a microchip to unlock, “In there, I’m Mister Miller. Understand?”

He watches your throat again as you swallow, the palm of his hand tingles at the thought of wrapping his hand around it again. One of your eyebrows raises just a touch and he knows that cheeky little line of your lips. “Yes, Mister Miller.”

Your voice is husky as you say it and this time it’s him who has to fight the goosebumps rising on his skin and the icy shiver trailing down his spine. So perfect.

“Can I ask you a question?” You don’t make eye contact with him when you say it, like you fear he might say no and he has a feeling that whoever made you feel that you needed to make plans A through Z also told you are a burden for asking questions. Joel isn’t a violent man, but would happily ring whoever’s neck did this to you.

“Of course, sweet girl.”

You turn to face him, taking a sip of your martini before you say, “Why did you send me into your basement that day?”

Joel clears his throat, weighing how transparent he wants to be in his answer, but there’s no hiding it after what he said to you in his office last week. “I’m not always going to be nice to you here, sweet girl. I’m going to push you, I might even hurt you. Yes, it’s all consensual, but I didn’t want you thinkin’ I’m some sort of monster.”

He watches as you take a long pull of the pink liquid from your glass. You set it back on the table, the earlier tremble of your hand gone as you reply, “Thank you for being honest with me. I don’t think I could ever see you as a monster, Mister Miller. I need this.”

The devious smile you give him has his cock come to life. He doesn’t fuck his subs, but he would take you right here in this booth if he could. “Would you like a tour of the club?”

Your eyes light up, “Can I bring my drink?”

“Anywhere out here, yes. But not behind those two doors.” He takes the last drink from his whiskey and then watches as you take two big gulps to finish your Cosmopolitan. Your nose crinkles at what he assumes is the burn of the vodka.

“So fuckin’ cute,” Joel says quietly, and hopefully just to himself, as he slides out of the booth.

No, you say to the little box of feelings when you overhear his whispered words, don’t start with me right now.

You follow him as he heads towards the store in the corner. Even with the condoms, dildos, plugs, gags, whips, lube and all sorts of other things on display it’s somehow still classy and beautiful. Lots of these things you’ve never seen before, or had any desire to play with, but you’re pretty sure you’d try almost anything with Joel.

He nods at the man working the store counter and then walks you around the main area, his voice thick with passion as he speaks. “Usually on Friday and Saturday nights there's more of a nightclub feel, couples who like to swap partners can mingle with the room. This is a safe space, monogamous couples aren’t offended by the attention and everyone stays very respectful of others wishes and limits. There’s a drink limit of course, keeping things safe and consensual is my utmost priority.”

You walk slowly, crossing the middle of the currently unoccupied dance floor, “That stage is often used for workshops or shows. This is a place to learn just as much as it’s a place to enjoy sex and kink. We have a new workshop coming up next week actually.”

The two of you stop beside the guarded door - the door Joel said people were indulging behind. You can’t help but be curious about what's happening back there, but you’re also desperately horny and unsure how you might react to whatever is unfolding in the dark. The man standing in front of the door is also dressed in a black suit, this seems to be the uniform of those who work at JM Kink, he says a cordial, “Good Evening, Joel.” Then nods at you and adds, “Miss.”

You jump as Joel’s hand connects with yours, his strong fingers linking with your slender ones. He spins you to face him. His freehand cups your chin, the band of his ring cold against your pink flushed skin. He tilts your face up to meet his, seriousness etched across his face. “My sweet girl, behind that door can be a bit intense at first. You’re an adult, but you shouldn’t have to see anything you don’t want to see. So you’re in charge in there. If you want to leave, we leave. If you want to cover your eyes, do it and I’ll lead you away. On the contrary, if you see something you like and want to get closer, then get closer. If you have questions, just ask. Ok?”

You nod, and Joel leads you through what you hope is the second life changing door of the night. The air feels different on this side of the threshold, something about it makes you feel like you’ve been plugged into a low voltage socket, you’re buzzing in an exciting and dangerous way. It’s dark enough in here that you can’t see your black boots as they click quietly against the hardwood. Joel's strong hand comes around your waist, tucking you into the side of his body protectively. After taking a deep breath, the familiar ash and leather scent of Joel intoxicating and calming your senses, you look up.

You and Joel stand intertwined at one end of a long rectangular room. Across from where you stand and down to your left and right the wall is lined with large windows. On the side of the hallway where you stand are plush chairs and couches, some of which are occupied by singles or couples as they watch what’s happening beyond the windows.

You wonder if it gets easier, standing in a dark hall where you can watch people fucking. Joel is so calm, like a still glassy sea, meanwhile you are fighting against the tides. He stands almost statuesque, his thumb rubbing calming circles on your hip, while keeping you tucked safely into him. He has made it clear that you’re in charge here, so staying in the shadows as much as possible, you wander towards the first window. As if he’s another limb on your body, Joel follows you effortlessly.

Your heart thumps in your chest as you approach the first window. The room has a large bed that remains untouched. A man is tied to a chair at the end of the bed with black silk ties, and you stifle a gasp at the painful looking device he has clamped around his hard cock. You can hear his whines through the ball gag, and the moans of pleasure from the woman spread eagle on the floor in front of him as she fucks herself with a large dildo.

Joel’s soft stubble brushes against your ear as he whispers, “We won’t be doing that.”

“Looks fun for me,” you giggle and he lightly pinches your hip.

The next window has the blinds drawn, little slits of light illuminating the edges is the only sign that someone is in the room. “You can choose to let people watch or not watch, as well as how much you want those in the voyeur area to hear when you rent the rooms,” Joel explains softly as you approach the next open window.

The bed in this room is occupied by three people. A curvy woman is lying down on her back, a copper skinned man with a shaved head has his face buried in her pussy while a fully tattoed beefcake of man fucks his ass. The look of pure pleasure on all their faces has your clit twitching and aching. And when Joel lowers himself to your ear the little hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

“We also won’t be doing that,” Joel’s voice is so light and carefree. For a second you forget that any minute now he’s going to use that deep baritone voice to boss you around while you’re completely naked.

“Again, it also looks fun for me,” you joke, and a small smile crosses your lips as you feel Joel’s body shake with silent laughter beside yours. There’s about ten windows in this room from what you can see, most are closed or dark, probably since it’s a weekday. You lead the two of you down the room to the next open window. “Can they see us?”

“Not unless you get close to the glass,” he instructs. You stop in your tracks at the next window. Despite your teasing with Joel the last two were not your thing, but this window you could easily watch for a while. A man and a woman lay on the large red silk sheeted bed while hundreds of battery operated candles flicker around them. He’s on top of her, one of her legs slung over his shoulder, the other around his waist. As you step closer you can see a sparkly, thin layer of sweat coating both their bodies as they slowly grind together, kissing passionately. You take another step closer, if they want to be seen then it shouldn’t matter if they see you. Once you’re close enough you can hear the gentle moans she’s making as he thrusts slowly in and out of her.

“Well,” you say softly, leaning into Joel’s side and looking up into his warm chocolate eyes, “That doesn’t look so bad.”

He cranes his neck and places a lingering kiss on your forehead and as your eyelids flutter closed you can no longer deny just how turned on you are. He pulls back to look at you, smiling slightly before saying, “When I first got here he had her hogtied and was paddling her.”

“Like I said,” you say while giggling softly, “That doesn’t look so bad.”

The two of you watch them for a while as they fuck languidly. This should feel wrong, watching something so personal, but the beauty of them together like this is comforting and almost inviting. Her cries grow louder and as she starts to shake he pauses his hips, fully seated inside of her while whispering and smiling down at her, pushing her sweat soaked hair off her forehead. The love behind the glass is so palpable that you feel yourself getting choked up a little.

Just as you’re about to ask Joel to take you to his room, you notice another window with about five people lined up along the glass. Curiosity gets the better of you and you lead Joel the few steps to see what’s going on. No longer feeling nervous or shy, you step right up to the glass. This time, Joel moves his body to be behind yours, pulling your back against his strong body. One of his arms wraps around your middle, the other sweeps your hair to one side and then rests gently on your shoulder.

The set up of this room is similar to the others you’ve seen: a large bed to the right, a chair to the left, and a chest of drawers to the back. There’s a woman strapped face up on the bed, wrists and ankles bound to the four posts of the frame. Her perky breasts rise and fall rapidly with her breathing. At the back of the room, a broad tanned man faces away from you, looking through a drawer for something. As your eyes travel up his back from his hard, round ass cheeks he spins to face the window. You step back into Joel as Tommy Miller’s gaze flicks to the people along the window and then to the sub he’s chosen for the night.

In your sane mind you tell yourself that you should look away. It's one thing to watch strangers but watching someone you sort of know feels like an invasion of their privacy. Plus, there’s no way Joel wants to see his brother like this. As if he can read your mind, Joel's lips brush against your neck, “I’m right here, sweet girl. Tommy likes an audience, he’s an exhibitionist, and lots of members come just to watch him.”

You glance up at Joel and he smiles softly. Your voice is just above a whisper, “Can we watch for a bit?”

“You’re in charge, sweetheart.” He patiently reminds you as you nod and look back towards the room.

The horny demon that seems to have taken over your body since catching Joel in his office has you dying to see more: more sex, more kink, more Tommy. Without consciously controlling it, your eyes travel down his tanned chest, to the hair around his belly button and then down to his fully erect cock. You can’t help but appreciate the beauty of his body, he looks like he’s carved out of stone, and that includes his cock. He’s decently long, but thick, a prominent vein running along one side of it. It’s slightly upturned and the head is smooth and glistening with precome. He looks so powerful and the small fire that’s been building in your stomach grows.

You bite at your bottom lip nervously, crossing your arms to rest on top of the one Joel has wrapped around you. Tommy walks over to the bed; grasped in one of his large hands is a black vibrator, his other holds a small glass jar housing a lit candle. He climbs onto the bed, then drizzles hot wax along the woman's thighs. Her back arches off the bed and through the speakers along the glass you hear her pained moans. Tommy watches her intently, his lips moving but you can’t hear what he’s saying. Once she’s settled back on the bed, Tommy places the vibrator on her clit.

She writhes and pulls at the velvety cuffs holding her to the bed. “Sir, oh god, I’m - I’m gonna - Sir, fuck, I’m gonna come.”

When she calls him sir you see the dark flash of obsidian across his eyes, the same look when you called him that at the poker game. Through your research, you know that doms have preferred names and your cheeks flush a little at the thought of accidentally using his with him.

Tommy pulls the vibrator away right before she falls over the edge and drizzles wax on her stomach. She cries out with more desperation this time, and then again, once she’s calm Tommy places the vibrator between her thighs. It’s suddenly hard to breathe and when you step back into Joel you feel his cock is hard against your back and a fresh wave of arousal coats the lace of your panties.

Tommy takes the vibrator away as she starts shaking and moaning, then hot wax splashes down her sternum. You feel antsy, like little pins and needles are pricking along your entire body. You squeeze your thighs together, Joel's warm breath against your neck causes you to shudder.

“What’s wrong, baby?” he hums.

“N-nothing.”

“You sure? You’re squirmin’.” His hand runs slowly down your arm, your hands moving on their own so he can wrap you in his muscle lined arms. A light kiss lands just below your ear and you bite back a moan.

The combination of not being allowed to have an orgasm, the feeling of Joel’s warm body pressed against you, and the erotic scenes you’ve witnessed tonight is almost too much. It’s also not lost on you that that could have been you in there with Tommy right now. Your clit is throbbing between your legs, and you aren’t sure if you have ever been this turned on.

Joel smiles into your skin as you watch Tommy tease his sub with the vibrator again, “Do you like what you’re seein’?”

You nod, trying to calm your breathing. It hitches as he adds, “Would you like to try that one day?”

Wax hits one of her nipples, the beads hardening along the peak of her perky, round breast. You adjust your stance to cross your legs together, squeezing hard to ease the almost painful ache at the apex of your thighs. Her and Tommy speak softly to one another, he smiles down at her, puts the candle down and then adjusts himself between her legs, spreading the lips of her puffy pussy with two fingers and putting the vibrator right where you know it would ruin you.

“Would you?” Joel repeats.

“Yes, Mister Miller.” You say, your voice shaky, almost like it’s impossible to form words as you look up at him. He’s so beautiful in the shadowy light, his tanned skin almost seems to glow against the darkness.

His eyes dance around your face, his voice comes out soft and sensual, quiet enough for just you to hear, “Do you want to go play now, sweet girl?”

You bite your cheek to try to fight the smile, but as Joel’s eyes flick to your lips it’s no use. A shy smile tugs at the corners of your soft pink lips. “Are you going to let me come?”

He looks at you the same way he did when you drank the water and ate that toast. Pride. He’s proud of you for asking for what you want, and you can almost feel your insecurity and fear around asking for things starting to shrink.

The softness in his voice morphs into a growl, “If you’re a good girl.”

You spin your body towards him, determination lacing your face. “I can be your good girl, Mister Miller.”

Joel’s strong fingers link with yours and a quiet giggle passes your lips as he hauls you towards a door in the shadows close to where you two entered. Truthfully, if it wasn't for the little red light on the security pad, you wouldn’t have even known there was a door there. He waves his ring past the device and after a quiet beep sounds the light flashes green and the door clicks open. He pulls you through and as soon as Joel hears the final click of the door closing he hauls you over his shoulder. Your squeal at your world literally turning upside down with his brute strength melts into an aroused moan as his strong hands grasp the back of your bare thighs.

When Joel stops walking, you tear your eyes away from his perfectly sculpted ass, like these pants must be stuffed, there’s no way this man has a better ass than me. You glance up to see two other doors; assumingly belonging to Tommy and Tess. A familiar beep sounds in the quiet hall and your throat goes dry as he steps into his room. He takes a few long strides before sliding you down his muscle lined chest and placing you at the foot of the bed. He stays close, your breasts just barely grazing his warm body. Your gazes are locked, and even though you’ve grown comfortable with his intense need for eye contact your breathing still goes shaky and uneven.

Oh fuck, this is it.

His hand cradles your cheek, “You read and signed off on everything in the app, but I want to reiterate a few things, baby girl.”

You swallow hard, his finger now tracing down your throat and you swear you can feel every whorl of his fingertips as they trail along your soft skin.

“From now on, you belong to me and I belong to you. No one else. You are not allowed to come unless I say.”

His hand continues its road trip of your body, settling to wrap around the nape of your neck. “Y-Yes, Mister Miller.”

“I have a no sex rule. I’ll give you orgasms, I’ll fuck you with my fingers and toys, even my tongue, but not my cock. I need you to understand that my rule is nothing against you, sweetheart. Are you ok with that?”

“Yes, sir, Mister Miller,” you coo. The nervous excitement from early has returned, every bit of skin that he’s touching is almost humming, butterflies with sharp wings scrape at your stomach. You bring your hands to the lapels of his expensive blue suit, fisting the soft fabric.

“Fuuck,” he moans, “That sounds so pretty coming out of your mouth, sweet girl.”

You smile up at him. He squeezes the back of your neck gently, his other hand cradling your chin between his thumb and forefinger. The rough pad of his thumb caresses your chin. “Nothin’ tonight that will require a safeword-”

“Stegosaurus,” you say eagerly, cutting him off. It’s silly really, but that little dinosaur on top of his coffee machine is what first intrigued you about the anonymous millionaire whose home had been assigned to you to clean. It also has some sort of meaning to him, so it seemed only natural for that to be your safeword.

He smiles, laughing gently, “Not tonight, baby. If you want to stop tonight, just say so and I’ll stop. Ok?”

Your pussy flutters at the unexpected moments to come, but a gnawing anxiety starts to claw at your chest. You’re not sure what causes the shift, but suddenly you go from excited nervous to just plain nervous. Am I ready to give up control? What if he sees me naked and doesn’t like it. He said it was only me, what if he regrets that decision?

Your chest tightens, the knife-winged butterflies multiplying and traveling up your throat. Joel must sense a shift in you, he steps closer to you and softens his eyes as they dance around your face, a silent sign that he’s patiently waiting for you. If you said you wanted to go home you know he would kiss you softly and call your new friend Cap, but you don’t want that. You want this, you want whatever is about to happen; you just need to let go.

Vulnerability is thick in your voice as you break one of his rules and murmur, “J-Joel?”

“What’s wrong, baby?” His voice waivers, making you feel a little bit better.

“I’m nervous.”

He lowers his head towards yours, running the tip of his hooked nose down the slender bridge of yours. You close your eyes and take him all in. He’s warm and hard, yet somehow so soft. His familiar ash and leather scent is mixed with the expensive whiskey he drank earlier.

“So am I, sweet girl,” he whispers into your lips before kissing you softly. You melt into him, his hands moving to cup your face. His soft lips sponge against yours and everything quiets. You’re not sure how he does it, but kissing him feels like dunking your head under water, everything silences, all the nervousness dissipates. It’s just the two of you, floating in tandem in an endless void.

He’s nervous too? Because of me? I make this strong, successful, brooding man nervous? Your inner voice of anxiety starts to settle. I’m safe here.

The comfort of your thoughts is enough to have you pulling yourself into Joel more. You increase the intensity of your kiss, turning your head and parting your lips slightly. He follows suit, running his soft tongue along yours. The air in the room has morphed, it’s saturated with passion and arousal. With just one kiss he’s managed to erase all your fears and worries, your mind is silent and ready for whatever instructions he’s going to give you. When he pulls away your both panting for breath.

He turns his back to you, sliding his dark blue suit jacket down, the white t-shirt underneath clinging with perfection to the muscle and sinew that pack on top of each other along his back. He drapes his jacket over a padded bench about five feet away from you; you know from your extensive research that that’s a spanking bench. He spins to face you, slipping his gold and black ring off his hand, keeping his eyes locked with yours as he drops it in a dish on top of a low chest of drawers on his left. You can’t describe it, but the sound of the gold clashing with the ceramic dish puts you in a trance. Like a ritualistic symbol that you are his now.

His hands slip into his pockets, his voice taking on its deep dominant tone, “We are going to start now. You can stay fully clothed or you can get as undressed as you feel comfortable being. I’m serious here, sweet girl. Leave on as little or as much as you want. When you’re done, lay face up on the bed.”

Without thinking your hands fly back to the zipper on your boots, you unzip them and toe them off. You don’t break eye contact as you grab the hem of your sweater dress and pull it up and over your body. As your vision is temporarily blocked by the knitted fabric you can feel his eyes on your bare skin. You’re left in just a matching nude bra and panty set. He’s already seen your tits so you don’t hesitate to unclasp your bra and let it fall away from your body.

Joel swallows hard and licks his lips. “Beautiful,” he mumbles appreciatively and it coats your skin in warmth.

You hesitate for a moment with your thumbs hooked in the waistband of your panties. You know they’re soaked through, and you’re sure he can see that from where he’s standing. He’s so fucking good at reading you, so you’re not surprised when he says, “Only take off what you feel comfortable with, my sweet girl.”

“I do…I am…I w-want to…I just,” you fiddle with the band a bit.

“You can say it.” He nods encouragingly.

“I like having them taken off me. I - I want to see your face up close when you…when you see it for the first time.”

Joel smirks, popping his hip out to lean on the spanking bench. “See what the first time?”

“Don’t make me say it, Mister Miller.”

He clicks his tongue at you, “Mmm, but I love hearing that pretty little mouth say dirty words.” You stay silent, chewing your cheek as he continues. “Come on…say it. Say, I want to see your face up close when you see my cunt for the first time, Mister Miller.”

You feel your cheeks flush. Earlier tonight he asked you to look at him when you say it, so you roll your shoulders back and hold your head high. As confidently as possible you say, “I want to see your face up close when..” you take a shaky inhale, “When you see my cunt for the first time, Mister Miller.”

Before the last syllable has left your lips he’s across the room, lifting you off the ground by the back of your thighs. You instinctively wrap your legs around him and gasp at the sudden pressure right where you’re aching for him.

“I have memorized every answer from your preferences,” he growls into your collar bone, walking you around the bed. “I have strategically planned what I’m going to teach you and then you say stuff like that and fuck. I have to fight every sick and twisted thought I have, sweet girl.” He climbs onto the bed, laying you down just how he wants you, “You have no idea what you do to me. How out of control you make me feel.”

Joel shuffles his body down, kissing down your sternum before cupping your tits. Pushing them together and sucking one of your nipples into his hot mouth. This is exactly what you’ve been fantasizing about since that moment in his office. His tongue is warm and soft as it flicks across your hardening nipple. He lightly rolls the other one between his fingers.

“Please - oh god - please Mister Miller.” You moan needily. You try to arch into him, but his large body holds you down.

He grazes his teeth along your nipple then looks up at you, “I’m gonna take care of you. Just relax.”

You can’t take your eyes off him as he dives back in. Sucking and biting at your other nipple. You plant your feet on the mattress, hands tangling into his hair, as you try to grind your aching clit into his warm, hard stomach.

“Stay still sweetheart,” He says between suckles.

“I c-can’t. Please.”

He pinches both nipples hard, harder than you’re used to, and you whimper, freezing your hips. His voice is as deep as the obsidian in his gaze, “Stay still. I’m going to make you come. I promise. You need to trust me, relax.”

The pressure on your nipples eases and you pout before letting yourself melt back into the mattress. He smirks, a dimple carving itself in the patchy scruff of his cheek. “That’s my girl. You like your nipples being played with?”

The pad of his thumb ghosts over the tops of them, you shiver and moan, “Uh-huh.”

“Good. Then you’re going to enjoy what I have planned tonight.” He kisses your forehead and then climbs off the bed. You rise on your elbows, watching him as he pads across the room to a chest of drawers. He toes off his brown dress shoes and removes his belt before digging through a drawer. The actions were so simple, yet the domesticity of them has you fighting with your little box of feelings again.

No, you tell it silently as it inches out of the darkness. I am his sub and nothing more. The box seems to have grown a very annoying and persistent personality and it almost says, ‘but he’s nervous too’ back at you.

He turns back to face you, snapping you out of your fight with the imaginary box in your brain. The same vibrator Tommy had is clasped in one hand, his other is palm up, cupping something that he’s shaking much like a gambler does with dice.

“My sweet girl, you put a five for nipple clamps. Remind me, have you ever used them before?”

“No, Mister Miller.”

He wanders lazily back over to the bed, and if he was anyone else you’d tell him to hurry up, but you never want to rush a single moment with Joel Miller. On top of that, you need to let him take control; he said he was going to make you come if you just relax and trust him, so that’s exactly what you’re going to do. He places the vibrator on the small table beside the bed and then sits beside you, holding out his free hand to help you sit up.

He holds the clamps out to you and explains softly, “These are beginner clamps. See this little dial? I can control how tight they are.”

You watch his thick fingers along the dainty metal of the clamps, he’s so soft yet could have you crying with the snap of his fingers if he wanted. A fresh wave of arousal floods between your thighs completely ruining the panties he still hasn’t taken off your body. You nod and whisper, “Ok.”

“You control what happens here tonight. If you tell me that it hurts too much or to stop, I will.”

It’s time to show Joel just how good of a girl you can be, you look at him through your eyelash and sweetly coo, “Yes, Mister Miller.”

A deep growl rumbles in his chest, “Fuck. Lay down..now.”

You lay back, hair fanning around you. Joel stays seated on the edge of the bed beside you and lightly places the first clamp on your right nipple. It’s a light pinching pressure and it feels so good that your eyes flutter shut and you melt into the bed. He puts the next clamp on and you whimper.

“How’s that feel?” he asks, his strong hands gripping your hips, pushing you into the mattress and grounding you in the warm pleasure that floods your stiff nipples.

“S-so good Mister Miller,” you groan. You’re almost convinced this is another dream, he’s doing almost exactly what you have imagined countless times. You open your eyes to watch him, determined to visually take in every single thing he gives you.

“Good, baby. I want you to feel good. I’m gonna tighten them now, jus’ a little.” He twists the little knob. You start breathing heavily, teetering on the edge of pain and pleasure. You bring your hands to his strong, warm forearms as you suck in air.

“Too much?”

Your chest heaves at the delicious feeling flooding your tits. “No, no. More. P-Please, more. More.”

“Good girl,” he hums deeply, the words settling right behind your clit as he tightens the tiny clamps more. The warmth around your nipples spreads to your arms and down your sides. When you cry out he asks, “Pain or pleasure, sweet girl?”

At this point you aren’t sure, it definitely hurts, but it also feels good, and his deep brown eyes are looking at you the same way they always do, full of concern and care, almost like he’s assessing you.

“Both. Both, oh fuck. More, Mister Miller.” He kisses the left one gently and you arch into him, “More, more, please.”

“That’s as tight as they go, are you sure you want more?”

You keep your eyes on him, nodding fervently, “Yes. Please, yes.”

He pops them off and you gasp out in pain, heat rushes to both your nipples and it burns in white hot passion. Joel blows cool air along both of them and you can’t seem to stop your mumbling begging, “More. I need more. Please!”

“I know, baby. I got you.” He opens the drawer on the bedside table and takes out two gold plated clamps. You look down, your nipples already look sore, tinged slightly purple. “I’m so fucking proud of you already. Askin’ so nicely like the good girl I know you are. Goddamn, look at these stiff, perky, perfect little nipples. I love seeing you like this, seeing them like this. Are you wet for me? Are those flimsy lace panties soaked through?”

He places one of the new clamps and you cry out a ‘yes’.

“Ya? Just dripping and desperate for me?” He puts the other clamp on as you chant a chorus of yes’s and oh god’s.

Joel

Joel knew that tonight would either make or break him. As his name spills sweetly from your perfect pouty lips he feels it, the same tug behind his belly button that he felt with Tiffany, that his grandpa said was how he’d know when he found something special; something to hold onto.

“Please, Mister Miller,” you murmur. He doesn’t know what it is you’re asking for, and he’s sure you don’t know either. What is it about you saying those three little words that gets him so rattled? Countless subs have called him that in the past and it never made his cock swell this painfully behind his zipper.

He taps at your nipples lightly and watches your body shudder and arch off the bed. You aren’t even fully naked and he’s fighting the urge to come right there in his pants. He loves the way your body reacts, he can already tell you’re going to look stunning as you come.

“That feel good?” He asks, his voice deep and husky.

“Yes. Oh god, yes!” You haven’t taken your eyes off him and he loves how your eyelids have become hooded from the pleasure while your brows furrow with the pain.

“Does it hurt?” Your cheeks are flushed pink making the colour of your eyes pop.

“Yes,” just as he’s convincing himself to remove the clamps you moan, “Please don’t stop.”

Joel grabs the vibrator from the bedside table before sliding his body down the bed. He starts kissing at your hip bone before wrapping his teeth around the slender band of your panties. Your eyes dart down to him, this is what you asked for; to his face the first time he sees your cunt. He pulls your panties with his teeth, smiling against your soft upper thigh when you instinctively lift your hips to help him. As he shimmies down the bed his eyes stay on your face.

He gets to the end of the bed, standing with your soaked through thong still between his teeth. He relaxes his jaw, dropping the panties in his hand and bringing them to his face. “God fuckin’ damn, sweet girl. You smell so fuckin’ sweet. Imma crave that smell when you aren’t around.” He tucks your panties into the pocket of his four thousand dollar, custom made Tom Ford suit. As far as he’s concerned, that drenched thong is the most expensive and important thing he now owns.

He trails his eyes down your sternum, your legs are straight out in front of you, not parted, but he can see your puffy pink clit pushing through the soft looking outer lips. He feels himself switching into full dom mode. The room around him fades away, everything outside of you and this room doesn’t matter anymore.

“Show me,” he growls. “Spread those gorgeous legs and show me that perfect little cunt.”

He crawls up the bed, following the path you make as you bend both knees up. He feels like a starved dog who’s about to get a meal. Your feet stop, and as he hovers above you, gaze wholly fixated on your core, you relax your legs and your knees butterfly open. God he loves how eager you are, how good of a listener you can be. He licks his lips as your outer thighs finally meet the soft sheets, baring yourself for him completely. He stops breathing as your lips part, sticky with arousal. Your pussy is swollen and glistening, your needy clit puffy and pink.

A deep moan rumbles in his chest as he lowers himself to the be, his face between your legs. Once he’s close enough he can see the tight little hole he’s vowed not to fuck. “Shit, sweetheart. This is goin’ to be so much harder than I thought.”

Your cries wash over him; he’s experienced enough to know that it’s from your nipples hardening under the clamps at his words. He smirks up at you, “How are you so wet already?”

“You, Mister Miller.”

“That right? Me playin’ with those nipples get you all turned on?”

“Uh-huh, and you said I couldn’t touch myself. I’ve been like this for days.” Your bottom lip pokes out and it absolutely ruins him, but he pushes down the overwhelming need to fix it and give you exactly what you need. No, you want to experience being a submissive, and that’s what he’s going to do.

“Poor baby,” he mocks, tsking at you. He kisses right above your clit and you gasp. He’s close enough to know the heat of his breath is going to have you squirming and he can’t wait to watch how beautiful you’ll look doing it. “So wet. Smells so good. Fuck, She’s right in front of me but I already miss her. You look so soft and tight. Goddamn, you’re gonna have me breakin’ all my rules, sweet girl.”

“Please touch me. Please.”

“Mmmm, such a good girl for asking so nicely. I can’t say no when you beg like that, baby, makes me weak.” He kisses the crook of your inner thigh, he knows how much he’s teasing you right now, he watches you get wetter by the second, the beautiful folds of your pussy opening like a flower in the sun for him and flushing a deeper pink and the blood courses to your most sensitive parts.

“I need you Mister Miller,” your voice waivers as you say his name, and you blink a little harder, he knows you’re fighting back the tears and it makes his cock throb harder, the teeth of his zipper practically digging into him.

After what feels like hours, he finally brings a thick finger to tease at your entrance. You buck into him, desperate for the friction.

“Don’t make me tie you up. Stay still for me, please.” Even with the please at the end, it’s a command - deep and serious, and you don’t dare test him. Your nipples stiffen every time he speaks, and they ache under the clamps, it’s the perfect twinge of pain to heighten the bits of pleasure he’s giving you.

You press your lips in a tight line, hands grounding you as they ball the sheets, focusing on keeping still. You want to shamelessly fuck yourself with his fingers; meanwhile, he’s being slow and calculated. Joel torturously draws slow little circles along the waiting hole with just the tip of his finger. He watches as your sticky white arousal coats his fingertip, then groans as he slowly pushes his middle finger all the way inside of you. You gasp at the welcome stretch and fight like hell to stay still.

“Look at you, fuck. So warm and inviting.” He slips his finger out slowly and lets out an exasperated sigh. Your heart falls into your stomach.

“Mister Miller, no. Please, it felt so good,” you practically cry at the loss at the feeling of him finally inside of you, finally giving you a taste of what you need the most.

“I know,” he shushes, “But that’s not what I have planned, not yet at least. My sweet girl, I need ya to be loud for me. I’ve been wanting this for so long. Need to hear you. Understand?”

The distinct sound of the vibrator you forgot he had comes to life and you squirm with anticipation. “Yes, Mister Miller. I will, just please, please make me feel good.”

He reaches up, the black vibrator makes contact with your nipple and an intense pain shoots to your core before it blooms into pleasure. One of your hands leaves the sheets, fingernails digging into the forearms of the hand he has holding the vibrator and you sob out.

“That’s it, that’s my girl,” he groans before moving the vibrator to the other nipple, circling it around this time instead of holding it flush. “Jus’ tell me if you need me to stop.”

“Don’t, please don’t. Oh god, yes.” You know you’re screaming, you doubt anyone can hear you, but at this point you don’t care if they can. The pleasure becomes overwhelming, you slam your eyes shut and arch your back. Joel’s strong chest is warm in between your thighs, he’s so broad that he’s keeping you spread open. You grind into the soft white cotton of his t-shirt.

“Look at me. Focus, sweet girl,” you peel your eyes open to meet his gaze. Warm coffee and hazel eyes stare down at you. “Stay still, please.”

“I can’t - aah!” He presses hard on your sore nipple and it brings you back into your own body. You manage to still your hips and release your grip, leaving behind little crescent shaped indents in his muscle lined forearm.

“Good girl,” he praises and then pulls the vibrator away from your breasts. His free hand comes to your mound, he swallows hard before breaking eye contact, pulling his hand back and looking at your puffy, and completely exposed bundle of nerves. A devious uptick of the right side of the mouth sets your blood on fire before he taps lightly at your clit once with the soft head of vibrator.

You cry out in pleasure.

He taps again and you gasp out loudly.

He taps a third time and you’re almost certain that this is how you’re going to die. No man has ever teased you like this. You’re desperate to come, your body breaking out in sweat, but you never want Joel to stop. Moans and whines are pouring out of you without you even realizing it, he looks so fucking beautiful between your thighs, staring at your pussy like it’s the sunrise over the ocean, like he’s never seen anything as beautiful or fascinating and it makes your feel unstoppable. You make him look like that. Him. A man who could have anyone in the world, but here he is, looking at you like you’re his whole world.

“Let me hear you, show me how you can be a good girl,” he clicks the vibrator up and holds it tightly to your clit. The sensation is almost too much and your nipples ache under the little gold clamps.

Your body starts to shake involuntarily and your moans become longer and huskier, you’re going to come any second now. You squeeze your eyes shut and Joel pulls the vibrator away.

“No,” you gasp. “More. Please, I need more. Please.” The fear of him leaving you like this has the back of your eyes burning. Was there a time limit you weren’t aware of with the room? No, this is his private room. Right? Didn’t he say that he has a private room? And it shouldn’t matter if the club is open or closed, he’s the owner.

“Look at me, sweetheart.” You blink your eyes open, trying to focus on his face, but you’re so turned on that the edges of him seem fuzzy. “That feel good? The vibrator teasing your desperately swollen clit?”

You nod your head, “Yes, again. Please, Mister Miller.”

“Tell me what you want?”

Historically, situations like this have riddled you with insecurity. You’ve never been a talker in the bedroom and as a textbook people pleaser you never, like NEVER, ask for what you want. Yes, being here fully naked with a fully clothed Joel makes you feel safer and more understood than you have ever been. You know that if you ask for anything in this room and beyond, he’d do it.

The words leave your mouth without you even thinking about it, without second guessing or carefully planning what it is you’re going to say. “Please make me come. I’ll be so loud for you. I’ll scream and moan until I have no voice. I’ve been such a good girl and I’ll do whatever you want. Just please, please make me come.”

He raises an eyebrow at you and his voice washes over you like honey, “Good fuckin’ girl. Eyes on me and hold on.”

It happens in an instant, the vibrator flicks to the highest setting as he adjusts his body to hold you firmly against the mattress with this forearm, your hands grab onto his shoulders as he presses the soft, thick head of the sex toy right onto your clit.

You scream and squeeze at the strong muscles of his shoulders as wave after wave of pleasure courses through your system, you tense under his touch. The build of your orgasm somehow too much and not enough all at once.

“Oh god. Oh god. Yes, I’m - Mist - fuuuck.”

“I know, I’m right here.” He says darkly.

“Gonna come,” you sputter between your cries of ecstasy. You can feel that familiar tightness building.

“Relax and let go for me. Come for me, sweet girl. Let me see this beautiful little cunt twitch.”

His words send you over the edge and your orgasm rocks through you violently. You convulse with so much force that Joel grunts as he holds you down. You’re nothing but what Joel is giving you, not a single thought or insecurity, not a single worry about studying or school, you’re just what Joel has made you and it feels fucking fantastic. His dark onyx eyes swallow you whole.

The pleasure of your orgasm, mixed with the pain in your nipples is so much more than you’ve ever known, and Joel’s deep gravel filled voice praises you the whole time.

‘There’s my girl.’

‘Sooo good for me.’

‘Fuck, that’s it my sweet girl.’

‘Beautiful when you scream for me.’

It starts to become too much. Your throat is hoarse from screaming. As your nails start to dig deep into his shoulders Joel slows the vibrator down and holds it lightly to your twitching clit as the aftershocks course through you. He releases your body from his and kisses your hip bone before shutting the vibrator off completely.

He’s stills between your thighs, your hands resting on his shoulders. Joel smiles up at you sweetly and you pull at his t shirt to encourage him to crawl on top of you. He doesn’t hesitate, bringing his stong body on top of yours, resting his forearms on each side of your head.

“Do I have your consent to kiss you?” He whispers.

“Yes,” you coo. His mouth meets yours similar to how it did when you both confessed to being nervous. It’s soft and lingering as you take shaky, calming breaths through your nose. That annoying little box of feelings shivers in the corner of your mind and you mentally put a piece of packing tape over the lid.

You end this kiss this time, pushing your head into the pillow. “I’m gonna grab some cooling spray and take those clamps off now, is that okay?”

You nod and hum in agreement. Your eyelids and muscles feel heavy and sated. Joel's warm body parts from yours and a chill runs up your spine. When he releases the first clamp you whimper, the burning ache goes away as soon as he sprays it with a cooling coconut scented mist. When he removes the second one, your pussy clenches around nothing, a small but powerful orgasm waves through you as the cool droplets of the aftercare spray land on your pebbled breast.

“Did you just come?” Joel questions proudly.

Your hands cover your face as you blush harder than you have in years, “Yeah.”

Joel’s warmth encompasses you again as he climbs back on top of you, he gently pulls your hands away by your wrists. “Fuck, baby. I think I’m addicted to you.” He kisses the tip of your nose, “Such a good girl.”

You shiver underneath him and he rolls the two of you so he can wrap the blanket around you, your head rests on his chest, your body half on him and half on the soft bed. He holds you tightly, his meaty hands rubbing any place they can over the fluffy down filled cocoon he’s got you in.

A comfortable silence falls around the two of you, your breaths in sync with one another. Your eyelids flutter closed, and that little voice starts to come back, lacing you with insecurity. You don’t want to ask, but you have to. You clear your throat quietly and ask, “Are you seeing any other subs?”

“No,” he replies softly, his lips brushing the top of your head. “But I haven’t told all of them yet. The dom/sub relationship is a delicate one. I can’t exactly just message them on the app that it’s over.”

You settle deeper into him. “What else do you have planned for us?”

You can hear the smile in his voice as he says, “I’m going to show you everything you want to know.”

A fire burns in your stomach, “When?”

Joel lets out a small laugh, then tilts your chin up, pulling back a little so he can look at you. “You’re so fucking cute when you’re eager. I have to go out of town tomorrow, but we’ll make sure to find time when I’m back this weekend.”

Him leaving is a bit of a blessing in disguise for you. “I take the LSAT again on Friday, so I guess this gives me lots of study time.”

He cranes his neck to sponge his lips to yours, the scruff of his mustache tickles a little and you giggle into his kiss. “How long have you owned the club?”

“Almost five years,” he replies.

You let an impressed hum, tucking your head into the crook of his neck as the two of you fall into a comfortable silence for a while, the only sounds are your mixed breathing and his calloused hand along the blanket. You remember all the times tonight that he called you ‘my sweet girl’ and you wonder if he’s feeling the same way you are, or if he’s so used to all of this that it’s just second nature to him. The packing tape on that fucking box starts to peels as if to say ‘he was nervous too and it’s only you’.

After a while Joel breaks the silence. “Becoming a lawyer is a pretty intense process. Your family must be really proud of you.”

“Umm, well, I actually don’t really know,” you say.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Joel says lightly and you know he means it. You know he would never push you to give him something you didn’t want to, he might push your sexual limits, but never your personal ones, and for whatever reason that almost makes it easier to tell him.

You roll onto your stomach and prop yourself up on your forearms on his chest. For a second you let your eyes look around the room. You were so focused on Joel earlier that you didn’t notice the rings and hooks along the black steel bed frame; or the paddles and ropes hanging on the wall next to a ladder and St Andrews Cross. In classic Joel fashion, everything is black and softly lit. Everything but the bed sheets which are plush and white.

You take a deep breath, resting your chin on your hands, and start, “I don’t want pity for this, truthfully I’m grateful that this is my reality, but my parents had me when they were very young and they were both very selfish when I was growing up. Never abusive or anything, and not neglectful in a physical way, but emotionally I was left alone a lot. I realized early on that if I excelled in something they would show up, and for a long time that felt really fucking good. But as soon as I hit high school I realized they were showing up for themselves. They’d brag about me to other adults, but not actually congratulate me. They’d show up to honour roll ceremonies, but not with me or for me, it was so they could say I was their daughter. They didn’t help me get those grades, I did that on my own. And I’m still doing that on my own.”

Joel’s eyes soften, those two permanent lines between his eyebrows disappearing. “That explains so much, my sweet girl. I want you to know that I’m here for you.”

The tape on the box of feelings snaps as the lid flies off. Not now, you scold.

“I know, but honestly, I don’t really need anyone to take care of me. I’ve made it this far and I plan on making it the rest of the way the only way I know how.”

“Doesn’t that get lonely?” He asks.

“Doesn’t this?” you say gently, gesturing to the room.

“No,” he blinks at you a few times. “I was in my early twenties when my wife died. I needed to focus on raising Sarah, but I’m still an adult male with needs, so I found the world of BDSM and kink. It allowed me to get what I wanted, and what my partner wanted, without the attachment of a relationship.” His words are so real and honest and in just those few sentences you feel like you know Joel Miller more deeply than you know anyone else.

“My way doesn’t get lonely either,” you say with a smile, tucking your head back into his chest.

Joel

Your breathing is calm and heavy, it kills him that he’s going to have to wake you up. Usually his aftercare doesn’t involve opening up about his past like this. He’s not a monster, but he is very strict about keeping his kink life and his real life separate. Something about you though has him opening up about Tiffany and Sarah.

“Baby,” he whispers into the crown of your head, shaking you a little. “We can’t sleep here, I’m sorry.”

You blink up at him and his heart ceases at how beautiful you look all sleepy and supple. He finds himself unconsciously memorizing the little details of your face. Your lips are puffy from his kisses and you have a little mascara smudge under your eye. He thumbs the black make up away gently and says, “Let me help you get dressed and then Cap will take you home, ok?”

You nod lazily and he helps you gently roll off him. He stands and starts to gather your clothing. After a few minutes of looking around he huffs, “Where are your panties?”

A tiny giggle sounds from the cloud of white blankets, the sound shooting straight through his belly button, “Check your pockets.”

He laughs at himself, reaching into his pants pocket to pull out your lacy nude thong. He helps you sit up, “I’m keeping these, by the way.”

“Should I be expecting my panties to go missing every time?” You say jokingly as you take your bra from him and put it on.

He nods and asks, “How are you feeling?”

“Good, really good actually,” After you put your bra on he pulls your dress over your head and then kneels to help you with your boots. “I - umm - I was hoping that this would help turn my brain off for a while and it did. I feel, I don’t know. Recharged almost?”

This is exactly why he loves kink, it’s an escape from the world for him and his sub. He kisses your knee and moves to the other boot. “Good, that’s what is supposed to happen.”

He pulls you to your feet and allows you to steady yourself before pulling you in for a hug. “Thank you for tonight,” he whispers. He hopes you know that he needs this as much as you do, how much this helps him clear his mind and reground himself.

After closing the door to the town car and sending you home he goes back into the club, waving for a whiskey and joining Tommy at the bar top.

“She was pretty,” Tommy says, clinking his glass against Joel’s.

“Yep,” he swirls the amber liquid in the cup.

“New?” Tommy asks.

“Yep,” Joel repeats and then sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I think I’m fucked, Tommy.”

Tommy puts his glass down and turns to face Joel, gripping his shoulder. “Are you ending it with all your other subs for this girl?”

Joel takes a long sip from his crystal highball glass. Repeating the only word he seems to know lately, “Yep.”

Tommy lets out a breath, “Shit. Ya, you’re definitely fucked.”

“Tiff told me to find someone who scares me. This fucking scares me, man.” Joel finishes off his whiskey, and even though there’s a drink limit, the glass is refilled before it’s even hit the table. “This is - I just - I ain’t felt like this in a long time.”

Tommy smiles at Joel, “I’m happy for ya, man. And look, as long as you aren’t keepin’ her panties then it’s probably not as bad as you think.”

Joel pulls that nude thong from his pocket and puts it on the bar top as he finishes off his second glass of whiskey and then waves the bartender off, silently signaling that he’s done.

“Shit, so you are fucked then?” Tommy laughs.

“We didn’t,” Joel says defensively, brows pulling together.

“I didn’t ask if you fucked. I said you are fucked.” Tommy shakes his head at his older brother.

Joel runs a hand down his face and through his scruff. “Look, you gonna be ok this week while I’m in Paris?”

“Ya, me and Tess got it.” He claps Joel’s back roughly as he stands. “Safe travels, hey?”

Joel nods and waves over his head at his brother. He hasn’t fucked you or let you suck his cock yet and he’s already feeling all turned around. But god, the way your body twitched in response to him, the way you melt into his arms every time he kisses you. How brave and confident you were after overcoming the shyness of asking for what you want. He can’t wait to teach you more, but he’s going to have to find a way to not let whatever feelings he might be having get in the way.

Next chapter

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moomuzan · 23 days ago

Text

— 𝖌𝖔𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖙𝖔𝖔 𝖋𝖆𝖗

they physically hurt you during an argument , dazai , chuuya , akutagawa , angst , requested

As the fight spiraled into chaos, every word seemed like a jagged shard, cutting both of you open. Dazai stood before you, his expression carefully constructed, a facade of calm that only amplified the storm raging in the room. His words were like knives, precise and cold, but you had learned how to endure them. Or so you thought.

“You think you’re better than this?” he snapped, his voice laced with something darker, more desperate. “Better than me? You don’t even know what you’ve gotten yourself into. You’re so naïve it’s pathetic.”

“Maybe I am,” you shot back, voice trembling but resolute. “But at least I feel something real, Dazai. At least I’m not hiding behind masks and games like you.”

For a moment, the room fell silent, the weight of your words settling between you. His jaw clenched, his hands twitching at his sides. You could see it—the storm breaking through his carefully curated demeanor, the anger and fear he so often buried rising to the surface.

And then, like a thunderclap, it happened.

While his hands moved faster than his mind, shoving you back, his frustration snapped into action. The force wasn’t calculated—it never was—but it sent you stumbling into the wall with a sickening thud. Pain shot up your back, sharp and immediate, and for a moment, the air was knocked clean out of your lungs.

Defeating, merely silence followed.

As if they were still grappling with the weight of what they’d done, his outstretched hands trembled. His eyes widened, the usual nonchalance stripped away to reveal something raw, something terrified.

Hoarse, he whispered your name, his voice cracking under the weight of it all. You pressed a hand to your ribs, wincing as you steadied yourself against the wall. The ache in your side was sharp, but it was nothing compared to the heaviness in your chest, the realization that this—this person, this moment—was no longer safe.

“Don’t touch me,” you managed, your voice trembling, not with anger but with something more fragile.

“I didn’t mean to,” The man said, his words tumbling out in a desperate rush. “I swear, I didn’t mean—”

“You didn’t mean it?” you interrupted, the words bitter as they left your mouth. “You never mean it, Dazai. But that doesn’t stop it from happening, does it?”

Dazai‘s hands fell to his sides, his shoulders slumping as if the weight of your words physically struck him. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. For once, Dazai Osamu—the man who always had a plan, a clever retort, a way out—was speechless.

“I can’t keep doing this,” you said, your voice breaking. “I can’t keep forgiving you for the ways you hurt me, for the ways you make me doubt myself. Love isn’t supposed to feel like this.”

In a matter of seconds his expression shattered then, the mask slipping completely. He looked like a man on the edge of something vast and terrible, his usual bravado gone, replaced by a desperation that made your heart ache.

“You can’t leave me,” he whispered, the words barely audible, as if saying them louder might break him entirely. “Please. I don’t know how to do this without you.”

Tears spilling down your cheeks as you stepped toward the door, you whispered: “You don’t know how to love, Dazai.”

He sank to his knees then, his head bowing low as if he were trying to disappear into the floor. “I’m sorry,” he choked out, his voice raw and broken. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know how to be anything but this. But I love you. God, I love you.”

You froze at the door, your hand gripping the handle so tightly your knuckles turned white. For a moment, you thought about turning back, about kneeling down beside him and telling him that love could be enough, that it could save you both.

But it couldn’t.

“I love you too,” you said quietly, your voice shaking. “But sometimes, love isn’t enough to fix the damage.”

Opening the door, you stepped out into the cold night, the sound of it closing behind you echoing like a gunshot.

Dazai stayed where he was, his body trembling, his hands clutching at the floor as if it were the only solid thing left in his world. The apartment was silent now, save for the sound of his ragged breathing.

He stayed there for hours, alone in the dark, his mind replaying every moment, every mistake, every crack that had led to this. And when the sun rose, spilling light into the room, it illuminated nothing but the hollow emptiness he’d tried so hard to avoid.

In the end, he realized, it wasn’t you he’d been trying to save. It was himself. And now, he had lost both.

The argument had begun as a flicker of irritation, something small enough that it could have been smothered if either of you had tried. But neither of you did. It grew, feeding on unspoken frustrations, on misunderstandings too deeply buried to untangle in the heat of the moment.

Lit only by the glow of the streetlights filtering through the blinds, the apartment was dim. Chuuya stood in the middle of the room, his fists clenched at his sides, his chest rising and falling with shallow, ragged breaths. His hat had been tossed carelessly onto the couch, his hair disheveled from running his hands through it in frustration.

“I’m trying to keep you safe!” he shouted, his voice reverberating off the walls.

“You’re not listening to me!” you snapped back, your own voice trembling with the weight of the argument. “You never listen, Chuuya! You think you can decide everything for me, like I don’t have a say in my own life!”

He turned sharply, his blue eyes blazing with a mix of anger and desperation. “You don’t understand what it’s like out there! You don’t know what these people are capable of! I’m doing this for you!”

“For me?” You let out a bitter laugh, tears stinging your eyes. “You’re doing this because you can’t let go of your own fears! You’re so used to fighting everyone else’s battles that you can’t see I’m not the enemy!”

Chuuya’s jaw tightened, the muscles in his face twitching as he tried to rein in the storm inside him. But the storm was relentless, and it spilled out before he could stop it.

“You don’t get it,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. “You have no idea what it’s like to carry this kind of weight—to know that one wrong move could mean losing the only person you—”

Though he cut himself off, his voice faltering, the damage was already done. The silence that followed was heavy, oppressive, and it pressed down on both of you like a tangible force.

Taking a step back, your hands trembled at your sides. “I’m not a child, Chuuya. I don’t need you to control every part of my life. I just need you to trust me.”

“Trust you?” His voice rose again, sharp and cutting. “How am I supposed to trust you when you keep putting yourself in danger? Do you think I can just stand by and watch you get hurt?”

As his anger filled every corner, the room felt like it was shrinking, the walls closing in. He moved closer, his movements sharp and unsteady, and before you could step away, his hand shot out and grabbed your wrist.

The grip wasn’t meant to hurt—it was meant to stop you, to hold you in place, to make you listen. But it was too tight, too rough, and the heat of his frustration burned through his touch.

“Chuuya,” you said softly, your voice shaking. “Let go.”

But he didn’t. His fingers tightened slightly, his knuckles white as his grip mirrored the storm raging inside him. He was too far gone, too consumed by his own emotions to realize what he was doing.

“Why can’t you just—” His voice cracked, and he stopped, his words hanging in the air like broken glass.

You tried to pull away, but his grip held firm, and panic began to rise in your chest. Memories you had buried deep began to surface, unbidden and cruel.

A voice from your past, cold and unyielding. “You think you can just walk away? You’ll never be free of this. Never.”

Colliding with the past in a whirlwind of fear and pain, the room around you blurred. Your breaths came faster, shallow and uneven, and the tears you had been holding back spilled over, streaming down your cheeks.

“Chuuya,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “Please.”

The sound of your voice—cracked, pleading—broke through the fog of his anger. His eyes widened, and for a moment, he froze, as though realizing for the first time what he was doing.

“Shit,” he muttered, his voice barely audible. He released your wrist as though it had burned him, stepping back as if the distance could erase the moment.

Though you cradled your wrist against your chest, your body trembling as you tried to steady your breathing, the fear lingered, a shadow that refused to be banished.

Softly, he called out your name, his voice thick with regret. “I—fuck, I didn’t mean to. I wasn’t—”

Yet, you didn’t answer. You couldn’t. The words caught in your throat, strangled by the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you.

Chuuya’s hands hovered in the air, unsure whether to reach for you or keep his distance. His eyes, usually so fierce and determined, were filled with something you had never seen before—fear.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, the words barely audible. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

Bluntly, you looked up at him then, your eyes filled with tears, and for the first time, he saw the crack in your armor—the vulnerability you had always tried so hard to hide. And it broke him.

He sank to his knees in front of you, his head bowed, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “I’m a fucking idiot,” he muttered, his voice trembling. “I never wanted to hurt you. I—” He stopped, his words failing him, and he let out a shaky breath.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know how to love someone without breaking them.”

As you watched him, your heart ached at the sight of him so utterly wrecked. And despite everything, despite the fear and the pain, you found yourself reaching out, your hand brushing against his cheek.

Looking up at you then, his eyes were filled with anguish, and for a moment, the storm between you seemed to quiet.

“Chuuya,” you said softly, your voice still trembling. “We can’t keep doing this. You can’t keep—”

“I know,” he said quickly, cutting you off. “I know, and I swear, I’ll do better. I’ll be better. Just—don’t walk away. Please.”

The desperation in his voice broke something inside you, and you nodded, though you weren’t sure if it was forgiveness or hope or something in between.

But as he pulled you into his arms, his grip careful and gentle this time, you couldn’t help but wonder if the cracks in your relationship were too deep to mend. And in the quiet of the room, as the storm finally subsided, you both realized that love wasn’t always enough to fix what had already been broken.

Always being harsh, Akutagawa’s words were sharp enough to wound, his presence suffocating like a shadow that never left your side. He wasn’t kind, not in the way others might be, but he cared in his own jagged, brutal way—protecting you with the same ferocity he used to destroy. You were his tether, his calm amidst the storm of his life in the Mafia, the one person who softened the edges of his wrath. But even tethers could fray, and that day on the battlefield, everything unraveled.

Unraveling so, the fight was chaos, the kind of chaos Akutagawa thrived in. His Rashoumon tore through enemies like paper, his focus deadly, precise. You stood at his side, as you always did, fighting with everything you had to survive in a world that rarely spared you kindness. But the enemy was relentless, and the tide of the battle began to shift.

“Stay back!” he barked, his voice cutting through the noise. His tone was sharp, impatient, but beneath it lay something unspoken—a thread of fear he refused to acknowledge.

“I can handle this!” you shot back, your determination blazing in your eyes.

Yet Akutagawa’s patience, already worn thin by the heat of battle, snapped. “You’re a liability,” he snarled, Rashoumon lashing out in a violent arc, meant to clear the way and shield you from the enemy closing in.

He miscalculated.

Instead, the tendrils of his power struck you, slicing through flesh and bone, sending you crumpling to the ground with a scream that cut through the battlefield like a blade. Blood pooled beneath you, stark against the dirt, and Akutagawa froze, the world narrowing to the sight of your broken body lying in the wreckage of his mistake.

Afterwards, the fight ended in a blur, your enemies retreating as the full weight of his actions crashed down on him. He dropped to his knees beside you, his hands trembling as he reached out, unsure if he even had the right to touch you now. “Stay awake,” he ordered, his voice unsteady, the fear breaking through. “Don’t you dare close your eyes.”

Coughing weakly, blood stained your lips as you looked up at him, pain and betrayal flickering in your gaze. “You… you did this,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Akutagawa’s chest tightened, his breath catching as the truth of your words settled over him like a noose. He did this. To you. To the one person he swore to protect above all else.

The weeks that followed were a blur of pain and silence. You survived, but the scars—both visible and invisible—ran deep. You couldn’t look at him the same way, flinching when he raised his voice, shrinking away when his hands moved too quickly.

Trying to fix it in his own way— he muttered cold apologies under his breath, offers to train you harder so you wouldn’t need his protection, promises he didn’t know how to keep. But nothing worked. The damage was done.

One night, the tension broke.

“You don’t trust me anymore,” he said, his voice low but laced with a bitterness that cut through the room.

Slowly, you turned to him, your eyes tired, your body still healing from wounds he had inflicted. “How could I?” you replied, your voice trembling. “You’re supposed to protect me, Ryuunosuke. Not—” Your voice broke, and you looked away, unable to finish.

For a moment, he said nothing, his jaw clenched so tightly it hurt. Then, with a voice that was quieter than you’d ever heard, he said, “I know.”

And he did know. He knew the pain he caused, the fear that lingered in your eyes whenever you looked at him now. He knew he had crossed a line he could never uncross.

Knowing didn’t make it easier. It didn’t make the silence between you any less deafening, or the nights spent alone any less cold. It didn’t stop him from replaying that moment over and over in his mind, the sight of you bleeding because of him seared into his memory like a brand.

He still loved you, but love wasn’t enough to undo what he had done. It wasn’t enough to erase the fear in your eyes or the distance growing between you. And now, as he stood in the shadows, watching you from afar as you tried to rebuild yourself, he wondered if it would have been kinder to let you go entirely.

Yet, Akutagawa didn’t know kindness. He only knew how to hold on, even when it hurt. Even when it was the last thing he deserved.

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natalievoncatte · 1 month ago

Text

Even in the vast softness of Caitlyn’s bed

(their bed)

Vi felt the jolt. It was either that or the soft, pained exhalation that woke her, but it didn’t really matter. She snapped awake with the sudden alertness she’d been taught by Vander and had honed in Stillwater. Even though she came around in an instant, she still expected to feel a cold concrete floor beneath her aching side and smell the charnel stink of sweat, desperation, and blood. Waking up to soft linens and the clean, fresh smell of sheets washed in lavender water, and *Cait* felt fresh and new every time.

“…no…” Cait mewled. “…no… stop… Jinx… Cupcake! Cupcake she calls me-“

Vi hesitated, unsure whether to wake her. She’d seen plenty of people cry out in their sleep and knew that eight times in ten it was better to let them ride it out instead of waking them in the middle of something that might make them lash out or hurt themselves.

When Cait let out a blood-curdling scream, Vi lept wxross the bed and pressed a hand to her cheek, finding a cold sweat sheening her skin.

“Cait, wake up.”

Caitlyn’s eyes (*eye*, a bitter voice added) snapped open and she looked around, jerking up from the bed, her chest heaving as she drew in ragged, pained breaths.

Vi pulled her into an embrace, wrapping Caitlyn up in her arms and bending her body as much as she could to form a shield around her while Caitlyn desperately hugged her back and buried her face in Vi’s neck.

Sometimes they said more this way than they did by talking. Vi sat up and gently rubbed the back of Cait’s neck with her fingertips and pressed light kisses to the crown of her head, for no other reason than she loved her and she was free to show it.

Finally Cait said, “I had a nightmare.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Cait didn’t answer, instead resting her head on Vi’s shoulder while her finger aimlessly traced the tattoo on Vi’s arm, sort of half-humming on exhalation. Vi had learned that Cait wasn’t being rude when she didn’t answer her and that these little things she did to soothe herself were just as important. That Vi could savor Cait’s touches forever was incidental. Vi hadn’t touched her enough and would make up for it for the rest of her life.

“Do you remember the… the tea party.”

Vi swallowed hard. That night had been one of the most painful of her life, when all her sins had marched out of the darkness to revenge themselves on her tenfold. It was the terror she felt when she saw Cait’s eyes that shattered her, but the worst, the worst…

(I paid your girlfriend a visit…)

It hurt to even summon the thought, like touching the edges of a barely healed wound, feeling the scab lift and pull at the raw flesh beneath.

For a moment Vi knew that Jinx was going to lift that lid and Caitlyn’s severed rotting head would be sitting there staring at her with blank eyes and she cringed in horror and fear, a shiver ripping through her.

Cait knew; Vi didn’t have to say yes.

“Did you ever wonder how she knew you called me cupcake?”

Vi shook her head. “I thought she must have heard me. On the bridge maybe or…”

“She might have, but she delighted in making me tell her. I was helpless, terrified. She spent hours hurting me, but she kept saying she wouldn’t kill me because she was waiting for you. She said you’d do it.”

“Did you believe her?”

“No, never.”

Vi let out a long, slow sigh in relief.

“I hurt you. I hit you, but you would never hurt me.”

“We talked about that, Cait.”

“I know.”

There was a brief silence in the dark. First light was beginning to peek through the curtains and soon it would be time to get up. Most nights Vi hated waking now. She wanted nothing more than to spend then rest of her life in soft sunlit moments with Cait, making love under the warming sunlight as often as not.

Cait’s hand worked between them and traced over the scar on Vi’s belly, in the same spot where Cait’s rifle butt had smashed the air from her lungs and left her begging, sent her spiraling into a booze-fueled nightmare of longing where the pain of a fist to her face was the only thing that kept her awake long enough to keep looking for someone to kill her in the ring before the drinking did.

They held each other a little tighter.

“No one is going to get you now,” Vi promised.

“You’re not my keeper, Vi. You mean more to me than what you can do for me.”

“I meant you can hold your own. You took me out, remember? Do you know how many people can say that?”

“You let me win because I’m me.”

Vi shook her head. “Not until I was already face up on the ground. You took down Ambessa.”

“I had help.”

“You’ll have help if someone comes at you again. My help.”

“I told you, Vi, you…”

“No. It’s not because I owe you something, it’s because I love you.”

Vi hadn’t said the words yet, despite all this time, but it shocked neither of them.

“We protect each other, then.”

Vi nodded in agreement. She could see Cait’s eye growing lidded and the tension slit out of her body as Vi lay down with her. She was asleep in a few minutes, snoring lightly against Vi’s neck.

Vi vowed to stay awake, Cait was too soft.

#piltover’s finest #piltover’s gayest #caitvi #violyn #caitlyn kiramman #caitlyn #caitlyn x vi #league of legends caitlyn #caitlyn arcane #vi x caitlyn #vi arcane #arcane vi #domestic caitvi #domestic Piltover’s finest #Cait is very nonverbal #Cait seems light neurodivergent to me idk #they don’t have Roman Catholicism in Runterra but they have Catholic guilt aplenty #protective Vi #protective caitvi #Vi is a soft cuddle teddy bear who will give you a flying knee to the face if you touch her cupcake #butch vi #femme Caitlyn #jinx #jinx league of legends #just because Cait forgave Jinx doesn’t mean SHE DIDNT GET KIDNAPPED WHILE TAKING A SHOWER COME ON WE CANT LET THIS SLIDE #nonverbal communication #their love language is touch but their language language is also touch #arcane post canon #arcane post epilogue #for the record I don’t hate jinx but I hate what she did to cupcake

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trendywaifus · 9 months ago

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who would let the world burn for you? cw: yandere themes, mentions of blood and dead bodies. angst. possible oocness. gn! reader.

I LET THE WORLD BURN, I LET THE WORLD BURN FOR YOU, THIS IS HOW IT ALWAYS HAS TO END.

FIREFLY/SAM would gladly let the world burn if it guarantees your safety. you’re like an ever-lasting flame they can physically cradle in their hands; you give them hope, a purpose. what makes you think they’ll purposely snuff you out for a world—the universe who didn’t dare to show not an ounce of mercy to them?

sam gently holds you in their arms, green wings resembling flames behind their back. behind them is a vast sea of angry fire—burning buildings and corpses sam doesn’t bother to look back to as they walks away from the ruined civilization. “ sam. .” you weakly whisper, the mecha looks down. if it could frown as it scans the cuts and nasty bruises littered all over your body, they would.

“ i came here for you. “ sam says, their voice soft and full of worry reserved only for you, “ it wasn’t apart of the script but i couldn’t bear to stand by and let you do everything by yourself. i feared that you could’ve. .” a familiar feminine voice blends in with sam’s low robotic one as they trailed off.

they fall silent when your shaky hand reaches out to touch sam’s “ face “, soft orange flames sizzles out from their metal slits.

I LET THE WORLD BURN, JUST TO HEAR YOU CALLING OUT MY NAME, WATCHING IT ALL GO DOWN IN FLAMES

KAFKA would let the world burn to show you what she’s willing to do for you. she wants to see the look on your face when everything is in flames because of her.

“ k-kafka. .” you mutter, backing away in fear as she saunters closer to you, stepping over dead bodies with no regard. her velvet lips stretches into a grin, teeth baring as orange flames are reflected in her eyes, making her look menacing. “ there’s no need to look so fearful, ” she drawls, stretching her arms wide as she draws nearer and nearer. “ you know i wouldn’t dream of laying a finger on my precious doll. “

you backed up against a cracked brick wall, legs trembling as she finally in arms length. “ y-y-you, wh-wh—“ kafka chuckles, placing a gloved hand on your cheek, her pinkish purple hues stares into your own. “ use your words, darling. i’m listening. “

“ wh-why? “ you choked out, (e/c) eyes filled with tears. kafka hums, placing the other hand on your cheek, now cradling your face. “ why? it’s simple, really. you may think the reason why i’m doing this is to make you suffer or something cliche straight out of a boring hero vs villain flim. hmm, it’s none of that. “

she leans closer to your face until her lips brush against yours. “ it’s an act of love. all i did was make it dramatic, isn’t it ironic? “

I SHOULD’NT HAVE FALLEN IN LOVE, LOOK AT WHAT IT MADE ME BECOME

RUAN MEI never could understand the concept of love due to her trauma and just couldn’t emotionally grasp it. but you—you made the loose ends stretch and connect and she finally gets to have a taste of what it means to love. but soon after, things began to spiral out of control—specifically her emotions. it’s now always you, you, you on her mind. it’s frustrating because it’s making her think irrational, illogical things. so, will she let the world burn for you? yes—undoubtedly so.

ruan mei winds her slender arms around your waist, guiding you into her midst. her cool breath fans against your skin as she outlines your cheekbone with her lips. and she doesn’t stop there—no, she’s moving down to the corner of your lips, jawline, neck, and then right at a certain spot where she feels your pulse. it’s slow and steady. a hand trails up your arm and eventually three fingers press against the opposite side of your neck. a blue light and a warm tingle follows suit.

“ ruan mei, you don’t have to do all of that. i’m alive. “ you sighed. ruan mei moves back a bit to peer into your eyes, she touches your cheek. “ i’m aware. “ she says softly, contrary to the glint in her eyes, a emotion that you can’t recognize—a emotion so passionate yet ominous that it sends a chill down your spine.

“ and I’ll keep it that way. “

I LET YOU GET TOO CLOSE, JUST TO WAKE UP ALONE

AND I KNOW YOU THINK YOU CAN RUN, YOU’RE SCARED TO BELIEVE THAT I’M THE ONE

BUT I CAN’T LET YOU GO

ACHERON allowed herself to get swallowed up by the waves of love—she allowed it to rush through the cracks of her heart and fill up the emptiness within. you’ve imprinted on her soul and now she’s hopelessly devoted to you. if the world must burn for you to be by her side, so be it. the world means nothing if you’re not in it.

her white tresses flows into the wind as she calmly walks towards you. her ruby eyes settled only on you as the once blue sky is ripped apart with one clean red slash and ruins scattered everywhere behind her. “ acheron. .what have you done? “ you asked in disbelief, holding onto your shattered blade. “ what needed to be done.” acheron merely replies, snatching your forearm and pulled you into her possessive embrace.

“ you didn’t need to do this and you know it! why did you fight me to stop me?! i could of saved millions of lives if it meant giving up my own. a whole civilization is gone now! people—ch-children! “ you sobbed, pushing your palms against her shoulders to escape her hold. acheron holds you tighter into her strong body and buried her nose into the side of your neck. it’s wrong, so, so wrong for her to do something so reckless—so selfish to discard innocent life for the safety of your own. but she’s gone through enough loss and suffering and the hole in her heart is full of you—her everything. if you died, she fears that she would of. .

“ forgive me, forgive me, “ acheron mutters into your skin like a prayer, “ i’m truly a coward but i’d gladly continue to be so if i can hold you in my arms like this. “

FEAR IN THEIR EYES, ASH RAINING FROM THE BLOOD ORANGE SKY, I LET EVERYONE KNOW THAT YOU’RE MINE

jingliu is letting everything burn. you’re her beloved— she would do anything for you. her blade will cut through anything and everything, even the moon itself to prove that to you.

her glowing, red feral eyes matched the color of the sky as corpses of the cloud knights laid around her like a ritual circle. jingliu looks at you and smiles lovingly in contrast to the horrific act she’s done. “ darling, come here. “ she softly commands, lifting her hand (which is stained with the blood of many!) out to you, waiting for you to take it and join her. you shake your head with terror, your body trembling. “ n-no, jingliu. th-this is madness! “

jingliu tilts her head to the side, her expression falls expressionless. then, she takes a step towards you, her hand falling limp to her side. “ this is madness you say? how laughable, my dear, “ she lets out a breathy laugh and casts you a chilling smile. “ this is hardly anything. once i annihilate the abundance in your name, only then you can speak to me about madness.”

honorable mention

I’D LET THE WORD BURN, I’D LET THE WORLD BURN FOR YOU

STELLE intentionally and unintentionally would let the world burn for you without a doubt. she’d choose you over the world, not caring about how bad it’ll make her seem. all she’s really thinking about is you and not the full consequences of her choice. and because of the astral express, things will get complicated. ultimately, you’ll be the one to give yourself up if the situation really requires you to step up. she’ll prob need to be held back.

“ we don’t have much time, i’ll go. i’ve dropped it anyways. “ you volunteered with a heavy heart, looking back at the city covered in flames. dan heng and march quickly opens their mouth to speak but stelle beats them to it, “ no, you’re not! i-if you’re going, then i’ll go with you! “ she shouts, taking your hand into hers, “ it’s just an artifact—“

“ an artifact that is needed to save this planet and it’s not like dan heng can use his powers either because he’s just going to flood everything and march you already exhausted yourself which means i have to—“

march chimes in, “ h-hold on a minute, even i think it’s a bad idea to go back in by yourself!everything is covered with smoke and ash, there’s no way you can find it on the ground somewhere and you can’t see anything! we need to call welt and himeko—“

“ okay, you call them and i’ll go find it. i know it’s a terrible plan but we’re out of options guys. stelle. please, let go of my hand and stay with dan heng and march. “

stelle stubbornly refuses, “ no. i said i’ll go with you so i am. if you think you’re going to go by yourself then you’re absolutely silly. if it was my choice, i wouldn’t let you go at all. “

your brows furrow with frustration, “ no, you’re being silly, stelle. look—we don’t have time to argue! you’re not going with me! “ without thinking, you jabbed your fist hard into her stomach, causing her to gasp and kneel over in pain. she still holds onto your hand but you hastily break free from her weakened grip. “ i have to go! dan heng! hold stelle back if she tries to follow me! give me 5 minutes tops, i’ll come back! promise! “ you dash towards the burning city, covering your nose in search of finding the lost artifact.

“ no! “ she screams horsely as she watches your figure run further and further away and eventually disappear into the sea of smoke. although in pain, stelle attempts to get back up and run after you. dan heng swiftly restrain her. “ l-let me go, dan heng! can’t you see what’s they’re doing?! it should of been me! no, not even me—the world should just burn! “ she screams at the top of her lungs, tears rolling down her cheeks.

#trendy #firefly x reader hsr #kafka x reader #acheron x reader #ruan mei x reader #stelle x reader #jingliu x reader #honkai star rail women x reader

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sarcasticscribbles · 5 months ago

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Can you explain all the tattoos and give us a close up (tattoo jon), love the art!!

Thank you, ofc! Jon's tattoos and placements, my thoughts behind them:

A few placements are based on where Jon was marked: Hunt (Throat), Spiral (Stomach), Desolation (forearm), Slaughter (Shoulder) and (kind of) Corruption (Leg, corkscrew took it out his leg, I didn't want any face tattoos). Flesh on the ribs for the part Jared took. Hunt is a gap tattoo with fangs. I considered an animal, but it looked awful. Spiral is an asymmetrical tattoo and desolation is fire from his hand. Slaughter are 3 swords, I liked having an eye for Melanie but it looked too messy.

Corruption is a wasp and honey combs for the hive, and Flesh a heart because; ngl I had a concept of a flesh see-through tattoo seen in the first version but I didn't want it to look “realistic”. I went with an anatomical heart instead because it fit the vibe.

Some are placed for the layout; stranger, the end, the dark, buried and vast.

I wanted an American traditional tattoo for stranger, but there's no point in details to a tiny tattoo. The dark is a black-out (and a moon) and vast some lighting for Mike. Buried is the lock and chains around the coffin with DO NOT OPEN text. The end's a skull and dark veins

Some special ones are Eye, Lonely and web, both with the meanings and placements. Web are his hands, since they control his every move, even pressing play on the recorder.

Lonely is over his heart, a lighthouse with fog spelling out "Martin"

And lastly, the eye. It's on the back of his neck because it's the only placement he can't see. Jon didn't see the eye consume him, and is therefore placed behind him, watching. Also because in Sweden we say "Eyes on the neck," instead of "eyes in the back of your head" lol

#the magnus archives #tma #mag #jonathan sims

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leeny-leens · 15 days ago

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Knives Out (Wounds In) | BCJ x Reader

Pairing: bsf!Barty Crouch Jr x bsf! Reader

Summary: You accidentally stab Barty and he...asks for more?

Warnings: BLOOD, STABBING, INJURIES, Barty has issues,I've never dressed a thigh wound before, description of injury being taken care off, Barty likes pain (and blood), proceed with caution okay I'm sleep deprived

Content: Barty and the Reader are a little unhinged, Barty is having a crisis, Barty being called doll (courtesy of @vun3r4b13xwrites for this brain rot), not proofread or edited, Barty makes like one really dark joke abt dying but it's not too dark

WC: 3.83k

AN: this was inspired by a post of @unconventional-lawnchair and honestly idek what happened, it somehow spiraled into being something much longer and ??? than anticipated so have this. Also tagging @esotericloser BCS ya said ya want it <3

Being friends with Barty meant that there wasn't much that could actually traumatize you anymore when it came to gory horror. Oh no, you’re bound lose that ability quite quickly in his company, with the way he walked around looking like a splasher horror victim half of the time. He barley ever had an explanation for it either, always shrugging and mumbling something incoherent about where the blood on him came from.

So really, you'd say you're pretty desensitized when it came to blood and injuries, especially when it came to Barty being bloodied and injured.

Nothing however, could have prepared you for the sight of your very own dagger piercing his thigh, blood spilling and splashing on the ground and wall.

It's your worst nightmare come true; a loved one injured and bloodied because of you and your stupidity, though Barty would go on a tangent, chiding you for the self deprecating notion of that thought.

The boy in question, you just noticed, stood by the open door, his face pulled into a blend between amusement and a grimace of pain as he stared between the dagger and your frozen form on your bed.

“Damn doll, when I said your stare could throw daggers at me I didn't think you'd take it seriously,” he said, painfully failing to conceal the wince in his voice as he joked.

The sound of his voice was apparently all your brain needed to reboot itself and jumpstart again. Immediately, you hurled yourself up from the bed, standing by his side in a few quick strides as you crouched down to examine the injury on his thigh.

“Merlin I’m sorry Bee, I was doing that stupid Charms assignment and- and you just came in and I panicked and oh my god are you gonna die?” there was seemingly no stopping you the moment you began to speak, the words stumbling out in no rhyme or rhythm as you tried to remember what little you’d learned about first aid.

In your panic, there wasn't much you remembered aside for needing to stop the bleeding somehow and making sure to keep his leg raised high, or was it keep it low to prevent bleeding? You couldn't recall it, your mind too riddled with guilt and terror at the vast amount of blood staining the carpet.

“You can't die on me,” you whimpered, tears barley held at bay “They're gonna expell me if they find out I killed you-”

The sudden realization of who your best friend was hit you harder than any hex you've sustained in your lifetime before you stared up at him with terror blown eyes “Oh my god your father is sending me to Azkaban for killing his only heir.”

This was evidently the straw that broke the camels back, Barty finally doubled over from laughter, his barking voice probably resonating through the entirety of the dormitory. His laughter quickly turned into pressed coughs as he tried to straighten back up again, mild gasps of pain escaping him in-between. Quickly, you're on your feet again, gently yet firmly guiding him to your bed and hissing at him to not put any weight on his injured leg.

To his credit, he let you push him around like a pliant ragdoll, following your instructions and keeping his pretty mouth shut aside for a few pained noises here there. His eyes flickered between you and the dagger, regarding the latter with a glimmer of fascination and you could tell it took everything in him to not poke at the metal protruding from his flesh.

“Relax doll,” he said in an attempt to reassure you “’M not gonna die yeah? Tis but a scratch.” As if trying to convince you, he tapped the dagger lightly, smiling at you with that wide expression, his lips pulled apart so much it brought his dimple out. “See? I've survived worse,” he added, and to your utter dismay, it did help calm you down.

“Right, it's probably worse than it looks like” you muttered, taking a few deep breaths to compose yourself before finally gathering your thoughts to help him. “Okay, stay right there and don't move okay?” you threw him a warning glare before disappearing into the bathroom, occasionally glancing over your shoulder to make sure he was following your instructions. You knew staying still was hard for Barty, his natural inclination to always be in motion was one of the biggest hurdles he faced in his day to day life. He couldn't sit still for longer than a few minutes, not without bouncing his leg or tapping his fingers against the nearest surface or hell, rocking back and forth. Don't get him started on people telling him to be still, that somehow made it much harder to comply than if he tried to do it on his own.

He was however, trying his best to stay still, probably to not worry you more than he already had, and you appreciated his cooperation immensely.

Returning back to his side, you knelt down at the bedside and set down a plain white box and opened it, revealing various bandages, potions and vials along side bandaids and scissors of different types and sizes.

Barty decided to stay silent, watching your movements with an attentive, hawk-like gaze and arched his eyebrows in surprise as you grabbed the biggest pair of scissors, only to bring it to the hem of his pant leg, quickly cutting through the dark fabric.

“You know,” he said amused, watching you cut apart his pants “This is not how I imagined you undressing me would go, could've taken me out to dinner first at least.”

“You're so lucky you already have a stab wound,” you replied dryly, moving the fabric away to reveal the pale skin of thigh and barley held back your grimace at the sight of the dagger lodged into it. “Otherwise that comment would've gotten you one.” you grabbed a whole bunch of gauzes and disinfectant, slowly trying to assess how bad the wound was in order to decide your next course of action.

This was the part you'd feared the most, the one where you pulled the dagger out.

As if he’d read your mind, Barty reached out to take your hand into his, bringing it to his lips so he could press a kiss on your knuckles. “It's gonna be okay doll,” he murmured softly “I trust you, you're bloody brilliant and you don't have to be scared of this.”

It was comical really, how he'd gotten hurt because of you and yet was the one to offer you comfort and reassurance. Had this been anyone else, you would've scoffed and thrashed against the gesture, but this was Barty, your Barty, who'd watched you overcome every obstacle in your life for the last six years, your Barty who knew you like the back of his hand and studied you like you were the biggest mystery in the universe to be unraveled. You could only nod in agreement, squeezing his hand tightly as you steadied your breath to pull out the dagger.

You vaguely remembered how Madam Pomfrey would talk up injured students to distract them from procedures, and you decided that if the matron of the hospital wing did it, it couldn't be that stupid of an idea to try out.

“Why did you come into my room?”

you asked suddenly, and he leaned back into the nest of pillows you had propped against your headboard.

He shrugged, a lopsided grin on his face. “No reason, just wanted to see my favourite person,” despite all the years with him as your best friend, the response still managed to draw out an over exaggerated eyeroll from you, one that did nothing to mask the smile that tugged at the corners of your lips.

You questioned him some more, asking about his day and what he was going to do, and because this was your Barty, you knew he wouldn't pass up an opportunity to talk your ear off, the dagger in his thigh quickly forgotten. Fortunately for you, that meant you could pull it out with one smooth movement, granting Barty barley any time to register the pain before you began to press a mountain of gauzes against the wound. The white fabric quickly became a soaked, scarlet mess and you could hear his breath hitch at the sight, not the way it would've from pain, but rather from something akin to speechlessness. He watched you press against the wound, switching out gauze after gauze whenever it became unusable after soaking up too much blood, and he was sure the blood rushing to his head at the sight of your fingers gleaming with the red liquid of him was significantly more fatale than the stab wound to his thigh. There was just something so primitively alluring about the sight, your face contorted into a grimace of worry and concentration as you applied moderate yet firm pressure against his thigh, not minding how dirty your hands became in the process. It didn't help that it was him sullying your pretty hands, and he swore his soul left his body when you moved a stray strand of hair out of your face, cursing when you felt the blood smear on your cheek.

He wanted nothing more but to lean forward and wipe it off, perhaps clean it up with his own mouth just to see how he tasted on you, but he remained rigidly seated like a statue, his mind a battle field of desire and rationality.

You were none the wiser to his predicament, taking his sudden silence as a side effect of pain or shock. You took to murmuring encouragement and random things about your own day, partially to fill the silence and partially to make sure the boy was still rooted into reality instead of floating into the realm of dark memories, just on the off chance that the sight of his own blood and the feeling of pain brought them forward. You told him about the stupid Charms project you’d taken up for extra credit, letting a dagger float around in a coordinated pattern, and how you'd been sitting at it for hours on end before he barged into your room, startling you into sending the dagger straight at him. He made the occasional grunt of agreement or let out a snort at a particularly funny joke you cracked, and after a few minutes that felt like an eternity, the bleeding finally seemed to stop enough for you to be able to actually inspect the wound.

It looked worse than it actually is, not too deep and not too long, and your entire body slumped in relief at the realization. For a moment, you rested your head in your hands, muttering thanks to whatever might hear you. “Thank everything you're not gonna die,” you said once you looked at Barty again, whose attention had been on you the entire time. “What a pity,” he replied almost too plainly, yet the grin on his face betrayed the self deprecating statement. “Here I was looking forward to bringing joy into my father's life for once,” you rolled your eyes so hard you worried they might actually fall out, and you could only lean forward to hit his shoulder with a warning scoff. “Don't be mean to my best friend,” you chided “That's my job, I can't afford to lose it in this economy.”

“So true, the prices are ridiculously high these days,” he mused, eyes glimmering as he watched you disinfect the wound and bandage it up.

“Exactly! I mean come on, 5 galleons for a pack of chocolates frogs? Do they think all of us are made of trust funds and old money?” Barty is unable to hold in his snort at your statement, reminiscing how you haven't let it go ever since your last trip to Hogsmeade nearly a month ago. If anyone knew how to hold a grudge, it was his doll for sure.

Absentmindedly, your fingers traced slow circles around the red, angry skin of the gash, careful to not press or touch anything that might elicit unnecessary pain. Barty’s entire body went stiff at the soft touch, so gentle and soothing, like he was made of porcelain and too fragile, the lightest press of your thumb against his thigh a breaking hazard. It was a stark contrast to how he was usually treated, but he’d come to accept it from you. While he hated being seen as vulnerable and weak- because he was everything but that-, he found himself relishing your touch and care, for it stemmed not from pity or underestimation but genuine care and love. And oh how he soaked up every ounce of affection you gave him, starved of it for his whole life but finding you there to give it to him like a steady stream flowing from the creek of your heart.

You took his stiffness as a sign of discomfort and swiftly withdrew your hand to stop the ministrations, almost missing the imperceptible whine of dissatisfaction that barely escaped the boy’s lips. When you stared at him with a puzzled look on your face, he greeted you with one of his own, cleverly covering for his mindless slip-up.

When it seemed like he hadn’t actually made any sound, you were content to get back to treating the wound, your fingers brushing over the tools in the first aid kit.

After realising the wound wasn't life threatening, your mind had cleared up significantly, rendering you able to think and remember what you needed to do to properly take care of the gash. You grabbed a bottle of blue disinfectant alongside more of the gauze, dousing the latter in the blue solution before pressing it against the injury.

The lack of warning, coupled with the sudden action, had Barty hissing and bucking in pain, even if the momentary sting left an aftertaste of pleasure in its wake.

You glanced up at him, your expression one of sheepish apology, before dapping the gauze carefully on the cut.

“’M so sorry, just a bit more yeah doll?” you murmured, your other hand coming up to rub along his knee. Barty wasn't sure what knocked out the breathe out of his lungs; the endearment or the touch or perhaps the sincerity and care that he could feel seeping into his cold and hollow bones with every second he spent in your presence. If getting stabbed by you meant he could have you this close, this warm and soft and attentive all for him? Merlin, he'd let you stab him over and over again, like he was your personal pin cushion.

He tried to keep the noise to a minimum, alongside the flinching in fear of losing your touch. The last thing he wanted was for you to let go of him, as selfish as that sounded. He quite liked having your full attention on him, like nothing else in the world mattered as much as he did.

Selfish and self-centred? Maybe.

Did he give a fuck? Not in the slightest.

A tap against his knee brought him out of his reveries, and his eyes met yours in a questioning manner. “Whadya say, darlin’?” he asked, trying his best to sound casual “Too busy enjoying your hands on me.”

His comment drew an amused chuckle from you, much too used to his flirtations. You never quite knew whether he meant it or not, all those playful jabs and nudges that toyed the line between friendship and something more, yet neither of you made a move to explore that territory, too afraid to lose what you had.

“I said I’m putting some of that scarring ointment on the wound,” you said, repeating the statement that had been lost on him. You’d already grabbed the small tub with the greenish paste. When you uncapped it, dipping your finger into it to apply it to his wound, you were surprised by his sudden recoiling, as if the mere notion of applying the ointment would sear his skin down to his bones.

“Bee?” You asked, surprised to see him flinch away from you.

He was mortified at his own reaction, not having had enough time to control his movements. He didn’t quite know how he could explain this to you, why he flinched away when you’ve been nothing but a perfect caretaker, inspecting and treating his injury.

Just as he began to sputter out a messy apology and an explanation, realisation dawned on you. You weren’t stupid, just like Barty knew you better than anyone else, you had the privilege of knowing him like no one else had. You’d watched him get into fights more often than you could count. You’d talked to him plenty about it of course, unable to just stand by as he destroyed himself, body and soul, over and over again. What had bothered you the most was him never properly taking care of his injuries, opting to let them fester and scar until his entire body was littered with gashes and cuts of various sizes. Over time, you’d come to understand that he didn’t necessarily enjoy the act of fighting itself, but rather how alive he felt with each punch, with each crack and broken bone. The scars were a testament to his existence, proof that he hadn’t been complete worn numb by life and its hardships. He liked the reminders, liked to look at them and trace along their edges whenever he felt himself slip away into the darkest corners of his mind, and you’d figured that this gash was no exception.

“You want it to scar,” you said, not a question but rather a fact. You watched as colour rushed into his pale face, mouth falling open and closing in a comical fashion. He could muster up nothing more than a nod, knowing that trying to talk his way out of this wasn’t an option.

Softly, you traced along the edge of the gash, your eyes never once leaving his. “Why?” There wasn’t an ounce of judgment in your voice as you posed the question, just pure curiosity and the need to understand him.

Silence blanketed the room as you patiently waited for him to answer your question. His eyebrows furrowed in that typical Barty manner, the one that made the silver piercings in his eyebrows more visible, catching the lights around him. When he spoke up, his voice was quiet, almost too quiet, as if afraid that speaking any louder might shatter both you and him.

“I want your mark on me,” from all the answers he could’ve given you, this one was the last one you’d expected, yet somehow the most perfect Barty answer of them all. His love had always been that way, all teeth and scratches, leaving marks in its wake as evidence that he had been there. In the same fashion, it made sense that he wanted love in the same manner; with marks left on him to prove that he was loved.

It was crazy, really, how much you understood him. It should’ve scared you, weirded you out at least, but no such sensations arised. There was only love and understanding cursing through your body for the boy you called your best friend.

Emboldened by his vulnerability, you found yourself leaning in closer, your lips ghosting over the edge of the gash before pressing them down in a gentle kiss. “It’s alright,” you mumbled “You can keep it Bee, ‘m not judging you.”

His breath hitched at the feeling of your lips pressed so closely to the wound, mind reeling at having you so close, so understanding and so incredibly loving despite him being so himself, a warning in and out of itself.

“Does that mean you’d be down to giving me another one?” He asked jokingly, trying his best to lighten the mood by even an ounce.

“Maybe,” you quipped back, pulling one of the bandaids out to put it over the wound. “If you ask nicely, I might,” you grinned up at him, enjoy in seeing him squirm for once. His eyes drifted to the dagger, mind running wild with anticipation.

“Please?”

“Is that the best you got, doll?”

“Bold statement for someone who just stabbed me,” he retorted “And took off my pants without asking!”

With a snort, you stood up, patting his thigh softly before putting the first and kit on the ground to sit beside him. “Well when you put it that way, I have no choice but to oblige, no?” You grabbed the dagger, twirling it in your hand before you ever so slowly lowered it down to graze the skin of his thigh.

He was completely still beneath your touch, his breath shallow as he waited for your next move. There was no hurry in your movements, the glinting tip of the dagger barely tracing across his flesh. “What do we say when we want something, doll?” You asked, amused by the extreme change in his behaviour. You’d never seen Barty so complacent and mellow in all your years together, much less because of you.

“Please,” he mumbled “Give me another one?” Subconsciously, he’d leaned in closer to you, hazel eyes almost completely swallowed up by the darkness of his pupils.

A small smile tugged on the corners of your mouth, and not wanting to tease him any further, you pressed the blade into his skin.

You watched as he bit his lips, trying to the best of his abilities to not wince in pain and spurred on by the heat of the moment, you closed the distance between the two of you, crashing your lips against his. The sounds of pain he let out were swallowed by your mouth, moving in frenzied hunger as you let the dagger blade dig deeper into his thigh.

In that moment, you realised two things.

One: You were in love with Barty Crouch Junior, your best friend since first year.

Two: You were incredibly and thoroughly fucked, for you would go to the ends of hell for this boy, the same way you knew without a doubt he would do the same.

And here, in the quiet of your dorm room, your mouth on his and the distinct, metallic smell of blood, you didn’t quite mind going to the ends of hell if it meant you could have Barty by your side.

#barty crouch junior x reader #barty crouch jr #barty crouch junior #barty crouch jr x yn #barty crouch jr x reader #barty crouch junior x yn #barty crouch junior x you #barty crouch fic #barty crouch x reader #barty crouch x yn #barty crouch imagine #barty crouch jr fic

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entities-of-posts · 8 months ago

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Hi, I have a question not directly tied to the roleplay (though I don't mind if you answer it in that direction): A while ago, you talked about your theory of a potential 16th Fear emerging to balance the emerging Extinction: the Dull. I find that concept compelling, but in that post you also said that each of the powers has an "opposite" due to how people like to categorise things and I'd be curious what you would consider the opposite of each power. (Mostly because I like lists and sorting things xD)

Some do have a pretty clear opposite (Vast/Buried, Lonely/Corruption), but with a lot of the others it's less immediately obvious or simply up to a bit more interpretation. iirc Elias says the Stranger is the antithesis to the Eye, but the Dark and the Spiral similarly foil its central concepts, and I'm not sure what else their opposites would be, really.

Let me just preface this list by saying that this is my own opinion and interpretation, and thus 100% right and correct and indisputable.

I will also say that there are Fears which I would call near opposites, but imperfect mirrors - such as the Stranger and the Eye - and some that just seem to hate each other without being antithesis - such as the Desolation and the Corruption. It’s also worth mentioning that overlap always exist between mirrors, of course; this is why there is a classic duality between the moon and the sun, but no one talks about the duality between the moon and a giraffe, even though they have much less in common.

That said, here is my list:

The Vast - The Buried: the most widely agreed upon. Spaces too large versus too small. The terrible freedom of being adrift in an endless ocean, of freefall, versus being crushed in place with not the space to crawl an inch. You get it. The comparison is so clear and easy that it kickstarts the speculation about all the others.

The Eye - the Dark: extremely straightforward; just as much as the Vast and the Buried, to me. Knowledge versus the lack of it. Stark light versus impenetrable darkness. What sees you versus what you cannot see. Literally symbolized respectively by an open eye and a closed one.

The Corruption - the Lonely: Toxic love versus miserable isolation. An overabundance of company, much too close, under your very skin, a swarm of uninvited guests within your deepest sanctuary who will not leave, versus a life so barren of any company at all that that you might almost start to crave the former. The heat of fever versus the cold of fog.

The Web - the Desolation: careful planning versus reckless destruction. A trap so intricately laid, hundreds of delicate moving pieces and redundancy measures waiting for just the right time… so easily laid to waste by an unthinking, spontaneous act of cruel hunger for rubbles. Man’s quest, since the dawn of time, has been to tame and leash fire. And we still haven’t mastered it.

The Hunt - the End: a wild fight for life versus its cold ending. The journey versus the destination. The two oldest fears. The Chase wants more than anything to never End. The End doesn’t Chase; it just waits. And you’re the one that walks towards it every instant.

The Stranger - the Slaughter: here is the part of the list where people start to look at me oddly, because they’ve often never considered those pairings; but hear me out, and remember that I am inarguably correct. The fear of something Else pretending to be human versus the fear of what truly lies at the core of every human person. The fear of being tricked by an elaborate disguise versus the intimate knowledge of the truth: that those who hurt others aren’t monsters disguised as people. They’re just people. And the urge is in you too. Masks, versus what is revealed when all masks are cast off. And they both have musical motifs which makes for some fun parallels.

The Spiral - the Flesh: the horror of the mind versus the horror of the body. Unreality versus a reality only too physical, only too inescapable. Your brain is lying to you, but your body keeps the score. Follow the patterns, the Spiral says, there is more, they are lying to you, just follow me down - this is all there is, the Flesh whispers, this is the raw and dripping truth, this is all you are and you will never escape it. The Distortion even admits it can’t digest an avatar of the Flesh.

#you can argue with me about these but be warned I will not change my mind. I have given this so much thought and I am convinced about it.#Johnny himself couldn’t convince me otherwise

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mostlysignssomeportents · 1 year ago

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A year in illustration, 2023 edition (part one)

(This is part one; part two is here.)

I am objectively very bad at visual art. I am bad at vision, period – I'm astigmatic, shortsighted, color blind, and often miss visual details others see. I can't even draw a stick-figure. To top things off, I have cataracts in both eyes and my book publishing/touring schedule is so intense that I keep having to reschedule the surgeries. But despite my vast visual deficits, I thoroughly enjoy making collages for this blog.

For many years now – decades – I've been illustrating my blog posts by mixing public domain and Creative Commons art with work that I can make a good fair use case for. As bad as art as I may be, all this practice has paid off. Call it unseemly, but I think I'm turning out some terrific illustrations – not all the time, but often enough.

Last year, I rounded up my best art of the year:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/12/25/a-year-in-illustration/

And I liked reflecting on the year's art so much, I decided I'd do it again. Be sure to scroll to the bottom for some downloadables – freely usable images that I painstakingly cut up with the lasso tool in The Gimp.

The original AD&D hardcover cover art is seared into my psyche. For several years, there were few images I looked at so closely as these. When Hasbro pulled some world-beatingly sleazy stuff with the Open Gaming License, I knew just how to mod Dave Trampier's 'Eve Of Moloch' from the cover of the Players' Handbook. Thankfully, bigger nerds than me have identified all the fonts in the image, making the remix a doddle.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/12/beg-forgiveness-ask-permission/#whats-a-copyright-exception

Even though I don't keep logs or collect any analytics, I can say with confidence that "Tiktok's Enshittification" was the most popular thing I published on Pluralistic this year. I mixed some public domain Brother's Grimm art, mixed with a classic caricature of Boss Tweed, and some very cheesy royalty-free/open access influencer graphics. One gingerbread cottage social media trap, coming up:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/21/potemkin-ai/#hey-guys

To illustrate the idea of overcoming walking-the-plank fear (as a metaphor for writing when it feels like you suck) I mixed public domain stock of a plank, a high building and legs, along with a procedurally generated Matrix "code waterfall" and a vertiginous spiral ganked from a Heinz Bunse photo of a German office lobby.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/22/walking-the-plank/

Finding a tasteful way to illustrate a story about Johnson & Johnson losing a court case after it spent a generation tricking women into dusting their vulvas with asbestos-tainted talcum was a challenge. The tulip (featured in many public domain images) was a natural starting point. I mixed it with Jesse Wagstaff's image of a Burning Man dust-storm and Mike Mozart's shelf-shot of a J&J talcum bottle.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/01/j-and-j-jk/#risible-gambit

"Google's Chatbot Panic" is about Google's long history of being stampeded into doing stupid things because its competitors are doing them. Once it was Yahoo, now it's Bing. Tenniel's Tweedle Dee and Dum were a good starting point. I mixed in one of several Humpty Dumpty editorial cartoon images from 19th century political coverage that I painstakingly cut out with the lasso tool on a long plane-ride. This is one of my favorite Humpties, I just love the little 19th C businessmen trying to keep him from falling! I finished it off with HAL 9000's glowing red eye, my standard 'this is about AI' image, which I got from Cryteria's CC-licensed SVG.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/16/tweedledumber/#easily-spooked

Though I started writing about Luddites in my January, 2022 Locus column, 2023 was the Year of the Luddite, thanks to Brian Merchant's outstanding Blood In the Machine:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/26/enochs-hammer/#thats-fronkonsteen

When it came time to illustrate "Gig Work Is the Opposite of Steampunk," I found a public domain weaver's loft, and put one of Cryteria's HAL9000 eyes in the window. Magpie Killjoy's Steampunk Magazine poster, 'Love the Machine, Hate the Factory,' completed the look.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/12/gig-work-is-the-opposite-of-steampunk/

For the "small, non-profit school" that got used as an excuse to bail out Silicon Valley Bank, I brought back Humpty Dumpty, mixing him with a Hogwartsian castle, a brick wall texture, and an ornate, gilded frame. I love how this one came out. This Humpty was made for the SVB bailout.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/23/small-nonprofit-school/#north-country-school

The RESTRICT Act would have federally banned Tiktok – a proposal that was both technically unworkable and unconstitutional. I found an early 20th century editorial cartoon depicting Uncle Sam behind a fortress wall that was keeping a downtrodden refugee family out of America. I got rid of most of the family, giving the dad a Tiktok logo head, and I put Cryteria's HAL9000 eyes over each cannonmouth. Three Boss Tweed moneybag-head caricatures, adorned with Big Tech logos, rounded it out.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/30/tik-tok-tow/#good-politics-for-electoral-victories

When Flickr took decisive action to purge the copyleft trolls who'd been abusing its platform, I knew I wanted to illustrate this with Lucifer being cast out of heaven, and the very best one of those comes from John Milton, who is conveniently well in the public domain. The Flickr logo suggested a bicolored streaming-light-of-heaven motif that just made it.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/01/pixsynnussija/#pilkunnussija

Old mainframe ads are a great source of stock for a "Computer Says No" image. And Congress being a public building, there are lots of federal (and hence public domain) images of its facade.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/04/cbo-says-no/#wealth-tax

When I wrote about the Clarence Thomas/Harlan Crow bribery scandal, it was easy to find Mr. Kjetil Ree's great image of the Supreme Court building. Thomas being a federal judge, it was easy to find a government photo of his head, but it's impossible to find an image of him in robes at a decent resolution. Luckily, there are tons of other federal judges who've been photographed in their robes! Boss Tweed with the dollar-sign head was a great stand-in for Harlan Crow (no one knows what he looks like anyway). Gilding Thomas's robes was a simple matter of superimposing a gold texture and twiddling with the layers.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/06/clarence-thomas/#harlan-crow

"Gig apps trap reverse centaurs in wage-stealing Skinner boxes" is one of my best titles. This is the post where I introduce the idea of "twiddling" as part of the theory of enshittification, and explain how it relates to "reverse centaurs" – people who assist machines, rather than the other way around. Finding a CC licensed modular synth was much harder than I thought, but I found Stephen Drake's image and stitched it into a mandala. Cutting out the horse's head for the reverse centaur was a lot of work (manes are a huuuuge pain in the ass), but I love how his head sits on the public domain high-viz-wearing warehouse worker's body I cut up (thanks, OSHA!). Seeing as this is an horrors-of-automation story, Cryteria's HAL9000 eyes make an appearance.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/12/algorithmic-wage-discrimination/#fishers-of-men

Rockefeller's greatest contribution to our culture was inspiring many excellent unflattering caricatures. The IWW's many-fists-turning-into-one-fist image made it easy to have the collective might of workers toppling the original robber-baron.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/14/aiming-at-dollars/#not-men

I link to this post explaining how to make good Mastodon threads at least once a week, so it's a good thing the graphic turned out so well. Close-cropping the threads from a public domain yarn tangle worked out great. Eugen Rochko's Mastodon logo was and is the only Affero-licensed image ever to appear on Pluralistic.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/16/how-to-make-the-least-worst-mastodon-threads/

I spent hours on the sofa one night painstakingly cutting up and reassembling the cover art from a science fiction pulp. I have a folder full of color-corrected, high-rez scans from an 18th century anatomy textbook, and the cross-section head-and-brain is the best of the lot.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/04/analytical-democratic-theory/#epistocratic-delusions

Those old French anatomical drawings are an endless source of delight to me. Take one cross-sectioned noggin, mix in an old PC mainboard, and a vector art illo of a virtuous cycle with some of Cryteria's HAL9000 eyes and you've got a great illustration of Google's brain-worms.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/14/googles-ai-hype-circle/

Ireland's privacy regulator is but a plaything in Big Tech's hand, but it's goddamned hard to find an open-access Garda car. I manually dressed some public domain car art in Garda livery, painstakingly tracing it over the panels. The (public domain) baby's knit cap really hides the seams from replacing the baby's head with HAL9000's eye.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/15/finnegans-snooze/#dirty-old-town

Naked-guy-in-a-barrel bankruptcy images feel like something you can find in an old Collier's or Punch, but I came up snake-eyes and ended up frankensteining a naked body into a barrel for the George Washington crest on the Washington State flag. It came out well, but harvesting the body parts from old muscle-beach photos left George with some really big guns. I tried five different pairs of suspenders here before just drawing in black polyhedrons with little grey dots for rivets.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/06/03/when-the-tide-goes-out/#passive-income

Illustrating Amazon's dominance over the EU coulda been easy – just stick Amazon 'A's in place of the yellow stars that form a ring on the EU flag. So I decided to riff on Plutarch's Alexander, out of lands to conquer. Rama's statue legs were nice and high-rez. I had my choice of public domain ruin images, though it was harder thank expected to find a good Amazon box as a plinth for those broken-off legs.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/06/14/flywheel-shyster-and-flywheel/#unfulfilled-by-amazon

God help me, I could not stop playing with this image of a demon-haunted IoT car. All those reflections! The knife sticking out of the steering wheel, the multiple Munsch 'Scream'ers, etc etc. The more I patchked with it, the better it got, though. This one's a banger.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/24/rent-to-pwn/#kitt-is-a-demon

To depict a "data-driven dictatorship," I ganked elements of heavily beribboned Russian military dress uniforms, replacing the head with HAL9000's eye. I turned the foreground into the crowds from the Nuremberg rallies and filled the sky with Matrix code waterfall.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/26/dictators-dilemma/#garbage-in-garbage-out-garbage-back-in

The best thing about analogizing DRM to demonic possession is the wealth of medieval artwork to choose from . This one comes from the 11th century 'Compendium rarissimum totius Artis Magicae sistematisatae per celeberrimos Artis hujus Magistros.' I mixed in the shiny red Tesla (working those reflections!), and a Tesla charger to make my point.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/28/edison-not-tesla/#demon-haunted-world

Yet more dividends from those old French anatomical plates: a flayed skull, a detached jaw, a quack electronic gadget, a Wachowski code waterfall and some HAL 9000 eyes and you've got a truly unsettling image of machine-compelled speech.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/02/self-incrimination/#wei-bai-bai

I had no idea this would work out so well, but daaaamn, crossfading between a Wachowski code waterfall and a motherboard behind a roiling thundercloud is dank af.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/03/there-is-no-cloud/#only-other-peoples-computers

Of all the turkeys-voting-for-Christmas self-owns conservative culture warriors fall for, few can rival the "banning junk fees is woke" hustle. Slap a US-flag Punisher logo on and old-time card imprinter, add a GOP logo to a red credit-card blank, and then throw in a rustic barn countertop and you've got a junk-fee extracter fit for the Cracker Barrel.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/04/owning-the-libs/#swiper-no-swiping

Putting the Verizon logo on the Hinderberg was an obvious gambit (even if I did have to mess with the flames a lot), but the cutout of Paul Marcarelli as the 'can you hear me now?' guy, desaturated and contrast-matched, made it sing.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/10/smartest-guys-in-the-room/#can-you-hear-me-now

Note to self: Tux the Penguin is really easy to source in free/open formats! He looks great with HAL9000 eyes.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/18/openwashing/#you-keep-using-that-word-i-do-not-think-it-means-what-you-think-it-means

Rockwell's self-portrait image is a classic; that made it a natural for a HAL9000-style remix about AI art. I put a bunch of time into chopping and remixing Rockwell's signature to give it that AI look, and added as many fingers as would fit on each hand.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/20/everything-made-by-an-ai-is-in-the-public-domain/

(Images: Heinz Bunse, West Midlands Police, Christopher Sessums, CC BY-SA 2.0; Mike Mozart, Jesse Wagstaff, Stephen Drake, Steve Jurvetson, syvwlch, Doc Searls, https://www.flickr.com/photos/mosaic36/14231376315, Chatham House, CC BY 2.0; Cryteria, CC BY 3.0; Mr. Kjetil Ree, Trevor Parscal, Rama, “Soldiers of Russia” Cultural Center, Russian Airborne Troops Press Service, CC BY-SA 3.0; Raimond Spekking, CC BY 4.0; Drahtlos, CC BY-SA 4.0; Eugen Rochko, Affero; modified)

#pluralistic #illustration #collage #fair use #creative commons #stock art #blogging #art #practice makes perfect

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theonlyhonoredone · 4 months ago

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Black Beauty

Break My Heart Again Sequel

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x Reader, Suguru Geto x Satoru Gojo

Warnings: cannon typical violence, blood, death, fighting, love triangle

Summary: Suguru can't stand losing Satoru to you

Masterlist

Part 1

When Riko died Suguru was left in the dust of Satoru’s sudden jump in power. Satoru seemed to forget all the hardships of the mission, opting instead to spend all his time with y/n and Shoko while Suguru thought in endless circles about where everything went wrong. About how Satoru almost died, how he wasn’t there to help, how weak he was letting that poor girl die. He couldn’t smile anymore, could hardly force himself out of bed most days. He dreaded every mission, protecting people who didn’t know he existed and swallowing down curses that left him only with the taste of death. He dreaded coming home even more. Jujutsu high was the source of his most painful memories. It was a place where he was forgotten in favor of a girl not even half as capable as him. A girl who would have snapped under the pressure of the missions he and Satoru faced every day. A girl who was unworthy of wearing the pretty smile she’d been blessed with.

Sometimes he wondered how he turned so bitter towards her. They were good friends their first year, but as soon as he realized Satoru’s feelings for her his affection began to waver. Suguru knew, though he’d taunt her about the opposite being true, that Satoru would pick her in a heartbeat. He couldn’t exactly blame him, she was kind and funny and gorgeous, really really gorgeous. She was the only person he could ever say rivaled Satoru in terms of beauty. Suguru remembered the day they all met. He was convinced they both came from the heavens, born from some angel or perfect deity. It was intimidating. Even once he started to hate her he found himself sometimes getting caught up in thoughts about her pretty face. About how her and Satoru just somehow fit, they belonged to the same angelic race that looked down on peasants like him.

He envied their specialness. They both came from long lines of sorcerers unlike him, the poor boy from the countryside. Sure he had power, but they had legacy. He’d determined it was all in their eyes at some point. Satoru with his pretty baby blues, somehow holding more than the entire galaxy in their glowing wells. Then sweet y/n, who’s eyes seemed as deep and vast as the sprawling woods he played in as a child. The first day of their second year Satoru had commented on it to him. While they paced the campus waiting for the girls to arrive Satoru brought her up with a big goofy smile.

“I’m really excited to see y/n,” he had looked up at the sky as he spoke, probably hoping to summon her from the heavens, “I miss her eyes. I think they’re prettier than mine, you know? And that’s saying something.”

Suguru had scolded him for being vain but inside he was crumbling. Jealousy bubbled up like a volcano, red hot rage threatened to melt his entire being. He just couldn’t stand it. No one was ever going to talk about him that way, especially not Satoru. He’d never be described as some pretty divine thing like his dear friends would. He’d decided from that moment on he and y/n could no longer be friends, that he had to drive them apart so they didn’t run off and find eternal happiness without him. He grew cruel and cold, always critiquing her for her weakness and mocking her for every little mistake she made. It was his attempt to build a fence between her and him and Satoru, to place her below them. Suguru wanted it to be known that when she returned to the heavens Satoru would remain on earth with him.

It never worked though. Satoru and her crossed the line constantly, with Satoru always offering to spar with her and stay up late to help her train. She worked her hardest with him, obviously trying to progress quickly and impress him. It drove Suguru insane. Especially after Riko. The failure had sent him spiraling but Satoru was happier and stronger than ever. They were almost always together too, running off to do whatever meaningless task they’d deemed as suitable entertainment. It made him angry, despite his best efforts he was being left behind by them both just like he’d dreaded. It only took one failure to fall from grace. He’d let Riko die while Satoru managed to defeat death, and even more impressively, Toji. He was the hero, she was his princess, and Suguru had no place at the table. It made him want to scream at them both, to lock them in a room where they could never do anything to upset him again.

“Suguru,” Satoru had addressed him one evening, just after dinner.

For once it was just them again. The girls had run off together and Suguru couldn’t have been happier to have an evening of just him and Satoru. He hoped they’d spent it playing some sort of video game or doing one of the other stupid tasks Satoru enjoyed.

“Satoru,” he’d hummed in response.

The white haired boy was wearing a huge smile and Suguru was sure he was about to propose some ridiculous prank or make some smug comment. He was looking forward to it.

“I decided I’m going to ask y/n on a date,” he declared proudly, “I’m gonna get her flowers and everything. Isn’t that awesome? You’re so gonna wish you got a girlfriend first,” he started laughing as Suguru’s eyes widened, “You should see your face right now! Why are you so surprised hmm? I’m the strongest, and the hottest, an-”

“That’s a horrible idea Satoru,” he snapped, cutting him off with a scowl. “You really think dating should be a priority right now? Especially for you?”

Satoru stopped, his mouth hanging open before he frowned, “Uh, yeah, why wouldn’t I?”

“Because you’re the strongest sorcerer in the world, idiot. Anyone you date is going to have a huge target on their back, and y/n is way too weak to handle that. You should focus on growing as a sorcerer instead,” Suguru had rolled his eyes. He was trying to come at it in a logical side, hoping to persuade Satoru that this was a terrible plan without exposing his own feelings.

Satoru scoffed loudly, “You’re always calling her weak just cause she’s not as strong as us bu-”

“I call her weak because she is weak, and she always will be. I mean Toji would have killed her in a second you know? Any of the curses her fight would too a-”

“Shut up!” Satoru snapped at him, his cheeks turning red suddenly, “She isn’t weak and no one is gonna hurt her because I’m always gonna be here to protect her so it doesn’t even matter! Why are you being a dick anyway huh? You’re my best friend, you’re supposed to be happy for me.”

“I’m not happy when you make stupid, selfish decisions, Satoru. Maybe you don’t like it but I’m telling you the truth.”

“Well then screw you!” Satoru had risen from the table, sending his chair flying back behind him, “And screw the truth! I don’t wanna talk to you until you’re done being a dick!”

Satoru had stomped off somewhere and Suguru was alone again. His stomach hurt and he felt dizzy. He hardly slept a wink that night and when Satoru and you and Shoko all left for the amusement park the next day he was sure he was going to die. He sat in the day room running through scenarios for hours, thinking about how Satoru would do it. How you’d come back and announce you were a happy couple now. You’d never be apart again. He felt like an idiot for ever considering he could have won. For ruining your friendship and never confessing to Satoru and killing Riko and for every other thing that had ever gone wrong in his life. It was all piling up into some inescapable, crushing weight.

Yuki came while he was in the midst of his panic. She talked about philosophy and the world and everything that wasn’t you and Satoru. Suguru grasped onto her every word, onto every thought that wasn’t the two of you. He finally felt some peace, for the first times in months he thought he might actually be able to do something right. He’d failed at romance and friendship and sorcery, but there was more to the world than that. More to the world than the Satoru shaped bubble he was living in. Satoru could change the world with ease, but instead was thinking about a girl. Suguru couldn’t fall into the same trap, couldn’t spiral about a failed love when there was so much else he could be doing. So much he could be improving.

Suguru ran into you that evening, after a long shower. He was feeling calm for the first time in months. He offered you forgiveness. After all, you were both sorcerers. Even if you were weak compared to him, you were strong compared to the rest of the world. He wanted to tell you about his newfound philosophy, about how he’d discovered things so much more important than romance and rivalry. You couldn’t see it though, couldn’t listen to him like he hoped. He wanted to open your eyes to something more but you were stuck on Satoru, the same way he was. Suguru kissed you, partially in hopes of breaking Satoru’s spell and partially because when he wasn’t focused on hating you he remembered how pretty he’d always found you. There was no breakthrough for you though, you only screamed and drew the attention of Satoru, who yelled at Suguru and led you away under his protective arm. It still irked some part of him but he let it be, he focused on his work instead.

Suguru left the same night, but the thoughts of you and Satoru didn’t. At least not completely. He was mostly able to focus on his work, but when he laid down at night and tried to sleep, he was haunted by thoughts of you two. Of how you were together all the time and probably talking about him and what he did with disgust. Because you two didn’t understand. You two didn’t see how weak the world was or how it could change. Maybe you could see it if you weren’t focused on each other. He knew Satoru would be able to, because he’d gone through the same experience as him with Riko. Satoru was strong enough to execute his ideals, but he never would. He’d never share in them because he valued protecting weak things like you. Suguru hated how often it came back to you, how his problems and thoughts always came back to you. It was you standing in the way of him and Satoru, whether that be as an item or as revolutionaries.

Suguru concluded you had to go in order for him to bring about the new world. His best bet at success was Satoru, and Satoru would never join him while you were around. So he had to get rid of you. That would be easy enough, if he just got Satoru and you separated for some time he could do it.

His plan was simple really. Release a rather nasty curse some distance from the city, one they’d have to send Satoru to deal with. That would leave you alone, in waiting. Whenever Satoru had a mission far away you made it a point to fetch him some sort of treat for when he returned. It was a habit you’d developed just after the Riko incident. Some petty attempt to keep his spirits up. From there it was just a guessing game. You typically went either his favorite bakery or candy shop so Suguru would just have to spend some time staking out both. Eventually you’d arrive at one and it would be easy to kill you then.

Everything fell into place for Suguru, he knew luck was on his side since he was on a mission to better the world. You fell right into his trap, and though you put up more of a fight than he expected, he still won in the end. He sat over your bloody corpse, smiling as he watched the light leave your pretty, pretty eyes. You’d cried and begged him not to, tried to remind him of your long dead friendship in hopes of earning some mercy.

“Suguru please,” you’d tried to take his hand in your last moments, “Please.”

Your last words would always remain with him. Tattooed behind his eyelids. He could always recall the moment with perfect clarity. How it felt to plunge the knife into your throat, how you choked on your own blood. The little tears in your eyes and your red stained lips. The image haunted him no matter how far away it was. It was necessary though, necessary to free Satoru and kickstart the world he envisioned.

When Satoru arrived Suguru made a quick exit. He knew it would take him time to come around and he could see right away the rage building in him. As soon as the shock wore off he’d be dead so he had to flee. And wait. And wait. And wait.

Suguru waited for days, weeks, months, years, for Satoru to find him and join him. His heart grew more bitter cold the longer he waited. He resented Satoru for being so ungrateful for the gift he’d given him, for the love he’d given him. His followers understood his goals but Satoru never did, even after you were ripped from him. Satoru had grown stronger and more cruel after you died and yet never paid any respects to Suguru. Never thanked him for all he’d done, for all he was doing to better the world.

He grew to hate Satoru, viewing him as an obstacle the same way he had with you. That was why he planned the night of a thousand demons. Once he had control of Rika he’d be able to eliminate Satoru. With him gone Suguru would be crowned the strongest and he’d be able to rebuild the world how he saw fit. Finally. He was sure the two of you would see from the afterlife too. When you all reunited some day he knew you’d grovel and apologize and the three of you would find some peace in eternity.

It was bittersweet, facing his end at the hands of true love. He’d lost sight of Yuta and Rika, but he saw you and Satoru in that moment. He could swear he heard your voice, some remnant of you on the wind, whispering to him that you’d brought this fate to him. You’d cursed him somehow, forcing him to face death at the hands of the catalyst. He couldn’t do anything but laugh in the end. He sank into some hidden corner of the school grounds, muttering to you about how he couldn’t believe you’d come back. That after all this time you’d still managed to win.

“Suguru,” Satoru’s voice was cold and sharp, Suguru turned his head up to see him staring down at him. With his eyes uncovered and his hair a mess he looked so much more like he had in their youth.

“Satoru,” he barely mustered a smile, “I’m glad to see you in my last moments.”

Satoru stared down at him, his lips pulled to a thin line, “Are you suffering? Does it hurt?”

“Everywhere,” he confirmed.

“Good,” Satoru bent to his eye level, “You should be grateful you only faced Yuta, I would have made it much worse.”

“Do you still think about her?” Suguru asked, “You know I was always jealous about how she got all your attention.’

“She was the love of my life. I think about her all the time,” Satoru paused. They were both quiet for a long time. “Is that why you did it? Jealousy?”

“I guess, maybe, that was some of it,” Suguru nodded, “Mostly I wanted to help you. I thought if she was gone you’d understand why I wanted to fix the world. Weak things aren’t worth protecting.”

Satoru sat, crossing his legs and leaning back on his arms, “Even if she was the weakest little fly on the planet I always would have thought she was worth protecting. That’s what true love is you know? I don’t think you’re capable of feeling that.”

Suguru scoffed, “I loved you for a long time Satoru I-”

“I loved you too Suguru, I loved both of you a lot,” he let out a long sigh and cast his eyes upwards, “I never would have done what you did though, and neither would she. When it’s real love you don’t hurt them, and you know no one’s ever hurt me as bad as you have. So I know you don’t love me, maybe at some point you did, but that changed. It’s okay though, I don’t love you either, in fact I hate you. I don’t think I’ve ever hated anyone as much as I hate you,” he looked back down at Suguru. It was the only time Suguru ever saw his pretty blue eyes holding tears, “I don’t think it’s normal to love people the way I loved her you know? I think sometimes it was too much because I can never move on. And as much as I love her, that’s how much I hate you. So I’m happy you’re dying, I’m happy I’m going to watch you die. I hope you spend the rest of eternity suffering Suguru.”

“Careful Satoru, I might curse you if you say that,” Suguru laughed bitterly, he knew there were probably tears staining his cheeks as well but he couldn’t feel anything anymore, “I always loved you, I thought, but maybe you’re right. Maybe I just hated you both. I don’t know anymore, but I’m glad that if anyone’s going to watch me die it’s you, Satoru.”

“Yeah, me too.”

They stopped speaking after that. Satoru sat in silence across from Suguru, watching him until his eyes fell closed and his chest stopped rising.

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kyu-piddy · 2 months ago

Text

Sweet Strawberry Delight

An: Holy crap… this got way longer than I thought it would. This started as a very small drabble all the way back in December 2023, but then it spiraled into what it is now. Don’t ya just love reframing canon events as things revolving around the reader? I do :3

Ps: This piece has some slight angst, but a happy ending.

Gn Reader x Riddle

Trigger warnings: Controlling parents

4k words

Riddle clearly remembered the first time he saw you.

It was one of his very first outings with Trey and Chenya, when he was but a small child.

They had invited him to a croquet match in a park near Trey’s house, and he couldn’t be more excited, spending hours poring over a rule book he had found stashed away in a shelf.

But when they arrived at the park, all of his thoughts changed to you.

A being covered in mud, grass and leaves stuck to your clothes, disheveled hair pointing to every direction.

You gave him a bright smile, a gap from a missing tooth breaking the streak of white, something he couldn’t quite decipher glimmering in your eyes.

Riddle blinked. If his mother ever saw you, she would be sure to give you the reprimand of your life. He himself felt rather taken aback by your appearance.

You were… wrong. Every single part of you was like a cosmic horror, beyond anything that he could ever fathom.

You stretched your hand out to him, mud caking your nails and palm, seemingly a mockery of a polite greeting.

He looked down at your hand, then at your face, shy reluctance seeping into his face.

If he had been any older, he would have rejected you and your kindness.

But he wasn’t, so he too broke out into a smile, albeit a small one, and shook your hand back.

On that afternoon, Riddle learned how to play croquet.

You were a much better player than he, but his inability didn’t bother you. The mistakes he made didn’t fuel a fire of rage in you, fueling instead a calm stream of perseverance.

At the end of the match, when the sun began to give signs it would soon go to rest, you approached him with a gift.

It wasn’t quite a gift per say, but more of a small offering of friendship.

In your palm, a small white and pink wrapping rested, protecting a sickly sweet trap.

“I can’t eat that. It’s bad for you.” he remembered saying, a sad tilt to his voice.

“I think it’s only bad for you if you eat too much of it. Here, look.”

You took another wrapping out of your pocket, deftly unwrapping the pink and white and leaving only a red square that you promptly popped into your mouth.

“See? It didn’t do anything bad to me.”

You extended the candy to him once again.

He could have not taken it. Refuse the sweet temptation and keep his perfect streak of health.

Riddle took it from your hand, taking the candy into his mouth and chewing slowly.

The taste of strawberry filled his senses, drowning out his mothers reprimands from his mind. Never had something tasted so sweet as this secret act of rebellion.

“So, do you like it?”

“Yes. It's really sweet!”

Another wrapped delight graced your hand, quickly being shoved into his pocket.

“Keep this one for later. It’s our little secret.” you murmured conspiratorially, not even letting Trey or Chenya hear the both of you. The extra red square was for him, and only for him.

As he rushed home, Riddle kept thinking of you, strawberry in his mouth and on his mind.

Hopefully, he would see you again.

…

The day everything went wrong didn’t start out as such.

He had once again sneaked out during his time of self studying, a moment of stolen freedom that made his world so much sweeter.

The park where the four of you played was always filled with new possibilities, the little time he got there never seeming enough to satiate his curious mind.

It was a bright day, fluffy clouds littering the vast blue sky, passing your little group by like strangers waving goodbye.

“Let’s cloud gaze!”

You lied on the ground as you said so, letting your head hit the soft grass.

Riddle looked down at your face.

“Won’t we get dirty if we lay on the grass?”

“We’ll be fine. We just have to be careful. Come on! It’s really cool, Riddle.”

He sat down by your side, blades of grass tickling his body.

“Have you ever gone cloud gazing?”

He shook his head.

You let out a loud gasp, turning to the side to look him in the eyes.

“It’s really fun! You just have to look up at the clouds and figure out the shapes they make. Like that one for example! It looks like a rabbit.”

He squinted his eyes. Truthfully, it only looked like an amorphous blob.

“It looks cloud shaped to me.” he replied.

“That’s because you aren’t looking hard enough. You have to really look.”

On that afternoon, Riddle learned how to cloud gaze.

Finding shapes in the ever changing clouds wasn’t his forte, but your finds were always delightful.

As the sky became less blue and more orange, cloud gazing was abandoned in favor of a strawberry tart Trey had brought.

The four of you indulged on it giddily, messily eating every last crumb.

Frosting stuck to the corner of his lips, your soft hand gingerly cleaning it off.

But it all came crashing down as an angry figure stomped over the grass and flowers, disgust evident on their face as a bit of mud dirtied their shoes.

A cold voice echoed in the almost empty park, Riddle's heart dropping to the floor and splattering into tiny pieces.

“Riddle! I cannot believe this!”

Her angry glare terrified all four of you, each step she took getting her closer and closer to the small group of children.

“Mother, I’m so sorry! I’m really sorry!”

Riddle cried, warm tears streaming down his face and cleaning any remnant of the tart he had just indulged in.

Riddle’s mother grabbed his arm, dragging him towards her with unexpected strength.

“We’re going home now. And you hooligans, how dare you incite my son to participate in these dangerous behaviors?! I will have a stern talk with your parents, as they seem to have forgotten to raise their children as respectable members of society.”

She turned back around, iron grip on her crying son's arm, his tear stricken eyes widened in fear.

Riddle had turned back to his friends, their terrified faces mirroring his.

Your ever smiling face was now devoid of any warmth, fear pooling in your eyes, mouth slightly open, whatever words that would have been spoken stuck in your throat.

More tears welled up in his eyes, as his friends' figures got smaller and smaller.

A small pink and white wrapping fell from his pocket, being promptly crushed by his mothers foot.

…

For years, you had remained but a distant memory on the back of Riddle’s mind, strawberry flavored snippets of a time he could never truly forget, for as much as his rational mind told him he should.

His mother had identified Trey's parents and given them a piece of her mind, but she couldn’t identify yours.

At least you had been spared of that.

He thought he’d never see any of you again, but destiny had decided otherwise, as on his first year at NRC, he reencountered the people who had once made his days so sweet.

Trey was part of his dorm, a dependable upper classmate and his vice dorm leader.

Chenya studied at RSA, close enough for Riddle to see him at every inter school event.

And you…

At the tail end of his first year, as summer came knocking and the strawberry bushes in Heartslabyul sat heavy with fruit, he received a letter from his mother, bringing with it Riddle's most dreaded topic.

Marriage.

His mother had found someone she deemed appropriate for him. Someone who she believed to be a good match to his career prospects.

As summer vacation rolled around, a meeting was in order. His mother would observe it, and decide if she had truly found the correct person for Riddle.

Strangely, Riddle felt reticent. He knew his mother was the most correct, the one who always knew what was best for him. But part of him ached to make this decision on his own, a small rebellious voice tugging at the back of his brain.

He merely ignored it, letting his rational thoughts drown it.

On the day of the meeting, Riddle sat on a plush chair in his intended’s tea room, his mother sitting nearby.

A man entered the room, tall and imposing, followed by a smaller person.

The man sat in front of his mother, while the smaller person sat in front of him.

Perfume tickled his nostrils, a sweet intoxicating scent.

As his mother and the father of his intended spoke to each other, the person in front of him managed to whisper a secret.

“It’s been a long time, Riddle.”

Your voice had changed, becoming more mature and wiser, but the kindness that seeped through was the same, as warm as the day he had met you.

Even your eyes were the same, a playful twinkle that shone brighter when you looked at him still decorating your gaze.

At the end of the meeting, your parents shook hands, an agreement being reached, and you and him did the same.

In between your palms, a small square rested, surprising Riddle.

As you retracted your hand, he held the secret object tight in between his fingers.

When his mother was not looking, he peered at the mysterious square.

Pink and white stared back at him, unchanged by time.

…

That summer was perfumed by your presence.

Where once he had spent his days bent over his desk, book after book studied in great detail, he now spent them studying you instead.

Various outings were arranged for the two of you to get to know each other, strolls along gardens, afternoon teas, candlelit dinners, and many more.

As you both walked languidly through a park, warm wind caressing your hair and clothes, Riddle couldn’t help but inspect you.

You looked much too happy whenever you were with him, happiness that he had only ever seen in children.

You glanced at his face, smiling contently as his eyes met yours, Riddle quickly looking away to evade your gaze.

Suddenly, your feet carried you faster through the dirt path as you broke into a slow run.

“Look!”

Excitement laced your voice as you pointed to a croquet court up ahead.

“Let’s go play!”

Excitedly, you grabbed his hands, tugging him towards the court.

“I don’t believe croquet is an appropriate courtmanship activity.”

“Just this once won’t be so bad. Come on, Riddle!”

You kept tugging his arm with vigor, undeterred by decency or common sense.

Riddle wasn’t so easily swayed as he had been as a child. Naturally, he could say no to you.

In a matter of moments, he was holding a croquet mallet, standing on the field, observing your dexterity at the game.

Time had only sharpened your skills, while his hadn’t flourished quite as much.

Even so, as much as he did not want to admit it, it was fun, glimpses of his childhood happiness resurfacing as he once more competed against you in an elicit croquet match.

“I win!”

A victorious cheer erupted from your lips as you sat down on the grass, letting the mallet fall by your side.

“You played really well too, Riddle.”

“I did not. My skill is far from being on par with yours.”

Frowning, you motioned for him to approach you, pulling him down to the ground with you as soon as he was close enough.

Riddle felt his cheeks warm up, a furious red crawling up his body and tinting his face.

As his eyes met yours, the heat melted from his face, your saddened eyes and half smile a balm to his irritation.

“I’m sorry, Riddle.”

“For what?”

“For everything you went through. For everything you are going through.”

“I’m not going through anything. My life is adequate.”

Your smile dropped, and you turned your face to the sky, as if afraid to look him in the eye.

Riddle felt his heart squeeze. He had no motive to be sad. His life was indeed adequate.

His grades, his meals, his friends, his betrothed, his future were all perfectly correct, handpicked by his mother or influenced by his mothers teachings, a mother he knew to be the epitome of perfection.

The weight in his heart was unfounded, irrational. He only needed to keep following his mothers rule and he’d be happy.

“That cloud looks like a rabbit, don’t you think so?”

You pointed to a vagrant cloud above the both of you.

It was unfair. How could the moments he shared with you, unchained by expectations and presumed perfection, sweeten the bitterness in his heart?

Following your outstretched arm, he found the supposedly rabbit shaped cloud.

He still couldn’t discern any sort of shape evolving from the cloud, but part of him wanted to. He wanted to see the world through your eyes, feel that guiltless happiness that had stained your eyes and voice for as long as he had known you.

“I can’t quite make out such a shape from that one. Perhaps if I… look at another one I’ll be able to.”

Your eyes met, words unnecessary, a silent understanding being reached, your hand on the ground, palm facing up, an invite sent with gestures.

An invite he accepted, fingers interlocked shyly.

Riddle closed his eyes, his heart beating rapidly, any weight there temporarily lifted.

A smile bloomed on his face.

…

After all those years, Riddle had returned to his childhood habit, but instead of stolen moments playing with his friends, now he was encouraged to spend time with you.

Time with you was addicting. You were always happy to see him, smiling gleefully and eager to take him on a new adventure.

He felt guilty, his mother’s angry gaze burned into his very core, a warning to the reality that could transpire if she ever found out the things he had been participating in.

However, any fear that hid at the back of his mind was supplanted by your sheer presence.

One night, both your parents called for a meeting.

Four people sat in his mother’s study, expressions closely guarded.

Riddle sat in front of you, side by side with his mother. You sneaked him a wink, highly improper.

He gave you a small nod in return, almost imperceptible.

“I believe that our children have already spent enough time together for a decision to be reached, Mrs. Rosehearts.”

His mother sat upright on uncomfortable metal disguised as a chair, sharp eyes dissecting your father.

“I believe so too, Mr. ___.

Your face was indecipherable, as if the conversation was disappearing from your mind as soon as it entered.

The adults spent the next hour discussing the details of your future marriage.

After finishing college, you were to be wed and move to a house owned by your father. Riddle would study magical medicine. You would study magical engineering.

The words kept coming, and Riddle’s dread kept growing.

This was just how things were. This was the best path for his life.

As the details were settled, the adults shook their hands, and everyone got up to go have dinner.

You spent the dinner playing with your food, his mother side eyeing you, yet you didn’t seem to even register her flaming gaze.

After all the courses were served, you excused yourself. Five, then ten, then fifteen minutes passed, your visage still missing from the table, worrying Riddle.

Excusing himself, he searched for you.

Searching through the house yielded no results, the garden being the next logical step.

The quiet lull of the night stretched far, flowers and bushes dipped in darkness, his own feet shrouded in mystery.

A small noise captured his attention, leading him to a big rose bush hiding your form.

You sat perfectly still, just as you had during the dinner, hands tucked underneath your knees, wide eyes and closed mouth.

He sat by your side, not knowing what to do. It wasn’t part of his vocabulary, “not knowing what to do”, but this time he truly was lost.

“I always dreamed of my wedding as a little kid. I was a bit of a romantic, after all.”

Your voice came out as a whisper, trembling words uttered in fear.

“I dream of far away places, where I could be… free. I thought that as I grew older, I would have options. Real options. Yet, here I am.”

Silence settled between the two of you.

“We should probably go back.”

You got up after uttering those words, your eyes never meeting his.

As you walked back inside, Riddle sat on the ground for a little longer, watching your back grow smaller.

The pain in his heart, a constant prick he had learned to ignore, had grown and grown until he no longer had a heart, but instead thousands of small pieces.

For once in his life, he had seen your eyes, sparkless, hopeless.

If you, who was so sweet and full of life, had your flame burned out, how could he hope to ever be happy by following your ways?

It was time for him to face the truth. His mother was right. The only way to live was to follow the rules.

…

Going back to NRC was a return to form.

He was once again in control of himself, of his surroundings. He’d make sure the rules were followed to perfection.

The reason he was unhappy was because he was surrounded by troublemakers, dissidents of the very laws that made life adequate, people who couldn’t appreciate the perfect order of things just as the Queen of Hearts had defined.

Slowly but surely, he was getting closer to the ideal, to a dorm filled with exclusively rule followers like him.

And yet, happiness still evaded him, like a cloud passing by, something to be appreciated from afar and never to be held.

It was unfair. Why did those around him, troublemakers, rule breakers, appear so happy? How could they be so happy?

You had once been like them, consumed by your own folly, the end to such presumed happiness a bitter pill to swallow, but a necessary one.

Because that happiness wasn’t real happiness.

It couldn’t be.

For if your way was the true key to the joy Riddle so coveted, that meant his mother was wrong, that the path he had been forced to forge would never lead him to what deep down he desired the most.

Day in and day out he kept at his mission with fervor.

He would punish a tart thief.

He would punish those that disrupted an unbirthday party.

He would show to the rambunctious first year duo that they were no match for him.

No one was.

Something was thrown at him. An egg, broken into tiny pieces, flakes of the shell on the floor and on his face, the gooey center slipping down his face.

How dare they?! How dare the ungrateful brats not listen to him?! How dare Trey tell him that he’s wrong! He was always right!

Everything turned black. Inky tendrils obscured his vision, melding into his body, wet and warm like spilled blood.

Rage like he had never felt before engulfed him, screaming inside his mind, coloring his world in pain and grief.

He wanted to hurt those around him. Those that failed him.

From the corner of his eye, a figure emerged, brighter than the ever encompassing darkness.

Deep in his overblot, Riddle saw you.

Memories of his childhood. Memories of your summer together. Memories he wasn’t sure if they were real or imagined.

He had spent so much of his life following rules, believing they would be the key to his happiness. His mother was happy. Wasn’t she?

But you… you weren’t happy following the rules imposed on you. You were the happiest going at the beat of your own drum, yet everyone had stifled you.

Riddle too, had tried to stifle you countless times, pluck you from the happy bubble you had made for yourself, until eventually he had succeeded.

The arranged marriage had been the final straw for you, taking away your very way of being, and he was to blame.

Riddle cried. For himself. For you. For his friends. For the life he could have lived.

In the darkness, a hand reached out.

“Hey, Riddle, want to go cloud gazing?”

A child’s voice echoed through the world of blot, some of the ink receding like it had been burnt.

Opening his eyes, he saw you, back when you were kids.

“Are you sure you want to go cloud gazing with me? I cannot discern anything special in the clouds. I will only sadden you and destroy who you are! ___, YOU CAN’T LET ME DESTROY YOU!”

He screamed at you, tears and snot making it hard to breathe.

You merely smiled, turning into your present self.

One hand in your pocket, you took out a white and pink wrapping, extending your hand to him.

“It’s only bad for you if you eat too much of it. Will you share this one with me?”

Grabbing the square from your hand, Riddle slowly unpeeled the wrapping, the small red square in his hand smelling of strawberries.

“I… If you let me, I’d like to.”

With a soft smile, you hugged him.

“I’ll meet you out there, Riddle.”

The darkness, as if it had a mind of its own, receded, leaving only a bright white light.

…

“Riddle! How are you doing?”

“I’m… well. How are you,___?”

Riddle sat in front of you, a small smile adorning his features.

You smiled back, sparkles in your eyes, hands carefully holding a cup of steaming hot tea.

“I’m doing fine.”

Silence stretched between you both, the lull of conversation from other bakery goers filling the void.

Words were to be exchanged if either of you would let them free, but the fear of breaking such pure silence held your tongues back.

“I came here as fast as I could.” you started, a careful tone to your sentence.

“Why did you send that letter to my father? Why did you break off our engagement?”

You asked sincerely, your smile dropped and your brow slightly frowned.

Riddle stared into his cup, watching the liquid swirl impatiently.

“Sometimes the rules aren’t correct.”

He started, not daring to look you in the eye, lest that sparkle that lit his days be gone once more.

“The path we must take isn’t always the one that was laid down for us. Even if the rules deem it so, they too aren’t always right. I…” the next words out of his mouth made his cheeks mimic his hair, a game of imitation that did not please him “I care much too strongly for you to force you to spend the rest of your life with me. I’d wish for it to be by your own choice.”

Lifting his head up, he faced your pensive gaze, expression lacking any substantial emotion.

With the meal over, Riddle paid and led you outside.

Small snowflakes danced in the wind, falling on clothes and eyelashes and wherever else it could.

The dying light of the sun caressed both your faces, melting the snowflakes faster than you could catch them with your tongue.

You turned to him, smiling, brushing a stray hair from his face

“Thank you so much. You’re great, Riddle.”

Riddle held his breath as your soft lips met his.

Sweetness invaded his senses, from your taste to your scent, the lingering taste of strawberries intoxicating to his mind and body.

His widened eyes slowly closed to match yours, hands stiffly by his side.

Faster than he hoped, the kiss was over.

Both your faces were flushed, the cold of the seasons and the warmth of a first kissing giving such a distinct coloration.

You held his gloved hand in yours, eyes locked to his, fireworks in his heart and hopefully in yours too.

At that moment, no one else existed in the world. Nothing could hurt him, as long as he was by your side.

And in that cold late autumn night, as his heart beat loudly, louder than ever before, he said three little words.

“I love you.”

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #x reader #kyusarrow #kyusbow #riddle rosehearts

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