#juliet immortal | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

actual-changeling · 10 months

Text

Welcome back to Alex's unhinged meta corner, and today I have something surprisingly not kiss-related—though it is still about the final fifteen because hey, gotta keep the brand image.

I read this post by @goodoldfashionednightingale and began typing a small response. Then I made the mistake of drinking half a litre of coffee on an empty stomach right after taking my adhd meds and my brain began vibrating at the speed of light.

But oh, have I discovered parallels. This, my friends, is about the nightingale, where it comes from, what it means, and what the fuck happened in part 3 of 1941.

Ready? Let's go.

Now, as OP said in her post, s1e3 is important. In the script book, Neil himself says that these flashbacks are where the producers would tell him to cut scenes to save money. They suggested every single one—except for the one he ended up taking out, which was the bookshop opening scene set in 1800. The others are building blocks, you need them to see how their relationship progressed and what kind of important milestones they had.

(side note: author is very miffed that english does not have a separate subjunctive form like german which makes quoting lines way more confusing than it has to be)

The one I want to mention is neither 1941 nor 1967. No, what I want to talk about is 1601. This might be about to get a bit rambly but I will do my best to keep it tidy.

The focus of that flashback is on the Arrangement, yes, but it gives us a lot more information than that.

they both see Shakespeare's plays regularly, maybe even meet in the crowd

Crowley prefers the comedies

Aziraphale does not seem to have a preference, he enjoys the tragedies and presumably the comedies too

there is an oyster woman selling food -> reference to their meeting in Rome when Aziraphale tempted him to try some oysters

Aziraphale reflexively denies their relationship

Crowley might say he is not worried but circles Aziraphale the entire time, keeping watch

they both ask favours of each other and both agree to do them

What stands out to me in relation to what I am about to expand on is the line that Crowley delivers after Aziraphale's little 'buck up'—which Crowley finds adorable btw but that's a post for another time.

"Age does not wither nor custom stale his infinite variety."

Why would he say that? What exactly is prompting this? WHY say that specific line?

At first I thought it might be to tempt Shakespeare because he does commit art theft by just copying that line down, BUT I think there is more to that. So much more, in fact. I am wiggling now because I am very excited about this and my adhd meds are kicking in anyway.

First things first: the line itself.

It appears in Shakespeare's play Antony and Cleopatra, a romantic tragedy, which was first performed in 1607 aka six years after this meeting. Enobarbus is talking about Cleopatra and describing why Antony won't leave her. Her.

Ccrowley uses his—again, who is he even talking about? Hamlet? Shakespeare? Random poetic quote?

No, I think this line is about Aziraphale and it's a code. Right after, the next line from Aziraphale is "What do you want?", meaning that this is their code phrase for 'I have a favour to ask of you'.

Age does not wither nor custom stale his infinite variety

Age will not affect his appearance nor will he ever become boring to Antony. Crowley, who later chooses the name Anthony for himself, tells Aziraphale, an immortal, that he will never age and that he will never grow bored of him.

It's flattery, pure and simple, and it's code at the same time. This establishes the important fact that they might use more of Shakespeare's work as code/already have a system in place (even though he steals Crowley's line for later).

They play their little morality game of back and forth, Aziraphale agrees, Crowley probably manipulates the coin toss, and THEN we find out that the oyster woman is called Juliet.

Why? What is the meaning of that? Why give her a name and that name in particular? Why bring the sexy oysters back into it?

Romeo and Juliet premiered in 1597, so it is safe to assume they have both seen it by 1601, but this is mostly for the audience, not for us-or is it?

Aziraphale gives Crowley puppy eyes until he agrees to make Hamlet popular, and while I don't think Juliet itself is a code word, although it's very interesting that the OYSTER woman is the one with that name (especially adding what we now know about Job), Romeo and Juliet might be.

Yes, the Nightingale song came out in 1940 but the bird has been around for much, much longer, and, as many probably know by now, also shows up in Romeo and Juliet.

This is where I am starting to vibrate at the speed of light because listen to me. Listen.

Crowley is Juliet. Anthony J. Crowley. Antony Juliet Crowley.

(side note: I'm not saying that Crowley chose it based on that—though I am not not saying that—but that it is a clue for us at the audience.)

Why do I think that? In the play, Romeo spends the night with Juliet and then goes to leave as the night begins to end. Juliet tries to stop him and tells him that the birds they are hearing aren't larks, which sing at dawn, but nightingales, which sing at night.

Who is the one always pushing for more? Crowley. He is the one trying to convince Aziraphale it's safe, they're safe to spend time together.

Romeo disagrees with Juliet and says 'I must be gone and live, or stay and die'.

Leave and stay alive, or stay and hell/heaven will punish us. It gets even better though.

We all know how Romeo and Juliet ends: Romeo thinks Juliet is dead, kills himself, Juliet finds him and then kills herself too.

Hey, do you know how Antony and Cleopatra ends?

Antony thinks Cleopatra is dead, kills himself and dies in her arms, then Cleopatra also kills herself—by snake poison; Romeo also died by poison.

The parallels are THERE. They are jumping down our throats! Two tragedies, two sides, several familiar names and phrases, same fear, same ending.

I think by now you can guess how this ties back to 1941.

We do not see how that night ends, but we know it ends. One of them wants to stretch it out, maybe even quotes Romeo and Juliet because look at the setting!

Candlelight, wonderful night they spend together, the threat of Crowley's early demise, and, to quote the play once more, this time Romeo: I have more care to stay than will to go.

Crowley thought it was his last night on earth and went with Aziraphale to his bookshop, to be with him, because he cares more about that than the fact that he will be dragged to hell come morning. Do you remember?

"Expect a legion to come for you first thing tomorrow" THAT is the threat. They have until dawn, just like Romeo and Juliet, which is why she is so desperate for the birds to be nightingales. Fortunately for them, Aziraphale saves the day, BUT there is NO SECURITY. They do not KNOW if a legion will still show up or not. If dawn is a deadline and they will need to fight.

Sure, they improved their chances, but who knows? Maybe they will come for him anyway, it's not like hell is all fair and square.

The best part: it gets even better.

Juliet eventually panics and tells him to go, and Romeo drops a line that huh, sounds oddly familiar, doesn't it?

'More light and light, more dark and dark our woes!'

Remind me, what does Aziraphale say again? Ah, yes. Perhaps there is something to be said for shades of grey.

There is more. Yes, even more. We know the whole rescue relies on a magic trick, a switch. Guess what Juliet yearns for while telling Romeo to go save himself?

Oh, now I would they had changed voices too. While they did not for Romeo and Juliet—they kiss and part—they did for our two. One fabulous switch and we're good.

(side note: Toads? Associated with hell. Larks? Associated with the dawn, yes, but also heaven since Romeo says 'Nor that is not the lark, whose notes do beat the vaulty heaven so high above our heads.')

So, this was a whole lot of information, let's see if I can summarize my thoughts.

I believe the nightingale is a code word that has existed even before 1941 and gained a lot of importance over the years. In 1941, the song is added to the meaning and whatever happened between the two that we have not seen yet, it fundamentally changed their relationship. Maybe they kissed, maybe one of them tried to convince the other to prolong the night but they parted on not-great terms.

The nightingale and the song become a symbol of hope, a goal to achieve, another uninterrupted night, maybe, or an uninterrupted life.

When they part in the final fifteen, it's morning. Crowley points at the sky and says "no nightingales", which at that point has several different layers to it.

No nightingales because their night is over, just like with Romeo and Juliet, and please, please allow me to add another detail, because I am frothing at the mouth over this. The scene I quoted, known as balcony scene, do you know what it is preceded by?

A ball.

Star-crossed lovers defying their sides, falling in love at a ball, getting a hurried, wonderful night together but torn apart by danger of punishment, the nightingale as a dream, as a wish for unhurried time together. Family rejection, torn apart by parents, willing to die for each other so they can reunite in death.

No nightingales. The ball, the romance, is over, their dancing is over, heaven is tearing them apart, and Aziraphale returns to heaven while they are both stuck in a pit of misunderstanding and miscommunication, all bound together by fear for each other.

The thing is, Crowley hates tragedies, he never liked the "gloomy ones", and he does not want them to end in one—luckily, this isn't the end. Yes, they kiss and part, but the play keeps going. We have an entire act 3 to fix what Romeo and Juliet couldn't, to ensure that this is a COMEDY, not a tragedy.

Both Antony & Cleopatra and Romeo & Juliet died out of fear, hurried into making bad decisions because they knew what would happen if their sides were to catch up with them.

Crowley and Aziraphale can reunite heaven and hell with love, not death. This is THEIR story and they are writing the ending. No more day and night, no more deadlines, no more hiding and sneaking about, no more fear of larks and sunshine.

Good Omens will end the way it began: In a garden with two no-longer-star-crossed lovers embracing the song of a lark as well as that of the nightingale.

I hope this made sense to everyone who was no present while my mind started to vibrate itself into a puddle because the thing is I can see Neil doing all of this completely on purpose.

Thoughts? Questions? Additions? Come and join me in my insanity and until next time I have a mental breakdown over this show (probably in like two hours).

#alex talks good omens #good omens #good omens meta #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #good omens season 2 #go2 #aziracrow #crowley x aziraphale #no nightingales #ineffable divorce #the final fifteen #a nightingale sang in berkeley square

827 notes · View notes

sjbattleangel · 6 months

Text

(Sorry I had to shorten some quotes)

From: Anna Karenina-Leo Tolstoy A Tale Of Two Cities-Charles Dickens Moby Dick-Herman Melville Pride & Prejudice-Jane Austen War Of The Worlds-H.G. Wells The Iliad-Homer The Great Gatsby-F. Scott Fritzgerald The Adventures Of Tom Sawyer-Mark Twain The Adventures Of Huckleberry Finn-Mark Twain The Divine Comedy-Dante Alighieri Romeo & Juliet-William Shakespeare My Immortal-Tara Gilesbie

#bookblr #books and literature #books and libraries #books and reading #classic literature #literature #literacy #quotes #book quotes #funny #bad jokes #terrible jokes #joke poll #academia #english literature #my immortal #ebony dark'ness dementia raven way

416 notes · View notes

qdbs-writes · 2 years

Note

Hi can i get the cullens with a clingy female vampire mate

Pls i love u and ur work

aw thank you, nonny i love you too!

Cullen Clan with a clingy, female mate!Reader

Carlisle

He'll get you a job as his assistant in the hospital so you can spend more time with him

He knows vampires can't get sick but he's pretty sure you have anxiety

Once you're comfortable with being able to resist human blood in a medical environment, Carlisle will put you on the maternity unit, Forks could always use more midwives

Esme

You're clingy? That's fantastic, so now you can do everything together!

Esme spends most of her time doing charity work, like making cookies for a bake sale, so you can help her with that

You two have the cutest annual lesbian vow renewal ceremonies in the woods outside of casa Cullen, seriously they're so sweet!

Edward

You're gonna be clingy together but in a Romeo and Juliet level of clingy

Edward likes to be 'edgy clingy', so don't be surprised if he makes things more complicated than they need to be

He does love that almost all your thoughts are about how much you love him and want to be with him, he thinks its cute

Rosalie

In some way or another, I think Rosalie has always been scared of being alone so your clinginess is quite appealing

The fact that you're mates also helps confirm a lot of concerns that she had about immortality

But you can never get hurt or be uncomfortable, she will lose her shit if literally anything happens to you

Emmett

Would probably be the most stressful Cullen to be with if you're clingy, Emmett is just all over the place all the time

My boy regularly just forgoes all passenger safety laws in public, and yeah, he's an indestructible vampire, but that's not really the point

Despite how much time you spend together, he'll always find some way of screwing about whenever you take your eyes off him, like where did he get that bag of eggs?

Alice

Genuinely, she would've sought you out herself, like "Hi, my name is Alice, we've never met but we're destined to be immortal life partners!"

She knows that you're clingy and she doesn't care

She will warn you if she has a vision where you have to be apart for whatever reason so it doesn't come as a nasty shock

Jasper

Now, Jasper is probably the most nervous about you being clingy

Not that he doesn't like you being clingy, but he's worried that you might fall out of love with him when you learn how quiet and withdrawn he can be

In a way, he sort of likes that you depend on him for almost everything, it helps reinstate his antiquated concept of masculinity

7K notes · View notes

driaswrld · 10 months

Text

🪷 — A ROYAL AFFAIR . . . THE SCANDAL OF THE CHILDHOOD CONSORT

LADY DRIA WRITES . . . ˚ ༘ *

🪷 dearest gentle reader, in matters of love and longing, prince satoru comes to the realization that love may only visit the fearless, whilst prince suguru comes to terms with the taste of hope on his tongue... 5k words.

🪷 prince gojo x reader x prince geto jjk regency/royal au, romeo & juliet esque balcony meeting, fruit flavored jealousy.

CHAPTER TWO. . . ˚ ༘ *

GRAPE FLAVORED.

Sleep eludes you tonight.

Two nights have passed since the first feast and despite Areta’s consistent chatter of appearances and well needed fun time for a lady of your stature — you’ve chosen not to attend the others for the time being.

You’re assured that Satoru’s presence at the feasts and balls in between remain slim to none unless called upon by his mother, a notion that you would be grateful for under any other circumstance to dodge the question everyone at the palace court whispers behind your back—

( why hasn’t the prince married her yet? )

—but you miss him.

Embarrassingly so.

With palms outstretched, you cradle your weight against the concrete rail of the terrace adjoined to your bedroom. A wisp of wind cooling your cheeks, realization settling in.

You miss Satoru — your best friend, your person.

You miss when he’d sleepily stumble into your alcove by the palace’s west wing and lay dramatically before you, begging you to paint him or at least sketch the width of his shoulders ; begging you to 'immortalize the omnipotent beauty of the realm’s strongest' — his words not yours.

The way he’d linger by your side, laugh at your jokes and make even cruder ones of his own—

This yearning settled deep within your bones akin to that of a grieving widow doesn’t feel the way it should feel when one misses a friend.

( satoru does not yearn for you in this way, you know it. )

It’s hot, a boiling pit within your stomach and it never leaves your veins—

—not until two nights ago, that is.

Two nights ago when he reappeared.

“Your highness?”

Dearest gentle reader,

in these delicate matters

of love and longing—

“My lady,” Suguru calls out in a similarly hushed fashion. “You're awake.”

Down below the terrace, he stands on the trimmed lawn in his sleep trousers and shirt, dark hair tousled and eyes half lidded — you would've laughed at him if the air between you two hadn't settled with something else.

“I couldn't sleep,” you respond, watching with bated breath as he steps forward, one foot resting atop a raised brick in the mud, eyes trained above, where you stand.

“You often take late strolls, your grace?”

Suguru laughs, breathy, soft. “Your grace,” he repeats your words, mockingly. A few dark strands fall over his eyes as he tilts his head back to look up at you. “You’d think having me in my sleeping trousers alone would be enough for you to discard all formalities—”

( right, this encounter is improper. )

“Forgive me, Suguru,” leaves your lips in correction. You lean further over the terrace rail, body bent in near half to gaze down at him. “It isn't often I speak with men while in my dressing gown.”

“Dear God, I hope not.”

A laugh of your own breaks through and he joins in unison.

So far, and yet so close.

A soft silence soon passes over the two of you under the moonlight.

Suguru, who’d been away for so long, could make years of absence feel null — as if he’d been residing here with you all this time. As if he had been keeping your company in tow, as if the breath of your laugh belonged to him.

As if he hadn't left you.

“I wondered,” Suguru breaks the silence, pale fist wrapping around a stray vine along the wall. “If I would get the chance to speak with you like this.” He whispers, but even from so high above, you hear him clearly in the night's silence.

You know what he means. Just us two. You’ve wondered the same, albeit too often through the years.

Why didn't you write to me? You want to ask. Why didn't you come to visit? Follows next in your brain. Did you move on? Did you fall in love?

( have you been happy away from me? )

“Did you read my letters?”

—often we forget

just how greedy

the heart can be.

“All of them,” Suguru breathes, almost like it hurts to say.

As if it pains him physically to remember how he tore the wax seals open with his teeth, licked the flap of the envelopes and nearly cried when it tasted of you—

“More than once, more than I ought to.”

Suguru grips the vine tighter in his fist, stilling himself and invoking restraint. This isn't his place, not anymore.

If he had it his way, he’d be on the terrace with you, and he’d tell you every thought he had about each word you’d written, with his hands, his teeth, his tongue.

“Suguru. . .”

It reminds you too much of your childhood.

Often you would chase after Satoru and Suguru.

Always both, never one.

And though you knew your fate as a Princess — who would marry a crowned Prince — your foolish heart, so greedy and naive. . .

“I have my obligations.” It leaves your lungs like a lie, something you won't even begin to believe.

You're betrothed to Satoru. It's set in stone.

But the both of you know that's not why you're saying no. “The solstice ends in a week and you will be—” He'll be gone again.

“I’ll not wait a whole week.” Suguru’s voice is still quiet, but even you can't deny the raw hunger behind his words. “If I apologize and say that I wish—”

“You will do no such thing,” you warn, shakily. “Not now, not. . . because of this.” Not because in nearly every way that matters, you’re Satoru’s.

( i wish i told you. i wish i wasn't too late. i wish )

Suguru wished he had stayed.

He wished he had made do on the promises he made to you as children and been at your side, not just as your friend but as the man you would marry—

All those things he had sworn upon his own heart. . .

“Who’ll marry you if you spend your days swinging a sword and broadening your shoulders?”

“And if I say I will, what then?” Suguru had scoffed at your cousin back then. At the mere age of twelve.

“Aren’t there girls your age you can follow around? I don’t care if you’re a princess, we’re not friends.”

“Don't be so crass, Satoru.” Suguru grumbled, grabbing ahold of your hand and tugging you forward the moment you fell behind. “She's my friend.”

( and yet. )

Lady Dria writes : Prince Geto to assume royal estate in the North following rumored betrothal to mystery woman! Is this the end of our beloved royal trio?

( duty came first. )

“I don’t know why you’d believe he’d ever want to court you.”

“I’ll let you keep your tongue,” Satoru scoffed, stepping between you and one of the ladies at court the day after Suguru left. “But address the Princess so loosely again and I swear—”

That night, you cried in the confines of Satoru’s private chambers, your fingers bleeding ink and red wax staining the front of your dress.

What was her name? How long had Suguru known it was arranged? Why didn't he tell you? If you ask him now, will he tell you? Is he ever coming back?

Does he love her?

And it was then, when you didn't have any more words to write, nothing left to say to Suguru that he might not have known, did Satoru tell you,

“I’m here.”

And you believed him.

“Name—” Suguru calls to you and you shake your head, straightening your posture and leaning off the terrace rail. “I wanted to say it before, you were gorgeous at the first solstice feast. . . Still are, even after so long.”

Suguru bites back the words he really wanted to say. I dreamt of you, you look the same.

“You flatter me,” it leaves you breathily, and the beats of your heart elude your better judgement.

“Perhaps, silken gloves suit you, my lady.” Suguru's words hold an undertone that’s lost on you in the moment, yet still you smile at him.

He doesn't see the expression on your face when you turn away, craning his neck to find something— some inclination that he has a chance—

“Goodnight, your highness.” In your voice he finds it, that small sliver of nostalgia, and his heart grasps it in earnest.

Beloved reader,

I fear I must also

impart the knowledge—

Satoru stops dead in his tracks, a single peach colored rose falling from his palm.

—that there are always

three sides to a story.

From across the way his cerulean eyes lock with Suguru’s darker ones, and there is nothing to be said, as they both know what the other is thinking.

You are not worthy of her.

Morning gives way to the first of three hunting days.

As per the terms of the competition, all commoners go ahead before nobles to keep the proceedings fair.

Satoru sits still atop his horse, cerulean orbs downcast and flitting through the mass of bodies in the crowd riding ahead of him.

“Have you and Suguru finally fought?”

Satoru’s eyes widen for a brief moment, turning his head to the side and loosening his grip on the horse’s reins, his mother standing at his side, caressing the mare’s mane with jewel adorned fingers.

“I’ve no idea what you mean, mother.”

The older woman scoffs, the horse leaning eagerly into the touch of her palm.

“When you and Suguru were but meek babes, you two had your first fight you know.” Satoru’s mother smiles a little at the memory.

Back then, both boys were merely toddlers and squabbling with tiny fists over nothing but a simple rattle.

Neither would concede to the other.

Even so young, they fought as they still do to this day. As rivals, as best friends.

“Did I win?” Satoru asks, lifting his gaze to the scenery of dawn before him, drowning out the eager shouts of men and women alike, placing their bets for the competition to come.

“No,” she responds and Satoru’s lips curl into a small frown. “The rattle you fought over snapped in two, ‘toru.”

This isn't about a rattle, is it?

“I won't concede, if that’s what you’ve come to ask of me.” He affirms, and his mother shakes her head, stifling a laugh.

“She isn't a rattle, nor is this a battlefield—” Satoru’s mother is observant, painfully so. “I asked your father to arrange the match myself for the sole purpose that I know you care for her, and I would not subject you to a fate not of your choosing—”

( she can choose, whereas a rattle could not. that is the sole difference is it not? )

“But you would have me sit here and let her choose him?”

Satoru Gojo is many things.

Selfish, spoiled, strong. Greedy even.

He fights for what he wants and he remains determined to win no matter what.

But when it comes to you. . .

Doting reader,

our beloved Prince Satoru

has yet to realize—

“I did not raise a selfish fool. Maybe a proud fool but not a selfish one—” She smacks the side of his leg to which he immediately recoils with a pout on his lips. “You never win love, you earn it.”

As if love can be akin to fleeting favor.

“I am selfish,” Satoru confirms, not shy of shame though. “She would hate me for it, if she doesn't already.” He hangs his head for a brief moment, a puff of a sigh leaving his parted lips. “But can you blame me?”

Satoru is many things.

But not blind.

How can he tell you that he cares for you, that he’s fallen helplessly and carelessly in love with you knowing that he’d be imprisoning you to a fate he loathes?

Whispers behind your back the more you are seen with him or without, the more he puts off the betrothal, the more he leaves your side the more he hopes you’ll learn you don't want him—

That this life, at this palace is less than you deserve.

And yet. . .

—that love is not

a war you march into

of your own accord.

He’s selfish.

“Have you asked her what she wants?”

No, because he’s afraid you’ll say what he wants you to. That you don't want him.

That by the hour you grow more miserable the more he keeps you waiting, tethered by a short thread just waiting to snap—

Satoru convinced himself that if he waited just a little longer, that maybe you’d grow tired and snap the thread all together in one go.

And then the marriage wouldn't happen, you’d contest it and he'd agree. He could keep you close like before, without breaking your heart, even at the cost of his.

“Satoru.” His mother warns, deep azure boring into the side of his face. “That debutant at the dinner—” God forbid she did raise a selfish fool, who would selfishly self sabotage—

“I never touched her.”

“You say that and then you do these things as if I'm to be convinced you've changed.” His mother sighs, as if history has come around to repeat itself. “You don't even realize you're clutching your end too tight.”

And you’ll break if he doesn't let go.

“I can't tell her.”

“You must.”

Who is he to condemn you to the life of a Queen?

In the same way his father did his mother?

That spark in your eyes will go dim, and he’ll watch you give yourself to your duty and it’ll kill him, even worse than you not wanting him will.

He’d prefer you hate him altogether.

“Are you happy with father?”

Darling reader,

perhaps love

only visits the fearless.

“Your father is a good man.”

Satoru would rather die by his own hand before he hears those words from your lips too.

“My lady?”

You visibly wince, cowering behind one of the marble columns in the ballroom.

The few chandeliers that provide light do little to help your situation as Areta’s voice had already notified a few of the dancing nobles of your presence — to which you were met with confused stares.

“Please, keep your voice down.” You hush her, sliding around to the other side of the column where Areta stands, eyes wide and curious.

Areta’s eyebrows furrow in confusion, her lips parting, about to question your odd behavior.

You're hiding. Or at least trying to.

You had no choice in coming to tonight's festivities, as you were already knee deep in your pre-arranged afternoon nap when your dearest mother barged in and asked ( read : demanded ) that you attended tonight's ball to quote en quote ‘keep up appearances.’

With much practiced skill, you’ve eluded Satoru and Suguru by barring yourself in your room recently.

But, cowering behind a column won't get you far, right?

“I don't think hiding is what I mean when I encouraged you to have fun, my lady.” Areta speaks hushedly, joining you behind the column, two full glasses clutched between her fingers. “And if it’s the Prince who you—”

“Oh, spare me, which one?” You chuckle, tilting your head back onto the marble with an eye roll.

“You’ve had trouble with Prince Geto too?” Areta gasps, though not shocked, the young girl's eyes gloss over with curiosity — ever the devoted gossip.

( perhaps if you stay here and sip drinks with Areta, no one will even notice your presence ! )

Devoted reader,

our protagonist

has a pattern of

terrible judgement.

“Hardly trouble, I’m afraid.” You take one of the glasses from Areta’s hands and bring the rim to your nose — grape juice. How fitting. “Trouble would be better, I can handle trouble.”

What you can't handle is both your childhood friends driving you mad with feelings you never even knew existed.

One who torments you with mixed signals and provokes new feelings in the pit of your stomach.

And another who stirs and awakens old feelings inside of you that you thought were long lost.

“Well, I doubt trouble is what you need presently, my lady.” Areta chuckles a little, her voice soon trailing off as she takes a sip of her own drink. “Oh! You wore them—”

“I thought perhaps,” You murmur, more to yourself, fingers fiddling with the edge of your silk gloves – the same black ones from a few nights ago. “I’d wear them once more before I set them aside.”

Now that you think about it, Satoru never said anything about the dress or the gloves — not that it matters to you anyway.

Faithful reader,

it matters.

Too much.

“They're quite beautiful, as are all Prince Satoru’s gifts.” Areta affirms with a soft smile as you drink from your glass, leaning off the column and straightening your posture. “But, I thought he usually had more of an affinity for lace—”

“I was called?”

You jump just a little, turning immediately to meet the source of the intrusion, to which you bump straight into Satoru, spilling the contents of your cup on both of you.

“I’m sorry—” “Grape juice—”

You take a few steps back, immediately crouching to retrieve your fallen cup, but Areta beats you to it, not shy of shooting you a quick wink before she scurries off into the crowd. Deviant.

“You don't like the wine tonight?” Satoru hums, outstretching a hand to pull you to your feet, and you hesitate for a moment.

Only for a moment.

“I didn't think drinking would be wise,” You take his hand, silk sliding soft against his awaiting palm. You don't miss the way his shoulders tighten. “And grape juice—”

“Is your preferred drink of choice, I know.” He finishes, cerulean orbs gazing into your very soul.

You can feel the thrum of his pulse speeding up against your fingertips, calling you, like a siren song. . .

( you should've stayed in bed tonight. )

Admittedly, Satoru was never the type to drink either. He could never hold his alcohol, hated the taste, even if it was just a drop in fermented fruit.

Grape juice was his drink of choice.

And then it became yours.

“I’m sorry, again.” It leaves your lips in a hurry as you look away from him, pulling your hand back as soon as you're upright. “My head must've been somewhere else. . .” Last night on the terrace. Your mind remains there.

Is Suguru going to magically appear too?

You furiously rub a fist over the purple stain forming at the front of your gown. “I need to change my dress—”

“It's not your fault, silk can be slippery.” Satoru bites back a grunt, bringing a palm to your elbow as he guides you off to the side, towards the adjacent corridor. “Come, I’ll help.”

Silk.

( what's his problem with the gloves? )

You follow his lead, a sigh escaping your lips as you both come upon the nearest alcove in the dim light.

You can barely see the velvet cushioning of the sofa tucked away neatly in the back.

The soft moonlight falling through the open window brings a sense of calm when you take a seat, eyes catching on the violet smudge against Satoru’s pearl white vest.

Often in your youth between balls, you, Satoru and Suguru would sneak off to the nearest alcove you could find, pry the window open and sit together on the sill—

“Your vest—” He follows your gaze as he bends a knee, kneeling at your feet casually.

Satoru presses his middle finger over the damp fabric, and unabashedly sticks the digit into his mouth. “Mhm, that's grape juice.”

“Satoru!” You scold.

He only laughs, strands of snowy hair bouncing with each shake of his shoulders. It's a very Satoru-like laugh, but there's something else you can't quite place—

“It's just a juice spill, I’ll live.” Satoru’s smile dips into his cheeks. Dimples. “Hated this stupid thing anyway, I should be thanking you for ridding me of it,” he murmurs, rolling his shoulders back to slip the vest off, muscles taut against his shirt with each movement of his arms.

“Hey— hey—!” You raise your palms to push against his chest to stop him, heat rising at the back of your neck. “Don't do that—” It comes out too late because Satoru is in the middle of rolling the vest off his arms. "You can't just undress—"

The way Satoru only leans forward, shades of azure searching your gaze for something, it's like he's daring you to not look away as he slips the vest off his arms bent behind him.

( why did you run away from me? )

You hold his gaze, the longest you have in days, manicured nails digging into the fabric of his shirt.

( why didn't you give chase? )

“Name,” he whispers, as if he’s holding back, but he refuses to look away from you. Not right now.

“Don't look at me like that, ‘toru. . .” You whisper, and it takes everything inside you not scream at him, to say everything you've been wanting to say, everything that's burning your insides.

( don't look at me as if you know desire. )

“Name.” Satoru calls your name, firmer this time, just as his vest drops to the floor behind him.

His knees burn, or maybe his eyes — he doesn't know, his mouth has gone dry and oxygen eludes him.

He's not how he was in your youth.

Satoru slides a pale hand up to grasp one of your palms against his chest, pads of his fingers hooking under the dark silk, and in one fluid motion, he's pulling the glove off your hand.

“That's disrespectful,” you breathe, voice barely audible, the echo of classical instruments sauntering through the vacant corridor. “You can't have two times the favor in any competition—”

“It's not your favor I want.” Satoru grasps the silk in his palm, biting back a grimace.

I’m jealous, he wants to say. Instead he leans closer, and without letting go of your bare hand, he’s aiming to toss the glove over your shoulder and out the window.

“Satoru—!” You retract your hand from his chest to paw at the glove, trying to get it back, and his breath tickles the skin of your throat, his eyes looking down at you, only this time a few shades darker — royal blue, cobalt.

Perhaps, silken gloves suit you, my lady.

( so that's what suguru meant. . . )

“Are you—”

“Jealous? Me? Never.” Satoru rasps the words out like a cancer, his heart seizing and doing somersaults against his ribcage.

“I have to commend Suguru though, the North does make the finest silk. . . Any lady would be glad for such a gift,” he whispers. Even praising Suguru is like an act of surrender to him.

“I wasn't going to say jealous, my Prince.” Your brain melts to a mush of questions.

Satoru isn't jealous because of you— no, that can't be right— he’d be jealous if someone bet on the same horse race as him and won—

( you’re thinking too much, name. )

It's the assessment of his audacity that has the back of your neck heated.

Satoru bites down on his bottom lip, and for a second he squeezes his eyes shut.

Everything burns, it's a miracle he can still see straight.

“What were you going to say?”

You swallow, hard.

Satoru’s face is so close to yours that every word he speaks reverberates through your being like electricity. “I was going to ask if you were okay.” A half truth, really. "Your vest is stained—"

First, you were going to ask if he’d lost his damn mind.

“God, name.” Satoru grunts, dropping the glove dramatically onto the velvet sofa, instead moving his hand to cage you between his arms, his hips against the outerskirts of your dress. “You don't even know what you're doing. . .”

His lips curve into a smile, dimpled cheeks staring back at you.

“Satoru—” It’s innocent enough, the way he leans forward enough to press the side of his face against your cheek.

It’s innocent enough, the way his hand grips your hip, firm and reassuring, the way he’d guide you on horseback. You only pretended not to be good so he'd teach you.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes against the shell of your ear, his lips soft against your burning skin.

“Do you even know all the ways a woman can be seduced?” It's a sultry tease that has your nails digging into the sofa under you.

Silk gloves, he wants to say. Men seduce women with silk.

Satoru dips his head in a swift motion, his mouth planting a ghost of a kiss to the corner or your lips, and his dimples deepen when your head moves forward to chase his taste, something you’ve never had but crave with every inch of your being.

“Satoru.” You whisper, desperate. He hates himself for wanting this so bad.

He doesn't make you wait long as he presses his lips to yours, it's rough, hungry — he sighs into your mouth, shoulders drooping like he’s finally found what he's been searching for all his life on your tongue.

He’s kissed you before, on the cheek, side of your neck, corner of your mouth — tasted the salty tears of your youth, licked his lips and drank in the remnants of your flavored lipgloss.

He was too young then, too foolish, too afraid to want more.

Satoru’s tongue slips past your parted lips, teeth on wet pink muscle and a shiver runs down his spine when he tastes you, truly tastes you for the first time.

Grape flavored and starving.

Your hand reaches for the collar of his shirt to tug him closer, to pull him deeper into you.

Slender fingers wrap around your wrist and your body trembles, unravelling, unravelling for him until—

He stops.

“Name,” Satoru breathes it in a broken whine, lips wet and swollen with you, each exhale he makes tickles your chin. “We have to stop.”

He’s made a mistake. A foolish one.

“‘Toru, it's okay,” you urge him, moving to pull him closer but his grip on your wrist tightens, keeping you still.

A frown forms on your lips when you see his gaze downcast, unable to meet you, and that gleam in his eyes — guilt.

“We should stop.”

Darling reader,

we all know

how the saying goes. . .

“Why?” The way it leaves your mouth so innocently, so small, in the same tone you had when you were little, chasing behind him no matter how he tried to leave you behind—

( why won't you look at me? )

It makes Satoru hate himself more.

“I’m a gentleman.” Satoru clears his throat and rises to his feet, folding his vest haphazardly over his arm. “You're a lady— a Princess— I can't just. . .”

“You can't just what?” Satoru doesn't recognize the bite behind your voice, the thread he kept toying at with razor blades finally thinning out, ready to snap and break apart. “You can't take me in a dark corridor as you do the other girls?”

He sputters.

It is that. But it's also so much more.

“Princess—”

“No.”

Nothing has changed. And you're not stupid, maybe slow, but never stupid. This isn't about a grape juice spill. It isn't about titles or being respectable.

( it’s about the three of you. )

Is it jealousy? Is this all about a stupid pair of gloves? About his pride? Why? Because he won't let Suguru win even if it means—

“Look at me.” Satoru is slouching in front of you, holding out his palm for you to take. He’s sincere, raw. “I swear to you, the way I feel about you cannot be likened to a secret in a corridor.”

( and yet, you always wished you were one of those girls with him in a dark corridor. )

. . . it's all downhill

from the first kiss.

“Your excuses again—” Satoru steps back when he feels silk stinging against his outstretched palm in a slap of rejection.

The glove he pulled off your hand, the glove Suguru gave to you, falls to the floor.

“And what even is it that you feel?” Your tone reverberates through his bones and Satoru’s considering finding purchase on his knees, where he’d show you what exactly he feels, he'd drink you in, drown in you and be done with the aftermath. “Do you enjoy this? Making me feel like a fool while you stay the bachelor—”

“This engagement was never my choice!” Satoru’s tone raises an octave, brows dipped and frown deep. “And I never—”

That's not what he means to say, not now.

( i never touched another since i laid awake thinking of you. )

“And that's why you won't touch me? Because I'm not your choice, I'm your duty?”

“God, ofcourse I want to touch you—” A guttural groan leaves him then, a rumble in the back of his throat. “If you would just understand—”

He’s a gentleman. Is what he says every waking moment he spends lying to himself that this is for you, that this is for your own good. . .

Because he knows—

( if he touched you now, he’d never stop. )

“Even now you can't say it.” How long have you known Satoru? How long have you been by his side, or rather, chased after him while he remained out of your reach? How long— “That you want me.”

It's almost comical, the way Satoru’s breath hitches in the back of his throat and the palm at his side forms a fist.

He wants you.

“Say it.”

Tell me you want me, tell me it’s me, tell me you feel what I feel too—

“I can't.”

You don't deserve this, I can't give you what you want, hate me so it hurts a little less—

You rise to your feet, the grape juice bleeding into your dress forgotten. “I always thought you were the bravest person to ever live. . .” The strongest. Prince Satoru, the realm’s omnipotent son — “You’ve fought in all these wars and you’ve fought and fought—”

Ever since you were children.

Satoru was every bit a soldier, princely and polished to perfection with his blade. He’s never lost a battle, you're sure, poets write about him.

( what does it feel like to be fought for? )

“Why won't you fight for me, Satoru?”

Satoru Gojo is many things.

Selfish, spoiled, strong. Greedy even.

He fights for what he wants and he remains determined to win no matter what.

But when it comes to you. . .

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

Sorry, I’m so selfish. Sorry, I don't want you to leave. Sorry, it should be me and not him.

Sorry, I'm paralyzed in love with you.

He’s not asking you to stay.

This is what he wanted, right? For you to hate him — who is he kidding, you wouldn't hate him even if tried to make you — for you to realize he isn't what you need.

“You won't even give me one reason to stay.” Your throat hurts, you can still taste his tongue in your mouth, grape and mint, mint and grape. “Of all things, I never thought you to be such a damn coward—”

“I’m the Prince, for fucks sake!”

Your lips part then shut again, and Satoru takes a step back. This barrier between you two was always there, wasn't it? Invisible, cold to the touch.

Don't question me, I'm the Prince, he had said the day you asked him why, why can't I come play with you and Suguru?

( why won't you let me in? what are you so afraid of? )

“Then if it pleases the Prince,” It comes out shakier, in a voice that's barely your own.

Satoru picks it up before you do, you sound like a child — the same way you used to when he left you behind. “I’d like to be dismissed.”

The Prince.

Not your Prince.

( does a heart make noise when it shatters? )

“No,” Satoru steps forward, and you step back. It's like a sick game now, and with every thrum of his heart he swears he’ll die. “Name— just. . . no.”

He’s selfish. He knows that.

After this you’ll run off to Suguru won't you? And he’ll be there with open arms and words as soft as silk—

Satoru would know. Because he did the same thing once Suguru left.

But that was before it was this, before this was everything, before—

“Then forgive my defiance to the crown tonight.” You murmur and turn away, the glove is left behind.

Satoru is left behind.

You never win love, you earn it.

L’Incomparable is hardly the jewel on Satoru’s mind when you walk away from him for the second time.

( before he knew he loved you. )

🪷 taglist : @angelshimaa @yunymphs @todorokies @satocidal @maeby-cursed @rinniessance @cinnaboonn @shegetsburned @starry-grace2 @selfishdoll @shuuennovirche @wishmemel @riaki @yazzzmints @aphroditisxc @gojorbit @izakyun @satoruoo @irisxyphium @zwtari @/lollipop974 @r0ckst4rjk @softgirlgonehaywire @lilvampirina @brianmaysclog @/baepsays @xxemmarldxx @/adoraspace @/hikaorinx @/lanecass @/theloveofnagiseishiroslife @/bajbbq @/jiraiyaisgod69 @/gojo-sunglasses @/in4rizaki @/chimsblogg @xkittiecatx @lordbugs @soultoru @ladytamayolover @the1exiled @pasta-warlord @drogonfruitzen @sexeyess @siren776 @v0ctin @scinclaitnoir @gugggu6gvai @shartnart1 @nnanamii @vanevafu @lillmyg @nikitopia @altyx @beaniedoodz @fubukeys @simpforramenboy @sinnerstardoll @coco-cat @melancholia-k

#⋆ 🪷 A ROYAL AFFAIR ! ˚ ༘ *#👑 TSCC — series.#★ driaswrld #jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo x reader #geto x reader #satosugu x reader #satoru gojo x reader #suguru geto x reader #geto suguru x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jjk fanfic #jjk fic

837 notes · View notes

mediumgayitalian · 5 months

Text

fic rec friday 13

hi!! welcome to fic rec friday. every week, i pick five fics i have bookmarked and rec them with a little review. check them out!

I Need A Hero by @theroyalsavage

The "Nico is a superhero, Will is a med student" AU nobody asked for or wanted.

OBSESSED WITH THIS AU OBSESSED WITH THIS AU OBSESSED WITH THIS AU. I AM LOSING MY MIND AND HAVE READ IT SO MANY DOZENS OF TIMES. genuinely one of my top faces like its so fucking GOOD!!! the romcom romance of it all!! makes me lose it!!! the angst of loving someone who is constantly putting himself on the front lines!! the fear of not knowing if he's coming home!! being his healer, holding his life in your hands because he doesn't trust it with anyone else!!!! what if i rioted!!! what if i chewed clean through my ceiling!!!!! what if i swallowed my phone!!!!!!!!!!!!!! what if i clawed my way out of the pit of despair!!!! i am!! gonna!!!!!!!!!!! AHHHHHHHH!!!

2. As If His Hands Were Enough (to Hold an Avalanche Off) by @theroyalsavage

Nico di Angelo has been through enough to know life doesn't always work out the way you plan. But fate is a funny thing, and, in Nico's junior year of college, it hands him salvation in the form of freckled cheeks and a smile like the sun.

OH dude this author is actually everything to me. prepare for an onslaught of their stuff bc i am OBSESSED, but this one especially....oh it's special man. this had me LOSING MY MIND. seph’s acceptance made its way into my devotion scrapbook. never be ashamed of loving anybody….what a fucking thesis. i also ADORED how a) story didn’t end with them getting together, went thru them learning each other too and b) nico didn’t get fixed by dating will. he got fixed by loving himself, something he learned to do by loving will. crying.

3. Of Gods and Men by @theroyalsavage

There is something profoundly strange about the forest behind Will Solace’s new house. The trees, it seems, breathe magic. The truth is this: there are things that the forest hides that humans cannot understand. Nico di Angelo is one of them.

I LOVE PARTICULAR AUS!!!!!! AND I LOVE YOU ROYAL SAVAGE!!!!! dude god nico and mortal will is always gonna knock me flat bc its so canon, you know? will is going to be a consort of a god one day. and to read it in fic has me HOWLING but this one in particular....OH the ending is gonna knock yall flat fr!!! if you like percy refusing immortality for annabeth youre gonna LOVE this!!

4. Kitchen Nightmares by @theroyalsavage

Nico is the owner and head chef of an upscale restaurant in Hell's Kitchen, New York City. There's nothing easy about running a business, especially when you have to juggle an overprotective father, a college-age sister, and a staff about as under control as a stampede. The last thing Nico needs is a rival in the form of the ugliest food truck on the face of the planet. And yet, that's exactly what he gets. Of food fights, fledgling friendships, and Nico di Angelo's stupid little soft spot for Will Solace.

i know ive literally said it like five times now but NO ONE does an au like theroyalsavage idc. dude romeo & juliet but food truck and fancy restaurant?? hello!!!! omg!! i literally sat my ass down and devoured this i could not stop myself. and then i hit the end and started it right back up again. the love without having the space to establish anything….inherent homoeroticism of rivalry…..my heart!!

5. don't wanna be lonely, just wanna be yours by @theroyalsavage

Will Solace, café manager extraordinaire, just wants to coast through their monthly open mic night in peace. He definitely is not banking on meeting a handsome stranger with the voice of the gods and the death glare of a high-ranking member of the KGB. And yet, that's exactly what he gets.

telling someone you’re not even dating you’re in love with them after like five months is insane behaviour will solace i get you 😭😭 he is so real in every scenario all the time like he is genuinely perfect for nico who is equally as insane and deserves someone who is fully obsessed with him. god.

thank you for joining me this friday!! happy reading!!

#yes another week of all one author what of it im obsessed with her work #wont even be the only week tbh there will be more #pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #heroes of olympus #hoo #pjo hoo toa #nico di angelo #will solace #nico di angelo & will solace #nico di angelo/will solace #solangelo #fic rec #fic rec friday #longpost

153 notes · View notes

sanjoongie · 5 months

Text

𝑰 𝒃𝒆𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖

🏵First Flower chosen for The Language of Flowers event held by @cultofdionysusnet

🏵Prompt Chosen: Zinnia {loyalty}

🏵Pairing: Choi Yeonjun x Reader (f)

🏵Genre: smut, angst

🏵Trope: soulmate, immortal love

🏵Au: Vampire au, sleeping beauty inspired

🏵Rating: 18+, MDNI

🏵Warnings: supernatural strength and speed as per a vampire's powers, mentions of blood, death, war, {Kinks} penetrative sex with no barrier, wet grinding?, over stim, praise kink, Switch! reader, switch! yeonjun

🏵Word Count: 3,163

🏵Beta's: @downtoamagicalland & @mejuii

🏵Summary: when you, a vampire master, learned of your lover Yeonjun's death, you fell into a deep sleep rather than mourn the loss. Yeonjun, as it turned out, wasn't dead but was devoted to waiting until you woke up. This is your story~

🏵banner by @cafekitsune

~~~Present time~~~

Yeonjun laid against the glass coffin where you rested, sighing hard enough to fog up the glass for a moment. He traced a heart through the condensation and then laughed at his own corniness. To make matters worse, his situation with you was a bit of a Romeo and Juliet vibe and it almost made him roll his eyes at how horribly cliched it truly was.

During an uprising of the peasant-human fiefdoms, Yeonjun as your right hand and lover had gone to quell a major rebellion. News had travelled back that Yeonjun had been mortally wounded and ashes had been sent to you in a perfume bottle. When your fiefdoms had been settled and the humans soothed to the point of peace again, you went into a deep slumber, mourning the loss of your love.

In actuality, Yeonjun had been wounded but simply restrained and unable to return to you. By the time he had arrived at the castle, it had been too late. So he waited loyally by your coffin for you to wake up.

Some vampires slumber for a few hundred years. Living as an immortal can be draining, and so, a deep slumber is necessary to maintain your sanity. But you had gone to sleep with a broken heart. So after centuries had passed, and your anniversary of your slumber bordered on half a millennia, Yeonjun wondered if you were ever going to wake up.

And still, he remained by your side. How could he ever abandon you, after you thought he had died? He visited you every sunset, as soon as he woke up from his daytime slumber, visiting your coffin with flowers and a bright smile. He would tell you of what happened within the kiss recently, keeping you up to date in case you absorbed his words. He never once left the castle or took on another lover. His heart was yours, and as an immortal, that meant until both of your undead hearts were ripped from your chests.

“My love,” Yeonjun sighed for the umpteenth time, gazing upon your slumbering visage.

Yeonjun's heart ached that you were so close and yet so far away. Did you dream of him in your deep sleep? Is that why you never awoke? Because you could be with him in your dreams if not in your waking hours?

~~~In the Past~~~

You dreamt of a simpler time with Yeonjun. You had just become a master vampire and Yeonjun, looking to move up in a court, wooed you to his best abilities. You entertained his advances, if only to amuse yourself.

“And where do you see yourself in a century or two?” you wondered, lazily drawing a sharp-nailed hand along his side as the two of you lay in bed.

Yeonjun pushed his lips to the side in thought, his hand buried in his bed head hair. “Truthfully? I crave to be written in our books of history. I want my name to be penned in ink.”

You knew he was a social climber but you didn't know he wanted to make a name for himself in that regard. “Truly?”

Yeonjun nodded. “Why else be immortal if not to be immortalized in history as well?”

You moved to lie on your stomach to focus on the conversation at hand. “How much of our histories have you read?”

Yeonjun smiled, somewhat embarrassed. “A lot. Most of them. There’s a few periods I haven’t been able to get my hands on. The Rose Wars seem to be kept by only the oldest of us.” You raised an eyebrow at him and he had the decency to duck his head and laugh. “Yes, that includes you.”

“There’s a reason the Rose Wars aren’t readily available.” You sighed, drawing a sheet up with you as you made to sit on the side of the bed.

Yeonjun wrapped his arms around you from behind and absentmindedly bit you on your shoulder. He didn’t break skin but it was almost a worried movement, like a puppy that needed to teeth. “Is that a no?”

You patted his hand in reassurance. “That’s a no for now, my pet,” you informed him.

“Is there something else I could tempt you into saying yes to?” Yeonjun’s voice lilted, teasing and tempting wrapped into one sentence.

“There’s a few things you could tempt me into saying yes to, Yeonjun,” you mused.

“Ride me? Ride me hard?” Yeonjun practically whispered into your skin.

You found that you couldn't say no, like you figured.

Yeonjun had a perfect body to gaze upon while you rode him. Since it was his request to ride him hard, you glided your pussy lips along his length and made him squirt on his stomach for the first round. Insatiable for the faces and noises he made when he came, you were quick to push his cock inside of you, covered in his own cum, enjoying the stretch that came with it. You were bouncing on him in no time, making Yeonjun cry out.

“So much!” He moaned, blunt nails digging into your thighs and hips, leaving crescent moons in their wake.

“You can take it, can’t you, my pet?” You purred, pussy pumping his cock for pleasure.

Yeonjun nodded, tears threatening to spill down his face. Once he worked through the over stim, his hips began to buck up into your ass, seeking pleasure that your cunt was giving. Your body undulated above him in waves, taking it slow. You moved a hand behind you to brace your weight, watching as Yeonjun’s cock dived into your swollen cunt again and again.

“Such a pretty cock for such a pretty man,” You teased.

Yeonjun’s fangs delicately dug into his lips. You could see he was attempting to hold back his own pleasure to wait for your own but he was simply too easy to pet and wind up. He watched with wide eyes as you sucked on your middle finger and brought it to your clit. He couldn't handle the way your pussy clenched with the added pleasure and he came inside of you, his second orgasm of the night.

You tsked loudly, watching the blood he had drunk from the vessel you two had shared climb up his neck and cheeks in a heated blush. “You have some training to do, Yeonjun.”

Yeonjun panted, a whine threatening to escape the back of his throat. His cock was still hard inside of you but you were overstimulating him again. You leaned forward to chuck his chin. “Take it, my pet. You won’t have to endure this if you could only hold your own pleasure back.”

Yeonjun’s fists curled into the sheets below him, that previous whine finally growing big enough to pour from his pretty pink lips. His body attempted to shrink away from the pleasure/pain you were giving him but there was no avoiding it when his cock was so deep inside of you.

“How…can I…hnnnnn…compete against…your experience?” Yeonjun managed to push out.

You chuckled darkly. “You’re the one that looked to seduce an elder, youngling.”

Yeonjun laughed, and you wondered if you’d push this one past his line of sanity. “If I had known what I was getting into…”

You moved to press your chest against his, lips a mere whisper from touching his. “Would you have stopped yourself?” You wondered.

“No, I would have prepared,” Yeonjun corrected you.

You slanted your lips over his, giving him a messy kiss, careful of his fangs. Yours were carefully tucked away, a trick one learned later in your vampire life. “I prefer to break my toys,” You told him.

Yeonjun locked his arms behind your back, with the new strength a youngling vampire possessed. He was stronger than you, in this moment, and there was nothing you could do to stop him--physically at least. You could have sucked him of all his lifeblood or hypnotized him to slit his own wrists if need be, but you wanted to see what Yeonjun would do. With his new speed, you found yourself on your hands and knees, your face pushed into the sheets where only moments Yeonjun’s back was on. This new angle hit deep inside of you, and you moaned at the sensations it brought as well.

“If--If--” The slapping of Yeonjun’s pelvis to your ass was punctuated by Yeonjun’s hisses at the feeling of his cock inside of you. “If I can hold back this time--If I can make you come--You’ll give me the book I need.”

“I’ll do no such thing,” You laughed, muffling another groan as Yeonjun’s cock was hitting the deep part of you.

“A chapter,” Yeonjun bargained.

You laughed again but Yeonjun wasn’t giving up. He grabbed your wrists and crossed them behind your back. Your ass was truly bouncing off his pelvis now. You had to give him this; he was fucking you good. Good enough to keep him around, maybe.

“You think one lousy withheld orgasm is enough to learn restricted texts?” You barked in disbelief.

Yeonjun grasped both your elbows, pulling your lower body upwards, giving all the leverage and control he needed to truly fuck you. You were at a loss of words now. All you could do was moan in pleasure but Yeonjun wasn’t as pussy drunk as he had been before. Had it been an act for you to lower your guard?

“I’ll fuck you for a hundred years, receive a word for each day, if that meant I could learn.”

The words shock you to your core, and almost sober you. “Who are you?”

“You know my name.” Yeonjun’s smirk could be heard through his voice. “Scream it loudly so the others can hear it.”

~~~Present time~~~

“Are you going to see her again?” Taehyun asked with wide eyes.

Beomgyu twitched his phone left and right as he played a game on it. “Of course he is. He’s stupid. That hasn’t changed.”

“Beomgyu!” Soobin scolded the younger vampire.

Beomgyu rolled his eyes. “What? You think so too.”

Soobin rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeonjun, look--”

Yeonjun waved his hand at Soobin, half his face pulled into a sneer. “Don’t bother, Soobin.”

“Do you even remember what her voice sounds like?” Kai asked the hard questions.

“We’re together when we sleep, of course I do,” Yeonjun shouted over his shoulder.

The castle was so old, he had to watch his step. Torches had changed to flickering lights to LED mood lights. The world had changed but Yeonjun’s resolve hadn't. He was going to be there when you woke up. When, being the key word.

Life was different now. Instead of fiefdoms, vampires owned well-to-do companies. Beomgyu owned half of Silicon Valley. Blood taking was exchanged through Snapchat and Whatsapp. The vampires didn’t fight much over territory anymore but you might see a few get into it at a club, if they had a long-standing feud. The only thing that hadn't changed was Yeonjun’s unwavering loyalty to you.

~~~In the Past~~~

A hundred years soon passed. Yeonjun was barely through a quarter of the history he had sought after but it almost wasn’t as important as it had been when he first had sought to make himself a part of your life. Now, he was your right hand, the one who ensured your choices and rulings were followed. He easily killed in your name. It wasn’t that he utterly loved you, which was the case, but more so your mind, your justice, was law and word for him. He would follow you into the bowels of hell and back, if only to make sure your feet never felt a spark of heat from the underworld.

“Yeonjun?”

Your lover was always a step or two behind you no matter where you went. Tonight you were on the rooftops of your castle, viewing the beautiful night sky. The moon was mostly covered with a shadow and that saddened you. You had wished to see her in all of her glory. At least you had the stars.

“My love?” Yeonjun moved to your side, palm sliding along yours until his hand clasped yours.

“There’s a war coming. The air smells of unrest. The humans are a superstitious lot but the world’s been bad to them these few decades. They’ll look to revolt. They usually always do when they think there’s someone to blame.”

Yeonjun slid to lean on one knee, bringing your hand to his lips as he kissed it. “I will eradicate them.”

Your eyes slid to Yeonjun. He wasn’t a youngling anymore but he didn’t have the centuries you had under your belt. He had yet to really read the ebb and flow, despite his years with his nose in a book. He would get there. You had faith.

Your eyes moved back to the sky. Even the ocean full of lights changed, and it seemed untouched by time. “Just prepare yourself, my pet.”

Yeonjun perked up, and if he had been a dog, his ears would have been pointed forward to you to listen. “Can we play tonight?”

You tossed back your head and laughed. Tears beaded at the corner of your eyes, you were laughing so hard. “You’d think that your libido would have died down a smidgeon.”

Yeonjun slowly but firmly kissed up your arm. “I always crave your body; I am never satiated.”

“I love you,” You murmured.

Yeonjun’s eyes softened, eyes lighting up with adoration of you. “My heart will only stop beating when yours does.”

You scoffed. “Such an outdated way to commit yourself as a vampire. We died a long time ago, Yeonjun.”

Yeonjun looked at you with every serious bone in his body. “If there is no you, there is no me. Our bones and muscles are knit together. There is no beginning or end. It is simply you and me.”

“I thought you read history not poetry,” You teased. Still, you exchanged a loving kiss.

“I read whatever I can get my hands on,” Yeonjun argued, lips chasing after yours when you sought to finish the kiss. “Now answer my question.”

You cupped Yeonjun’s soft cock through his leather pants. “Let’s get you some blood first. Then we can play to your heart's content.”

Yeonjun’s fingertips tickled your jaw as he looked to steal more kisses. “I need only your breath against my lips, your heartbeat against mine--oof!” He clutched his stomach where you had hit him. “Okay, enough poetic words, I get it!”

~~~Present Time~~~

Yeonjun found his familiar place by your coffin, folding his arms under his chin so he could stare at your face. These days he swore he could see micro expressions on your face. He was sure he could tell when you were reliving your nightmares instead of dreams. There was the tiniest of frown lines between your eyebrows but no one else could see it when he pointed out. He could also tell when you were living the good times with him. He had studied the curve of your lips for centuries; he fucking knew when they had a sliver of a smile. He often made you do that when you were awake, not looking to validate his corny lines.

You were waking up soon. He knew it. Once upon a time, you told him that you could anticipate what would happen next. That you had lived so many lives and so many faces that you had accumulated the sense when change was coming. Yeonjun had finally earned that trick after centuries of watching over you.

“I have so much to show you when you wake up,” Yeonjun sighed softly. “But first, you're going to fuck me until I can't forget what it feels like to be inside of you again.”

“Yeon…jun…?”

Yeonjun threw himself backwards, the raspy voice coming from the glass coffin filled with flowers scaring him. He rubbed his eyes, blinked several times and then crawled back up to where you were lying. Your eyes were pale, indicating you definitely needed some blood, but they were open.

Tears gathered at the corners of Yeonjun’s eyes but he smiled so brightly. “You’re awake.”

Your eyes widened with the recognition that your lover was indeed not dead. You sat up with speed becoming of a vampire, sending the top of the glass coffin straight into the wall adjacent. It shattered with bone-rattling noise, but you only had eyes for Yeonjun. “You’re alive.”

“I have waited for you,” Yeonjun sobbed, his shoulders shaking. “I have been here while you slumbered, guarding your body. Have you dreamt of me, my love? Was I good to you in your dreams?”

You raised your sharp-nailed hand to cup Yeonjun’s face. His tears wetted your hand but you cared not. “How long?”

Yeonjun hiccupped. “I’m almost as old as you were when you began to sleep.”

“Oh, Yeonjun,” You lamented.

“I was here every day. Every year. Every century. I knew you would need to see me, to touch me to believe I was real. I don’t care how long you slept. I just wanted to be here when you woke up.” Yeonjun’s shoulders finally stopped quivering, calming down.

You smiled so tenderly at Yeonjun in that moment, and he swore he might break, like the glass coffin lid you had shattered only moments ago. This moment didn’t feel real but it was all Yeonjun wanted, for this to be real. “You really did mean when you said that it is simply you and me.”

Yeonjun took your hand cupping his face and brought it to his lips to kiss the back of it, just like the last night you shared before you were fooled into thinking he was no more. It made your throat tighten with emotion. “My heart will only stop beating when yours does.”

You surged forward, throwing your arms around Yeonjun’s neck, and kissed him. You kissed him like it had been you waiting five hundred years for HIM to wake up. “I love you,” you gasped. “My heart will only stop beating when yours does.”

Yeonjun lifted you out of your coffin, cradling you in his arms. He carried you into the main chamber of the castle. He had to cross through them to bring you to his bedroom--your shared bedroom.

“Holy shit.” Beomgyu whistled. “She's fucking awake.”

Kai dropped his phone on his face in shock while Soobin smacked the back of Beomgyu’s head. “Have some respect.”

Taehyun teared up but dashed his tears away. “Romance isn’t dead!”

“Wait…Yeonjun! Where are you going?” Soobin called out.

You chuckled under your breath. “Did you say I was going to fuck you until you can't forget what it feels like to be inside of me again?”

Yeonjun hefted you in his arms so he could bury his face into your neck. “I know you just came from a coffin but I don't think you will be leaving the bed for a few days.”

#codn: spring24 #cultofdionysusnet #kvanity #kwritersworldnet #txt smut #choi yeonjun smut #tomorrow x together smut #yeonjun smut #choi yeonjun x reader #topaz's work #recent #ツtxt

108 notes · View notes

sagaduwyrm · 10 months

Text

Infinite Realms World-building

So I have a lot of thoughts over why their aren't that many ghosts in the Ghost Zone/Infinite Realms and how other afterlives fit into the situation so here.

The Infinite Realms aren't an afterlife. They're not a place any mortal soul is supposed to reach. They're the lining between afterlives, the wall holding them apart, the cradle holding all those places souls are meant to go. The Infinite Realms aren't anything, just a no man's worthless land.

The Infinite Realms weren't anything.

But. Picture this.

You are dead.You are dead you are dead you are deadyou aredeadyouaredead

It hurt. It was the worst thing you've ever felt, that moment when the bindings between your mortal body and your immortal soul were sundered beyond all recovery. You're disoriented and in pain and crying, weeping wails echoing across the metaphysical expanse.

But then a hand reaches out to you.

Hands, really.

They whisper in your ear. Come home, one says, offering gentle, glittering love. You've earned this, screams another like it’s a battle-cry. A dozen voices like hellfire and damnation offer atonement, if that's what you seek, although the punishment they offer varies. One voice that is not a voice but is the void offers the rest of non-existence, the creak of a wheel suggests reincarnation.

These gods and demons and spirits and entities want you, is the thing. Their grip is like chains around your ankles, dragging you down, and you have to choose, you hAVe To cHooSE, or It Will Be Chosen For You.

And this is what's supposed to happen, isn't it? The next step. Your eternal rest. Getting to pick is a greater mercy than a little mortal deserves, even.

But.

But…

You aren't a little mortal. You refuse to be.

You are the woman who revolutionized school lunches.

You are the greatest hunter in the world.

You are Romeo and Juliet, except they were a tragedy and you are not because you can bet your ass you went out laughing.

You are the world's next rock-star whose voice no one ever got to hear.

You are a man who loves boxes.

You are a clever wish-granter, the greatest magician in the world..

You are a Queen with people to protect.

You are the master of technology.

You are a boy who died too soon, too young, and hell, you should give up, but you never got to see the stars. You never got to see the stars, or what your sister looks like graduating from college, or how your friends look when they change the world. You'll never know if you'll be an uncle, if you'll have your dad's shoulders or your mom's wiry strength, what it feels like to kiss someone, whether or not Dash will ever get that stick his ass and become a decent person again. No one will ever read your paper on the genesis of stars, or fly to Pluto in a rocket ship you designed, or welcome you home after you've fulfilled your life's dream and gone to space.

It's a goddamn tragedy is what it is.

And dying hurt, so bad you're not sure if you'll ever be the same. But. All your chains are broken now. Your soul is free, in a way that it's never quite been before. You are a butterfly, broken free from your cocoon.

And they want to chain you.

They whisper so sweetly, so gently in your ear, even as they tear you apart in a child's game of tug-of-war. You have to choose.

Fuck that.

Fuck that. Dying hurts but it also freed all the potential of your beautiful, brilliant soul, and you aren't going back. Maybe you’re Icarus, flying too close to the sun, but you have wings now, and you won't let them be pinned.

You take the plunge. Through brimstone, through the river with its eternal ferry, through light and dark and a thousand different afterlives that want you like they have any damned right to your soul.

You fly, and you aren't sure if you're running forward or fleeing, but you fly. And it takes forever, a century and a day that lasts less than the beat of a heart, but then you burst free of all those grasping hands and you see green.

The green is infinite and it's empty. But it's free. It's beautiful and bright and you breathe it in, this base stuff of reality, this entropy in motion, and your soul comes to life. You aren't bound anymore, not by the base practicalities of your body, not by the laws and hunger of the gods, not by anything but your own willpower and trust in yourself.

Once the Infinite Realms were empty, once they were nothing. Now there are ghosts singing their exultant freedom. With them they bring ideas and movement and life, and the eddies they stir become whole new beings, spirits that never lived as anything other than what they are. These empty currents now hold whole worlds, ghosts and spirits and monsters.

And one day some strange being comes and tries to take your freedom and he calls himself Pariah Dark. Maybe he was a determined mortal just like you, maybe he was a demon, something sent by the gods to punish you for daring to be more, but it doesn't matter. Regardless of how hard he tries, how many lands his armies invade, how deep he digs his clawed hands in, it doesn't matter.

No one can conquer Infinity.

And then the Ancients awake. Even in a realm of equals, there are still those who are more. And what is the point of power if you can't protect your fellows?

So they shut him away, this fool who doesn't care for the freedom the Infinite offers, put him in a sleep so deep even his dreams can't disturb others. And when he wakes up there is a boy, small and young, but with more determination in his body than most could dare claim, and the tyrant who steals freedom is sent straight back to sleep.

The Infinite Realms need no King, but this boy is small and clever and kind, and when two people war, he is the first to come and mediate, the first to shove himself between their fury and make them remember themselves. They don't need a King, but the Infinite Realms are so big, with so many people, and they wouldn't mind a Speaker. Someone to connect them all, regardless of how far they lay apart.

And this boy with stars in his eyes and gentle hands grumbles, but he loves the Infinite as much as they love him, and he's almost meant for this, existing between Ancient and New, Living and Dead. They would never chain him, but he was always meant to explore, and who wouldn't want to meet and see and know everything?

The Infinite Realms are green and free and beautiful, and no god can ever change that.

#fandom #danny phantom #fandom stuff #danny fenton #world building #infinite realms #ghost zone #my writing

168 notes · View notes