#pennydreadfulseries

[dreamingkitsunewrites]

A "The Picture of Dorian Gray"!- inspired Nanami fic in two acts (From my Jjk Penny Dreadful Series-here)

*°࿐ Synopsis: After a harrowing escape from the hell of Shibuya, Nanami Kento finds a dark, twisted method to conceal the deep wounds forever etched on his flesh and spirit. He relocates to Malaysia, shedding his former identity in search of s fresh start, driven by the allure of an hedonistic lifestyle. He quickly resigns himself to a solitary existence, prioritising secrecy above all else's -that is, until one evening at the theatre, when your paths fatefully cross. What will happen next in this unfolding tale of tragedy and rebirth?

*°࿐Tags: Act 2- Nsfw + dark content (Katoptronophilia- mirror kink, softdom!nanami, fem! masturbation, pinv, breeding kink, graphic description of scar and injuries)

This work is part of the SPOOKINKY 2024 event hosted by @tsukimefuku 🖤

"Behind every exquisite thing that existed, there was something tragic (...)Nowadays people know the price of everything and the value of nothing." -Oscar Wilde

࿐✧˖*° Fic Moodboard here✧˖*°࿐

Beneath the dim, flickering glow of the bakery where you work everyday, you move like a shadow, wiping the counter where the day’s sweet offerings linger—croissants, chocolate éclairs—fragrant remnants of a life half-lived. The scent clings to you, comforting yet oppressive, as you linger on the past. A year has passed since you fled into this quiet corner of Malaysia, seeking escape, yearning for the hum of the ocean outside your window. Here, in the solitude of this bakery, you’ve become a ghost—part of the background, invisible to all but the clock and the empty tables.

Yet tonight, something stirs deep within you. At the end of your shift, you return to your cozy apartment, heading to your bedroom to let your fingers graze the golden ticket on your nightstand, a silent promise of a dream that has been lingering in your personal space for weeks: The Tempest. Tonight, the magic of Shakespeare’s world will finally become your own. You slip into the emerald night dress you bought for this occasion, catching a fleeting glimpse of a brand new woman reborn in the mirror, staring back with a defiant gaze.

…

The air of the theater hums with electricity as you step inside, your dress shimmering like a forest at dusk. Eyes turn, glances linger. The crowd falls into a hush, a soft murmur ripples through the room. You feel their gaze—a strange, unknown sensation, both exhilarating and disquieting- you’re definitely not used to being the focus of the attention around you. As you navigate the rows to your seat, eager to find yours and hide among the crowd of faces, a chill runs down your spine. There, across the balcony, a familiar figure watches you—a tall, elegant man, poised in a timeless black tuxedo.The tailored jacket hugs his athletic frame,  the deep midnight black fabric contrasting strikingly with his fair complexion. A white pocket square elegantly peeks out from the breast pocket, while a finely knotted bow tie adds a sophisticated touch. His reserved nature, shadowed by a hint of intrigue, seems to enchant every woman in the auditorium, inviting curiosity from all who cross his path. With an air of mystery that surrounds him, he garners attention effortlessly, embodying both charm and enigma in every subtle movement.

It’s him—Mr. Nanami, the enigmatic man who has haunted the bakery for months. Always at his corner table, always with a book in hand, always distant, as though carved from some distant age. His gaze is now fixed on you, unblinking, his caramel eyes drinking in every movement you make. Even among the crowd, he is a statue, an artifact of mystery, his blonde hair gleaming under the theater’s lights, his presence too immense to ignore.

«If by your Art, my dearest father, you have

put the wild waters in this roar, allay them.

The sky, it seems, would pour down stinking pitch,

But that the sea, mounting to the welkin's cheek,

Dashes the fire out.»

The character of Miranda finally speaks, signalling the start of the play. Lights go off, the world fading into darkness around you, but his gaze never wavers. It pulses between you, an electric current that thrums in your chest. Even as the actors bring the stage to life, Nanami’s attention is all on you. His eyes trace the delicate curve of your neck, they notice the way the silk of your dress clings to your feminine figure—every movement, every breath amplified. In the silence between the scenes, memories of brief encounters in the bakery flood both of your minds—small gestures, the fleeting brush of hands as you served his command. Every mundane act now seems to acquire a deeper meaning, hinting at the long buried electricity now resurfacing in all of its power.

The actors' words echo in your mind, their tale of rediscovery mirroring your own. You feel the thread between you and Nanami tighten with each passing scene. Your heartrate is accelerates inexplicably, his hands itch imperceptibly. By the play's end, the applause is drowned by the weight of his gaze, a fleeting glance that feels like an unspoken invitation. The crowd fades, and you are lost in the depths of his eyes—amber pools that seem to hold unspeakable secrets. What darkness lingers behind them? What truths lie hidden beneath his composed exterior?

In that moment, you are both spectator and part of the story, caught between the stage and the gaze of the man who watches you from the shadows, as if you are both part of the same forgotten tale.

The applause swells, a rising tide of sound that drowns everything around you. The faces blur, the claps echo like thunder, and your senses are swept into the frenzy. Yet, goosebumps rise along your exposed back, a shiver that has nothing to do with the cold. In the midst of chaos, your consciousness fails to identify the tall figure slipping quietly behind you, a shadow stretching long across your seat. But your body doesn't: every fiber of your being tenses in alert, time stretching as if waiting for something to happen at any moment.

Nanami’s hand lingers for a heartbeat before resting on your shoulder, a firm, yet gentle touch. The unexpected pressure makes you gasp, the sound barely a whisper.

"Mr. Nanami... What a surprise," you murmur, turning to face him, your voice trembling like a prayer as you feign surprise. His name spills from your lips, the remnants of the performance still thick in the air.

"Good evening, Mrs... I apologize for the intrusion," he says, his tone softer than you expected. "I saw you in the crowd and... I couldn't resist."

His apology is followed by a smile—small, sincere, and unlike the elusive stranger you’ve come to know. You blink in disbelief, caught off guard by this sudden warmth.

"Good evening," you reply, your words stammered. "No need to apologize. I’m glad you noticed me." Beneath the surface, you are deeply surprised by the fact that he did really recognize you, a simple waitress, a face everyone easily forgets.

He chuckles softly, eyes flickering with interest as he watches you. "The actors were amazing tonight, weren't they?" he continues, easing into the conversation. " Yes, indeed” you answer “I've always been fond of drama... the way music, scenery, poetry, and dance all blend into one living thing."

He catches the spark igniting your eyes as you speak, lost in your own enthusiasm. "Yes, I think it's the perfect kind of art... a fusion of all forms. A single experience woven from many threads."

He watches you, entranced by your remarkable passion for arts. Nanami always secretly thought you looked beautiful, admiring your kind nature from afar while you served tables at the bakey. But tonight he can't help feeling drawn to your every movement, noticing every detail of you, the most attractive woman he has ever laid eyes on in a while. Suddenly a low chuckle escapes him, catching you by surprise: "A real aesthete, aren’t you? I think I’ve finally found a worthy companion for my abstract musings." He muses.

You smile back, amused by the compliment. "So…you are... an ‘aesthete’ too?" you ask playfully.

"Ah... I prefer the term hedonist. There's a difference. An aesthete merely appreciates beauty for its own sake. A hedonist seeks to immerse themselves in it, to live for the pleasure it brings. Do you understand?" He smiles wryly.

You nod, half-missing the full meaning. "It makes sense to me... though 'hedonism' isn't a word you hear much these days."

At your remark, something flickers in his eyes—a momentary hesitation. His gaze drifts away, as though lost in a distant thought. Then he snaps back,as shaken from a dream.

"I have a question for you," he says, his voice now heavier. "Since you’re so drawn to this kind of topic... what do you think? Does life imitate art, or is it art that imitates life?"

You blink, caught off guard. His question is as profound as it is unsettling. Sensing your confusion, he continues, voice tightening with a quiet vulnerability.

"I know it sounds tautological... contradictory, even. But these thoughts are born from years of reflection, of trying to make sense of life."

He pauses, and for a moment, the air between you thickens with unspoken tension. The weight of his words settles around you, and you sense his inner battle—fear of revealing too much.

"Life is indeed the most intricate of masterpieces," you say softly, your voice soothing the strain in his words. "But I believe we create it. We choose the colors, the shapes, the shadows of our existence."

His eyes soften, a long, silent moment passing between you. Then, as though the walls around him have cracked, he sighs, and his words spill out.

"I’ve always had a special sensitivity... but my past... it hardened me, consumed me. I spent years hiding from it, burying my feelings beneath logic and calculation. And when I finally faced those demons, I realized..." He trails off, the confession hanging between you.

You wait, breath held, as he collects his thoughts. "I thought the pleasures of art and literature were gone forever. I thought I had lost them. But then..." He falters again, lost in the depths of his own emotions.

You try to simplify his cryptic confession. "So... you retired early and moved to Malaysia, didn't you? It's not something to be ashamed of, it's common practice here, Malaysia is such a dreamy place. I myself have left everything behind and fled here…" You try to make him feel at ease, failing to notice the deeper meaning behind his words.

His lips curled up in a faint smile, a touch of sadness in his eyes. How could such a pure soul like yours grasp the horrors hidden behind his elegant appearance? "Yes... escaping a life I didn’t recognize anymore seemed the only choice I had a year ago."

You smile back, unaware of the weight of his past, yet moved by his vulnerability. "It seems like we both needed to escape something,then" you say gently.

He watches you intensely, and for a moment, the shadows of his past flicker in his gaze, along if something else- quiet admiration for your spontaneous genuineness. Then, without warning, he clears his throat, inviting you to continue your discussion elsewhere:

"I hope you won’t misunderstand," he says, his voice low and hesitant. "But...would you join me for a drink tonight? I’d love to continue this conversation... and perhaps share a book with you. If you'd allow me."

You accept without hesitation, the thrill of the unknown surging through you. Walking side by side along the moonlit shore, your steps are light, the air thick with possibility. The evening unfolds before you, a path leading to an unseen discovery, your heart fluttering, unaware of the darkness that lurks just beyond the light of the moon, reflected inside his golden irises.

The ebony door creaks open, a haunting sound that reverberates through the dimly lit corridor as Nanami, with an air of quiet dignity, unlocks the entrance to his home, his quiet sanctuary. Leaning forward, he flicks the light switch, and with a courteous gesture, steps aside, allowing you to cross the threshold. Click. A warm, golden light floods the space, spilling like liquid amber into the darkness, inviting you into the treasure trove that is Nanami's home.

As you step inside, the musty scent of aged books mingles with a faint undertone of turpentine, whisking you away to a distant realm where art and literature reign supreme. The air is thick with stories untold, whispers of creativity echoing off the walls. Each available inch of wall space is claimed by an eclectic mix of paintings, their colors vibrant against the deep shadows. Books of every genre crowd every angle of the refined, tastefully furnished open space that stretches before you. Your eyes widen, your jaw drops; you are mesmerized, trying to absorb every intricate detail of this artistic sanctuary.

"I hope this is to your liking," Nanami's amused chuckle pulls you from your reverie, his voice like a gentle breeze stirring the still air.

"This... all of this... is yours? The paintings, the books, the antiques? How...?" You stammer, incredulous, as you survey the vast collection that feels both intimate and monumental.

"Yes," he replies, a contemplative smile gracing his lips as he leans against the doorframe, the shadows dancing across his features. "This collection is my legacy, the thing I’m most proud of..." His voice trails off, and as you admire his possessions, you fail to notice the way his gaze lingers on you, filled with a blend of longing and admiration. In his mind, your figure blurs with the contours of the most graceful of Aphrodites, the missing piece of his collection, the first soul to step into his sanctuary after a long, lonely stretch of time. He watches you spin around his living room, a vision of grace in a flowing dress that clings to your curves like a delicate drapery on a marble statue.

He could grow accustomed to this sight, to you... And in that fateful moment, he lowers his guard, granting you access to the most secluded part of his soul, a realm he has shielded jealously over the years. "Why don’t you take a tour of the house while I pour us a drink? What do you prefer: Cabernet or Whiskey?" he asks, his genuine smile like a rare gem in the dim light.

"Thank you, I’d like to explore your collection further… as for the drink… you choose, surprise me," you reply chuckling mischievously, a thrilling tension crackling in the air as your eyes lock with his, an electric connection that sends shivers down your spine.

The floorboards creak beneath your feet as you venture deeper into the labyrinthine layout, navigating narrow corridors flanked by towering shelves that groan under the weight of Nanami's extensive collection. Each step draws you further into his world, a place where dreams and memories intertwine.

As you explore, you ascend the stairs to the first floor, stumbling upon a cozy library. A plush, crimson armchair beckons you, piled high with dog-eared paperbacks and a precarious tower of art monographs. The adjacent bookshelf stands as a shrine to literary giants—Austen, Dickens, Joyce—their timeless works nestled alongside a first edition of Hemingway's "The Old Man and the Sea."

You are about to descend when something catches your eye: A door at the end of the corridor is slightly ajar, challenges you, invites your curiosity. A thrill courses through you, an all-consuming desire to uncover the mystery hidden within. Drawn by an unseen force, you approach, your heart racing as your trembling hand hovers over the doorknob. With a gentle push, you swing the door open, and a sudden burst of light slices through the darkness, momentarily blinding you. As your vision clears, you find yourself staring at your own reflection, an astonished figure in a green dress, caught in the web of shadows.

Stepping further into the room, you realize you’ve entered Nanami's peculiar bedroom. A quilted round bed dominates the space, surrounded by floor-to-ceiling mirrors that create a dizzying effect, reflecting your image endlessly in the dim light. Your gaze travels, and you find a portrait hanging on the wall—a blond man who looks strikingly like Nanami, but marred by burn scars that crisscross his body like a roadmap of pain, telling a story of flames that once ravaged his skin. His eyes, a deep, piercing gold, seem to harbor the weight of those infernos, a flicker of fire still smoldering within.

“Is this... Nanami?” you whisper to yourself, disbelief coursing through you.

"So you found out..." a faint, emotionless voice emerges from the shadows, and you immediately turn: Nanami stands on the threshold, his attractive features marred by a mask of suffering and resignation. He holds a single book in his hands: The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde.

"Nanami... I didn’t mean to intrude. The door was slightly open, and I..." you stammer, searching for an excuse. " But…What is this? Who is the man in the portrait?" you finally manage to ask, your voice trembling with confusion.

His gaze drops to the floor, a deep sadness enveloping him. "I wanted to lend you this book…maybe it would have helped you better comprehend this situation of mine. I’ve always related to Wilde’s work…and its Preface holds everything I’ve painfully learnt about life” his words ring hollow in your ears, emptied of any meaning. “This portrait... It represents the state of my soul. This... is what I really look like." His voice is heavy with truth, and the weight of his words hangs in the air like a dark cloud.

A storm of questions swirls in your mind, casting you into a sea of panic, while your gaze flashes between him and the man of the picture "This...  it can't be real. Nanami, what really happened? What is this story about?"

"Please, listen to me..." he interrupts, his tone now urgent, demanding your full attention. "Over a year ago, I was involved in an accident in Shibuya,on the night of Halloween and got severely injured. I barely managed to survive, but half of my body was burned, damaged irreparably..."

He takes a step closer, his expression lost as he struggles to share his truth. "When I woke up in a hospital bed, I took a look in the mirror, and realized I would have never been the same man I was.” He pauses, trying to steady his accelerated breath “ seeing my condition, an old friend of mine decided to set off, travelling the world for weeks in search of a way to restore my appearance. And I thought he had returned victorious at first, when he proposed to me an ancient curse allowing me to channel all of my pain and ugliness into that portrait. So I ended up switching places with the man now hanging above my bed. My friend helped me escape to start anew in this secluded place of Earth, but the truth is that this was never meant to be a blessing…with time I fell prey of the illusion of my appearance, trapping myself in a cage of mirrors, constantly afraid to see my real aspect resurfacing…I’ve been such a fool to forget the real nature of this expedient: a curse will always be always a curse"

He retreats, hiding behind a wall of shame and guilt. "I don’t expect you to understand. You know nothing of the world of sorcery from which I came... and...I wouldn't blame you if you turned your back at me now, pointing at me like a devil…"

As he fights to suppress the lump in his throat, you stand in front of him, your knees threatening to give in at every word spilling from his mouth. But it's in this moment that you see his true nature for the first time—a broken man, whose defenses are now crumbling under the weight of his long-buried secrets. "I’ve missed my chance with you, I cannot hide from the monster I’ve become," he whispers, his voice cracking with guilt and regret.

Without thinking, you step forward, closing the distance between you. Nanami's breath hitches as your hesitant hand cups his chiseled jaw, grounding him in the moment. It is high time to free him from the demons of his past.  "Destroy the picture, Nanami... don’t let that portrait weigh down your soul any longer." 

Your words provoke an earthquake into Nanami's world: his eyes widen, meeting the compassionate determination in your gaze. "And this doesn't change anything, I’m not leaving…You don’t have to hide anymore, not from me," you say softly, knowing in your heart that this moment could be the key to unlocking the darkness that has held him captive for far too long.

…

His resolve wavers as he gazes upon your lips, mere inches away from his, a tantalizing promise lingering in the air. The last thread of self-control snaps when you pull him closer, pressing your curves against his sculpted form. In that intoxicating moment, he crashes his mouth to yours, a desperate kiss that spills forth your insecurities in a breathless plea for understanding. Lips collide, and the world fades, leaving just the two of you suspended in a cocoon of time and space. 

Fingers roam restlessly, exploring, dancing over each other’s bodies in a fervent embrace, like lightning illuminating a starless sky with passion's raw energy. The kiss deepens, heats, igniting flames of longing as he pins you against the cool surface of the mirror, your bare back shivering at the sudden chill. He looms over you, strong and commanding, tension rippling through his broad shoulders before he seizes the lower edge of a golden-framed picture, throwing it to the ground with a shattering crash. 

The echo reverberates through the room, breaking the spell that held you. As the cursed image lies in shards, you blink to find the real Nanami before you, a man sculpted by both fire and fate, his scars merely facets of a twisted charm. He holds his breath, waiting for your response, his vulnerability laid bare in the depths of his eyes. 

You stay silent at first. Your trembling fingers deftly start to unbutton his shirt, tracing a path from fine fabric to the rough, fibrous tissue of his burned skin. “You look even more handsome in my eyes now,Nanami... ripped at every edge but still holding your original charm, like the finest masterpiece” you finally speak, voice thick with emotion “you’re strong, you can heal. Let me help you, please... let me…” The weight of your invitation hangs in the air, a siren's call that stirs something deep within him. He hesitantly captures your wandering hand, “Are you sure?” he asks, his forehead resting against yours, a silent confession of both uncertainty and deep care. 

In answer, you push his shirt off his shoulders, your hands gliding over the contours of his biceps, igniting a wildfire in his chest long thought extinguished. You offer him compassion and heartfelt affection, and in that moment, he feels worthy of love again. “I am sure, Nanami… give me all of you without restraints tonight…show me you’re willing to start anew” 

“Fuck,” he gasps, his hands gripping your waist, spinning you around to face the mirror. “See how stunning you look? You are too much for me now,do you understand it?” He desperately spits out through gritted teeth “but if you choose to give yourself to me tonight, know that there will be no turning back. I won’t accept being left alone tomorrow...” His breath tickles your neck as he nibbles at your soft skin, pulling back to meet your gaze with a gravity that sends shivers down your spine. “What do you say? Do you accept my condition?” 

“Yes,” you simply breathe out, eyes locked on the reflection before you, feeling small yet cherished in his powerful embrace. “I guess I am the luckiest of  men, then…” His warm breath cascades over the delicate flesh behind your ear, a relieved smile curling against your skin as you tremble between his arms. 

“I could hold you like this forever…” he whispers, tracing the line of your spine with his index finger. His hands find the thin straps of your dress, gently coaxing them down your shoulders. The silky fabric slips away, pooling at your feet, revealing you in all your glory. “You are a masterpiece here, the most exquisite work of art I have ever seen.”

His gaze drifts to the mirror, breathless as he drinks in the sight of your curves, fingers exploring the valley between your breasts, brushing against your hardened nipples with a soft touch that ignites a deep groan from his throat. “Look at you; I’m going to worship every inch of your delicious body tonight, just like a painter brushing the pure canvas in front of him, I will paint your body with pleasure and reverence” With a confident caress, his hand glides down, cupping your sex, igniting a spark of longing that makes your breath hitch. 

“Nanami,” your voice is a prayer, each syllable infused with need as he parts your folds, cool air colliding with your now exposed clit. His experienced fingers start to explore your womanhood and a shiver dances along your spine “So soft,so wet for me already… keep those beautiful eyes open for me,I want you to watch as we create a work of art of pleasure tonight.” his other hand cups your chin, preventing you from looking away from your entwined image.

He moves with purpose, fingers drawing delicate circles on your sensitive nub, escalating your breaths into gasps. “You know, I’ve always believed that sex is a form of art—the highest, perhaps. The sensations it creates, the way bodies merge in a symphony of unbridled passion…” His rhythm quickens, pressure mounting until you scream his name, your body arching as waves of pleasure crash over you. 

“Let it happen, just like that, give in to it, feel the way your body yearns for mine” he encourages you, guiding you throughout your climax with his confident ministrations. “Look at you now,” he cups your jaw, tilting your head to see the beauty of your flushed cheeks and wild hair. “You are alive… the essence of beauty.” His kisses scatter across your skin, igniting every nerve, his hardness pressing against your plush curves, a testament to his hunger. 

His veiny hands unfasten his belt, pulling down his elegant pants to reveal himself to you: a glorious display of manhood, standing proud and ready in the mirror facing you. The base is girthy, the long shaft crossed by a single bluish vein up to the swollen tip, already for glistening with precum “look what your beauty does to me” his hips jacks forward instinctively as he notices the hunger in your eyes “Ready?” he asks once more, searching your gaze for any hint of doubt before entering you slowly from behind, his eyes locked on yours in the reflective surface, watching as pleasure and pain intertwine on your face. 

He’s barely halfway in but you already feel him everywhere, a melding of flesh and desire driving you mad as he fills you completely. A strangled groan escapes him. “fuck, you're too tight… "His eyes flutter shut as he revels in the sensation of your snug channel stretching apart for him, sweaty pearls coaxes his forehead, brows furrowed in concentration “you were made for me.” He buries his face in your hair, inhaling your intoxicating scent as he stills for a moment, savoring the connection of your entwined bodies. 

When his hips begin to move, there is no gentleness—only a primal need. He slams against you, each thrust sending you gasping against the mirror, fingers clutching the golden frame for support. Your body turned into a canvas painted with pleasure: head tilted back, throat exposed, breasts heaving with each  fervent thrust, trembling legs on the brink of surrender.  The smacking sound of flesh meeting flesh reverberates, a wild melody echoing in the room as you surrender to the rhythm of ecstasy, bodies swaying in perfect synchronicity. 

Together, you reach the precipice of bliss. The mirror captures the art of your union, an abstract painting of two entwined souls—calling out each other’s names, your bodies slick and sticky, pressed together in a tender embrace. In that moment, you know that this is more than just a union of bodies; it is a celebration of art, love, and the unyielding spirit of desire.

 Nanami’s eyes roll back as he feels you envelop him in a fierce grip, but he forces his gaze open, eager to witness the masterpiece unfolding before him. “I'm almost there…” He announces, grunting in your ear as he surrenders to your magic. Warm spurts of his very essence paint your walls white, making you his in the most primal of ways. He groans in pride and delight when the glass reflects the lewd sight of his overflowing seed dripping down your leg. Turning to face him, a loving smile dances upon both of your lips, the calm after a storm. “That was incredible, my diamond… thank you for sharing this masterpiece with me,” he murmurs, placing gentle kisses upon your closed eyelids, the warmth of his damp hair brushing against your forehead. “You’ve shown me that with you, I can finally find my way back to beauty.” He nuzzles your noses together, laughter bubbling forth as he regards you with a playful glint in his eye. “But I fear I need more from you tonight… are you ready for another round?”

You nod, a spark reigniting within you, a shared yearning to delve deeper into the connection that has blossomed between you in the stillness of the night. Without warning, he lifts you off the ground, effortlessly cradling you in his arms, bridal-style, and carries you toward his round bed, laying you down upon the luxurious velvet sheets. The sensation takes your breath away, and you gaze up at him, wide-eyed with wonder.

He kneels at your feet, crawling onto the bed, leaving a trail of kisses along your calves, thighs, and stomach, until he reaches your lips. For a moment, he pauses, studying your moonlit features, before pushing himself into your inviting warmth once more. This time, there is no urgency; instead, he makes love to you with a tenderness that transcends flesh, his thrusts slow and deep, punctuated by soft kisses and feather-light caresses. You gaze upward at the mirror hanging from the ceiling, capturing your supine figure beneath his muscled torso, tensing with every intimate movement.

In that sacred moment of Epiphany, the truth unfurls before you: together, you and Nanami create a beauty that has always eluded you both, a beauty that defies the boundaries of time and space, a masterpiece beyond convention. You were each other’s missing piece. Each creak of the bed beneath you resonates with magic, a spell binding you to this moment of bliss and rebirth, witnessed by every mirror surrounding you.

“We are art,” you lean in and whisper into his ear, your voice filled with newfound conviction, as the night wraps around you like a cloak, and the shadows dance in celebration of your fateful union.

Thanks for reading this far!🙏

Comments and Reblogs are appreciated 💕

Don't repost my works without permission.

[stevehatguy]

Just finished ‘Penny Dreadful’ a few days ago. I was so moved by the beautiful and kind, tortured and tragic Vanessa Ives. Bravo, Eva Green #pennydreadful #pennydreadfulfanart #pennydreadfulseries #vanessaives #evagreen #littlescorpion #artistsoninstagram #ipadpro #ipadproart #ipadprocreate #procreate #procreateapp https://www.instagram.com/p/Bny5ovnh7Oo/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=3vw79p52gynb

[chiorochy91]

De las Series al juego Los Sims 4

¡Muy buenas personas bellas de Tumblr!

Quiero compartir estos sims con la comunidad para todo aquella alma que desee jugar con estos personajes tan particulares.

The Bloody Murder Family

Esta familia tan particular proviene de dos series cuya esencia es bastante similar: Hannibal y Penny Dreadful. Ademas de añadir unos cuantos Ocs, sacados de unos fics que estoy escribiendo.

Hannibal:

Will Graham (Hugh Dancy) es un analista de crímenes del FBI a la caza de un asesino en serie. Will tiene una manera única de pensar, lo que le da la capacidad de empatizar de sobremanera con los psicópatas que caza. Esta capacidad le ayuda a entenderlos y saber casi lo que los motiva. Pero cuando la mente del asesino retorcido que está buscando es demasiado complicada, incluso para su entender, recluta la ayuda de uno de los médicos principales psiquiátricos en el país, el Dr. Hannibal Lecter (Mads Mikkelsen). Juntos forman un equipo para ayudar al FBI en la caza de asesinos en serie.

Penny Dreadful:

En el Londres victoriano, la vidente Vanessa Ives (Eva Green) y el explorador Sir Malcolm Murray (Timothy Dalton) contratan al pistolero estadounidense Ethan Chandler (Josh Hartnett), que resulta guardar un peligroso secreto, al doctor Victor Frankenstein (Harry Treadaway) y al experto Profesor Van Helsing (David Warner), para encontrar a Mina Murray (Olivia Llewellyn), la hija de Sir Malcolm y mejor amiga de Vanessa. Lo que no imaginan es que, para dar con ella, tendrán que descifrar un misterio aterrador, el cual los conducirá a una oscura y oculta verdad en la cual, la principal protagonista será Vanessa Ives. En su camino también se cruzarán con Caliban alias John Clark (Rory Kinnear), el monstruo creado por el doctor Frankenstein, una criatura torturada y salvaje que encuentra sosiego para su espíritu entre las tramoyas del teatro, Dorian Gray (Reeve Carney), un hedonista joven que intentará seducir a Vanessa, y Brona Croft (Billie Piper), una prostituta irlandesa gravemente enferma que logra despertar el interés de Ethan. La confrontación final con el amo secreto de Mina, que concluirá con Sir Malcolm teniendo que decidir si disparar a su hija para evitar que Vanessa sea ofrecida como novia a Drácula.

LINK: https://drive.google.com/file/d/1rYefOGiRaqKwlNHrpNjR0EZfjl6gVQSB/view?usp=sharing

The Doppler Family

Esta familia es de mi serie actual favorita, cuenta con los cuatro principales y se les suma *SPOILER* la paradoja que plantea la serie en el final de la segunda temporada. En la galeria pueden encontrar a la flia al completo, o a los dos Noah aparte, y a la paradoja de Madre-Hija también aparte. Pueden escoger la que mas les guste.

Dark:

Cuando unos niños en la ciudad alemana de Winden comienzan a desaparecer, sacan a la luz las relaciones fracturadas, las vidas dobles y el pasado oscuro de cuatro familias que viven allí, revelando un misterio que abarca tres generaciones.

Los personajes principales incluyen a Jonas Kahnwald (Louis Hofmann), un adolescente que lucha para sobrellevar el suicidio de su padre; el oficial de policía Ulrich Nielsen (Oliver Masucci), cuyo hermano desapareció 33 años antes; y la jefa de policía Charlotte Doppler (Karoline Eichhorn).

Durante la primera temporada, los secretos de las familias Kahnwald, Nielsen, Doppler y Tiedemann comienzan a revelarse, y sus vidas comienzan a desmoronarse a medida que se hacen evidentes los lazos entre los niños desaparecidos, la historia de la ciudad y sus ciudadanos.

LINK: https://drive.google.com/file/d/1jdo_FaaOFIiJKL3sGMyz6OXQZWuK2fcc/view?usp=sharing

[dreamingkitsunewrites]

Here's to you! My first prompt for the Spookinky2024 event, conceived by @tsukimefuku is finally here!

You'll find the rest of my JJKPENNYDREADFUL Halloween Series here This one is inspired by one of my favorite novels ever: the absurdly-underrated Perfume:The Story of a Murderer by Patrick Süskind. As usual, I've picked a song that matches the vibes of this fic! Warnings: dark and smut/nsfw content ahead (MDNI). Obsession, stalking,sexual descriptions, olfactophilia. Roughly proofread (English is not my first language) 1.8k words I’m pouring my soul into this series, I really hope someone will enjoy it. If you do, please feel free to interact and/or reblog! Thank you in advance for reading!🙏🏼

"For people could close their eyes to greatness, to horrors, to beauty, and their ears to melodies or deceiving words. But they couldn't escape scent. For scent was a brother of breath. Together with breath it entered human beings, who couldn't defend themselves against it, not if they wanted to live. And scent entered into their very core, went directly to their hearts, and decided for good and all between affection and contempt, disgust and lust, love and hate. He who ruled scent ruled the hearts of men." P.Süskind

Fall comes as a surprise, pushing summer away. It brings along a mix of smells, spreading them like tiny stars in the night sky: the smell of old smoke from chimneys, the sweet scent of cinnamon and pumpkin wafting from bakeries, and the fresh aroma of damp leaves in quiet woods. Every single smell, every tiny aroma unlocks a feeling, bounding the mind to the celebration of an ever-lasting memory.

Just a few days ago, you walked down the busy sidewalk during rush hour, trying to reach the subway. You mindlessly moved through a sea of students and workers. Huddled in your coat against the first autumn chill, you failed to notice the pale, stout man in unusual garb who had begun following you onto the subway platform.

The stranger,named Choso Kamo, is a half-cursed spirit, whose existence has always been bound to the ill-fated story of the mother, whose affection he couldn't know… her body had been exploited and abused to generate him and his beloved brothers until it collapsed, leaving him, the eldest of her sons, with the difficult burden of taking care of his brothers' cursed-wombs. He was now standing in the middle of the crowd with his usual vacant expression, surveying the many passersby as instructed by his associates… deep down, Choso knows they brought him back to life just to take advantage of his strength, but at least they have given him a purpose to pursue in his miserable life.

In the precise moment you mindlessly passed him by, adjusting your scarf around your neck, a gust of wind unleashed the essence itself of his renewed purpose: Choso found himself entranced by the intoxicating bouquet of your vibrant youth, sublimated in an ephemeral fragrance that danced upon the crisp evening air, weaving a spell that ensnared his senses. Enveloped in a tempest of longing, the crowd disappeared from the awareness of his senses,and he could think of nothing else but you, a siren call beckoning him to follow. With trembling resolve, he boarded the same train, trying to stay as close as possible to your graceful frame, in the desperate attempt of tracing the path back to your intoxicating perfume. He ended up following you up until your doorstep, now torn by an all-consuming obsession.

Night after night since then, Choso had been tormented by his desire, passing restless hours awake under the pale lunar light, when even his strong hands could not tame the wild hunger that throbbed and begged for release. At every nightfall, he surrendered to the echoes of his desire, rigid and raw, a prisoner of this exquisite torment, yearning for the touch that could soothe his restless soul. He vowed he would never find peace until he had found you. So Choso retraced your path, desperate to breathe in your sweet scent once more. He lurked in the shadows, stealing small tokens of your presence- discarded trinkets that bore the faintest whiff of your essence, each one a precious relic he hoarded within a secret chest, a shrine to the object of his obsession.

Your very existence had become a haunting, lingering thought, driving him to the brink of madness with an all-consuming desire to possess you. Choso found himself teetering on the precipice of madness, surprising even himself indulging in dark thoughts of violence, should any rival dare to encroach upon what he believed was rightfully his—the very breath of your existence, the haunting aroma of your skin.

(...)

And then came the witching hour, Halloween night—a tapestry woven with shadows, the spookiest eve of the year. While in the city streets echoes of children's laughter drift through the air, you languish in the solitude of your living room, binge watching the whole Scream series. You lay half asleep under a blanket on your couch, distracted by the dim glow of your flickering television, oblivious to the stranger spying on you just outside your window. Hidden by the welcoming veil of darkness, Choso bursts into the warmth of your apartment, drawn by an irresistible magnetism that thrums in the air. He slips through the half-open window of your bedroom, a tall, well built silhouette against the moonlit night, and the moment he crosses the threshold, he is engulfed by an intoxicating familiarity, a warmth that wraps around him like a silken shroud. His heart races, a frenetic drumbeat as his ravenous gaze roams the sacred space you occupy, etching every detail into his memory: the hue of the walls that cradle your secrets, the books piling atop your bedside table, the delicate arrangement of your bed adorned with ornamental pillows, each whispering tales of your essence.

Your very presence saturates the air, a heady perfume that drives him to the brink of madness. Yet, his brow furrows as it lands upon the disheveled heap of laundry piled carelessly in the corner. In that moment, all restraint shatters—his longing overcomes him. He dives into the chaos, seizing your garments, letting the subtle scent of your skin engulf him. In an instant, the pressure swells within his baggy pants, an undeniable urgency that demands release.

With a fervor that borders on the frenzied, Choso collapses onto your plush bed, a wild creature succumbing to the lust that consumes him. He sheds his loose robe, exposing the sculpted lines of his body, yearning to lose himself in the essence that lingers in your sanctuary. His hands, trembling and desperate, explore his length, as lost in an urgent trance, but it is not enough. His mind conjures up haunting visions of you—your soft skin beneath his fingertips, your lips parted in exquisite pleasure, your breasts quivering with each of his deep, ravenous thrusts.

Lost in a fevered reverie, he begins to grind against your pillows, surrendering to a trance where he imagines your warm, welcoming heat enveloping him. Clutching your underwear, the fabric cradled in his grip, he feels his knuckles whiten with the force of his need. Memories flood his mind—how your delicate hands had clutched your scarf in that crowded subway, and the thought of those soft fingers caressing him sends a shudder of bliss through his core. A moan escapes him, mingling with the scent of your freshly laundered linens, the bedspread now stained with white, thick stains of his desire.

His face twists with a rapturous anticipation, the gates to a forbidden paradise poised to swing open. But just as the world around him begins to blur into a cascade of ecstasy, you materialize at the threshold, your eyes wide with disbelief at the sight before you—a tall,pale sublime-looking stranger lays in your bed, lost in a primal dance of pleasure.

You stand transfixed, mesmerized by his unconventional beauty— you notice how his uncanny, unearthly features merge perfectly on his graceful face, etching a unique,twisted kind of charm on it: his curious hairstyle, the sharp line of his clenched jaw, those haunted eyes, their irises of golden honey, matching the unhealthy purplish puffiness beneath his eye; the tribal dark mark etched upon the his skin of his face his hair. You soon understand that you stand in front of a non-human creature…yet, your senses catch a glimpse of his kind soul, buried deep inside the shadows of his eyes. Rather than fear, a flicker of arousal ignites within you, an electric thrill coursing through your veins as you drink in the sight of this beautiful,mysterious demon.

He pauses, the moment stretching as you lock eyes—his pupils dilate, revealing a tempest of desire and hunger, yet glimmers of tenderness shimmer beneath the surface. In that gaze, you read an unspeakable promise—of safety, of reverence. Your heart quickens, and instead of retreating, you advance, a moth to his flame. You kneel down on the edge of the bed, your trembling fingers hovering over the mark crossing his face, the silent blossoming of a connection. He whimpers as your skin brushes against his,his gaze incredulous. A soft smile graces your lips, and he blushes under your father-light touch, the heat radiating off him palpable.

"You... You look so beautiful," he stammers, his voice grave, each breath a desperate whisper. In an instant, he rises, revealing his hardened desire—long and throbbing, its tip glistening with the evidence of his lust. He lunges,burying his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply, finally rejoining with your essence. He feels overwhelmed by your presence, intoxicated by the heady mix of your unmistakable scent and a hint of a fresh thrill of anticipation that dances along the delicate curve of your neck.

“Finally…” he breathes against your skin, his dry lips grazing your soft flesh, igniting a fire that spreads through your body, causing you to arch into him, surrendering to the magnetic pull of his presence. And then, in a whirlwind of passion and primal instinct, he takes you—your senses clouded as he pins you to the bed, unleashing a torrent of fervor that leaves you gasping for breath: he runs his strong fingers through your silky, perfumed hair, now cascading freely on the pillow below your head, then he starts carefully peeling each layer of clothing off of your body, trying not to get lost in the enveloping scent unleashing with every garment falling to the ground, just like fragile, autumn leaves. The veins on his big, strong hands popping out under the pressure of his constrained need. Once you lay bare in front of him, he grabs the silky skin of your thighs, spreading them open as he buries his face in the spring of your essence. He breaths you in, needing to feel you, the purest you, straight into his lungs. His mind is clouded by the highest form of ecstatic haze, and his resolve falters…in this moment he would surrender to your every darkest order, he would be your puppet forever, exploiting his half-demonic strength for whatever purpose you put forward, you… his muse. And just like that, something inside of him snaps at the willingness conveyed through your half-lidded eyes and he releases the depths of his pent-up need on your body, worshiping every hidden corner of your skin.

You lay beneath him, quivering under the disclosure of a brand new, unearthly, unadulterated form of passion: you lose count of the waves of pleasure that crash over you, each thrust a divine revelation, each moan a prayer whispered into the dark. Words remain unspoken, yet the reverence in his touch, the fervent grunts that escape him, speak volumes of his devotion to you, body and soul.

As the night wanes, Choso pauses, drinking in the sight of your blissful surrender—a vision that etches itself into the very depth of his soul. In that moment, clarity washes over him; he grasps the essence of devotion. You are his goddess, and your bedroom, now steeped in the mingling scents of passion and your sweet essence, becomes a temple where he will forever worship.

Unleashed, his half-demonic nature finds solace in the storm of ecstasy, surrendering to the sanctity of your spread legs—the sacred gates to his paradise. Now that he has discovered his faith, he knows there is no turning back; he yearns for more than a mere taste of your forbidden fruit—the very essence of you, a heady nectar that lingers in the air, binding him to you eternally.

[dreamingkitsunewrites]

Here's the second prompt of my Penny Dreadful Series for the SPOOKINKY event by the lovely @tsukimefuku ... This is about GOJO x DR.JECKYLL AND MR HYDE... Hope you'll like it!

Summary: after weeks of chaste dating, you finally get to discover the hidden side of Gojo's identity... 😏

4.3k words (sorry this turned out endless 😅)

Warnings: smut/nsfw (unprotected pinv,mentions of praise kink, soft bondage, edging and overstimulation) and dark content (body horror descriptions) ahead---MDMI!

This fic is dedicated to @gojhoes :of the kindest souls on this Earth🩵

"I learned to recognise the thorough and primitive duality of man; I saw that, of the two natures that contended in the field of my consciousness, even if I could rightly be said to be either, it was only because I was radically both."

-R.L. Stevenson

💙GOJOO💙“Good morning, sweetheart. How is my princess today? Looking forward to Halloween 👻 🎃 can't wait to see your pretty face again”

 A smile lights up your drowsy face as you shuffle toward the kitchen, the remnants of sleep still numbing your muscles. The morning light filters through the curtains, casting a pale glow over the room just as a notification from Gojo Satoru, that enigmatic boy you’ve been dating for a while, shatters the quiet. His clear, cerulean eyes captivated you from the moment he first said 'hello,' and since then, you have been ensnared by his cheeky smile, a playful secret hidden behind his angelic façade.

You read his message again, feeling a thrill dance along your spine: you’ve never quite understood how Gojo always seems to know when you wake, even though he is currently abroad for work. Each morning, your phone vibrates on the bedside table, precisely at the moment you stir from sleep. It’s as if his mind is somehow connected to you, a ghostly presence lingering in your routine. This is but one of the many mysteries cloaked within the curve of his lips.

No matter how your bond has been growing stronger by the day lately, there remains a vast chasm of secrets between you. Indeed, you still know very little of his life, and at times he becomes elusive to your questions: you’ve learned he is some sort of teacher during your last date at a quaint downtown bakery, abruptly interrupted by a frantic phone call from two breathless children. You watched, heart racing, as his alabaster brows knitted together in concern, his expression darkening before he disappeared in the crowded streets of Tokyo, leaving you with nothing but the faint echo of his hurried apologies.

On that particular afternoon, just before his sudden departure, he had surprised you with your first, fleeting, passionate kiss—elusive and intoxicating. His lips brushed against yours without warning, igniting a fire that left you breathless, a mere flicker of what was to come. He pulled away, leaving you dazed, his trademark smirk lingering in the air like smoke from a dying fire. Each encounter with him is like a storm—unpredictable, electric, and utterly consuming.

Though your time together is limited by his mysterious work, each moment is charged with an intensity that makes the air around you crackle. Yet, as the time to part draws near, you are always left with an insatiable thirst for more—a yearning to delve deeper into his world, to bask in the light of his presence. You find yourself anxiously awaiting Halloween night, the date of your next rendezvous, when you will finally meet Yuji and Megumi, the boys Gojo mentors.

A flicker of hope stirs within you. You know he will have to drive the boys back to their dorm at midnight, meaning that you two probably won't get to indulge in a passionate night together, but a part of you—one that has been aching for weeks—hopes that tonight will be different. You crave the feel of his hands on your body, an electric connection that has yet to be fully realized. His teasing stares, his accidental touches, the sly innuendos that always charge the air around you with a crackling sexual tension —will they finally culminate in something more? You can’t shake the nagging thought that perhaps he doesn’t desire you as much as you crave him. You can't help wondering why such a confident and cheeky guy hasn't laid a finger on you yet otherwise…

Shaking your head to dispel such thoughts, you remind yourself to embrace the moment. You begin your day, anticipation thrumming in your veins like a heartbeat, until finally, Halloween night arrives.

…

You step out, the city cloaked in an eerie ambience, shadows stretching as if alive, whispering secrets of the night. The sky is a swirling mass of clouds, translucent specters drifting against a backdrop of a pale, full moon that casts an unsettling light over the streets. A gentle breeze nudges you closer to your destination, the air thick with the scent of autumn and the faint echo of laughter from masked children.

As you approach, the moon breaks free from the veil of clouds, illuminating the figure of Gojo in the distance. He stands with an effortless grace, leaning against the sleek door of his Tesla, casual yet striking—his leather jacket unbuttoned at the neck, revealing a glimpse of his alabaster, toned chest beneath. His sunglasses, a puzzling accessory for the night, lend him an eccentric charm under the neon glow of nearby clubs.

For a moment, you cannot help but admire him, the way his messy, white hair falls across his forehead, how his presence seems to draw the very essence of the night towards him. He almost glows, ethereal in the midst of the crowd, a guardian angel in the crowd.

Yet, as you near, an unsettling sensation prickles at the nape of your neck, a sense that something is amiss. The thrumming energy of the crowd—children and adults alike, lost in their masquerades—feels like a collective wicked ritual, a dance of shadows and light.

Just as you are about to call out to Gojo, a hoarse voice slithers from a darkened alley, pulling your attention away. “Pretty girl, come closer, please…” You turn, heart racing, to find the figure of a grotesque old woman, her hunched frame pressed against the cold pavement, a deck of worn tarot cards clutched in her gnarled hands. Taken aback by her rough voice, you freeze midstep, imagining the woman, probably a beggar, is in need of help: “Excuse me…you meant me? How may I help you? Do you need anything?”

“Perhaps I am the one who can help you, my dear…” Her voice trembles with an otherworldly timbre. The old woman’s face tilts up, revealing eyes that are eerily closed, as if she were a specter herself. “Spare change in exchange for a revelation… I can offer you a glimpse into the mysteries of the man who has stolen your heart...”

You find yourself captivated, a shiver racing down your spine. “Choose a card,” she beckons, her voice laced with a knowing that sends chills coursing through your veins. “The tarot always knows what lies hidden in the folds of time.”

With bated breath, you reach for a specific card of the worn-out deck, the air thick with anticipation, ready to unveil the secrets the universe holds for you.

XVIII. The Moon. Reversed.

“What an intriguing card, my dear…” she muses, her voice low and conspiratorial. “Intuition. Yours has already whispered many truths tonight, even those you dare not voice. Secrets. Some of them will be soon revealed… and then…Duality… the moon has always two faces; do not be deceived by its bright side. Remember, nothing is ever as it appears! Now go, your moon awaits, and you do not wish to keep it waiting…”

As the old woman’s words reverberate in your mind, you feel the weight of her prophecy settle upon your shoulders like a shroud.

Your evening begins with a familiar thrill as Gojo greets you with an unexpected embrace, his warmth enveloping you, careless about Yuji and Megumi’s amused gazes studying his open display of affection towards you. Yuji greets you warmly as soon as Gojo lets go of your embrace. Megumi eyes you down perplexed at first, just to surprise you with a final, small smile of approval, while Gojo opens the car’s door for you, signalling your empeding departure. “The guys adore you already...” Gojo says while turning the engine on, ready to pull up. He smiles sheepishly at you “...who wouldn’t fall for such a doll face?” his right hand leaves the steering wheel to find your hand, entwining your fingers. You feel a spark of warmth spreading through your chest at his sweet gesture. 

But as the night unfolds, the mysteries deepen, and the boundary between light and shadow begins to blur, leaving you to wonder just how far into the darkness you are willing to venture for the sake of desire and discovery.

…

Gojo was a riddle wrapped in an enigma, and tonight, the air crackled with an electric tension that hinted at the secrets he was guarding. “ Tonight is all for us, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice a low, sultry whisper that sent shivers down your spine. “We have a couple of hours all to ourselves before we pick up the boys… and tonight, I mean getting to know you better…”

His warm hand found its way to your exposed knee, caressing it sensually, igniting a fire within you that you had long kept hidden. Your breath caught in your throat, and in this intoxicating moment, all doubts and fears evaporated. All that mattered was the sensation of his knuckles brushing against your skin, tracing a tantalizing path up your thigh, dangerously close to the hem of your skirt.

A mischievous grin spread across his face as he noticed the goosebumps that danced along your skin. “What’s wrong? Are you cold, honey?” His teasing voice was laced with a playful challenge. “Look at you, you’re shivering… is there anything I can do to warm you up?” There was a deliberate pause, as if he were savoring every second, before he added with a smirk, “Maybe we should just stay here in the car instead of taking a walk outside in the cold.” He deftly shifted his hand to the car controls, cranking up the heat, but the warmth he offered was nothing compared to the heat building between you.

You cleared your throat, desperately suppressing a groan of frustration at the sudden interrupt of his touch, and replied, “Thanks… I think it would be a really good idea to… get to know each other better.” A gleam of mischief sparkled in his eyes as he turned the car down a winding dirt road that led deep into the heart of a thick, shadowy forest. The moon hung high above, casting an ethereal glow that illuminated the foliage, a stark reminder of the woman’s ominous words that echoed in your mind.

Every fiber of your being buzzed with anticipation, and yet, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something deeper, something darker, lurked beneath the surface. Gojo’s demeanor shifted, his usual playful confidence replaced with an intensity that made your heart race. His grip on the steering wheel tightened, knuckles turning white as he focused on the path ahead. “I know we both want what’s about to happen tonight, and believe me, there’s nothing I want more than to know the pleasure you can give me, darling… but promise me one thing…”

His request was tinged with a vulnerability that struck you as unexpected. Flattered and intrigued, you nodded. “If… anything strange should happen…at any point…please stop me.. I don't want to.. get lost in the moment…and make you uncomfortable” A spontaneous laugh escaped your lips, the absurdity of his warning catching you off guard. “Strange? Gojo, this is not my first time, I know how it goes…are you some kind of perv? I bet deep down you hide the new Christian Grey behind that angel face…I wouldn't mind that at all actually…” sensing his growing desire at your playful words, you decide to tease him even further “Oh wait… Now I get why Yuji addressed you as ‘the Strongest’ with that little smirk before we left… I  can't believe you boast about your sexual life with your students…you're definitely a perv!” Your voice lowered to a sultry whisper as you leaned closer, teasingly tickling his neck. “Am I right? Are you known as ‘the Strongest’ in this?”

A deep, throaty moan escaped him, the sound vibrating through the air, sending shockwaves of desire coursing through you. In an instant, he brought the car to a halt in the thick of the woods. The fog outside enveloped the vehicle, creating an intimate cocoon that felt both thrilling and terrifying.

Gojo leaned in, his lips brushing against yours hesitantly, as if afraid you might shatter at any moment. “Let's just say I treasure some ...techniques of mine. But I want to take things slow with you tonight…” he whispered back to you, leaning forward to the passenger seat “Don't think you can understand everything about my strength this soon… I would never want to overwhelm my princess.”  His hot breath tickled the skin of your neck, and at this point your mind was already too entranced by his closeness to even notice the hint of sincere concern in his voice. He was clearly trying to distract you from asking further questions, but you were totally oblivious of it. The kiss began slowly, a soft exploration, but quickly ignited into something  more fervent. Your tongues danced, and his hands roamed over your body, igniting every nerve ending with his touch. The world outside faded into nothingness as your breaths mingled, each inhale steeped in the heady mix of passion and urgency.

As his hands travelled from your hips to your breasts, a low growl of desire escaped his lips, and the kiss deepened, transforming into something primal and hungry. The condensation on the windows thickened, obscuring the outside world, but the sounds of the night crept in—rustling leaves, distant howls, the echo of something lurking in the shadows.

His fingers found their way beneath your clothing, teasing you until you were gasping with need. Your body betrayed you, betraying the wave of overwhelming desire that washed over you, leaving you breathless and wanting more. “Can you feel what you’re doing to me?” he murmured, his hand guiding yours to rest on his jeans, letting you feel the growing evidence of his desire. It felt warm and your eyes widened as you felt his cock hardening further under your hand, his body responding to your touch. “Fuck, you’re so sweet.” he moaned, gripping on your shoulders and pushing you flush against him. You could feel the moment you longed for approaching and barely managed to hide your excitement.

Just as the tension reached a fever pitch, Gojo’s attention snapped to something outside the car: His lips pulled away from yours abruptly, as he turned his head back, sensing a mysterious, impending danger from outside. His features darkened and a visible unease settled over him. Frustrated and flustered, you still couldn't understand why he was acting like that all of a sudden “Hey babe…What’s going on? Hey…” you started, but he was already out of the car, locking you inside. Panic surged as you called out to him, your voice swallowed by the thick fog.

You pressed your palms against the glass, trying to peer into the darkness, but the world outside was a murky abyss. Now you started to hear some confused noises, animalistic cries you have ever heard before…The unsettling sounds grew louder, a cacophony of primal growls and rustling that sent chills racing down your spine. And then…

 “WHAT THE FUCK-,” you gasped, heart pounding, as a monstrous face suddenly materialized at your window, its grotesque features illuminated by the moonlight—inhuman eyes, a gaping maw filled with sharp teeth.

Where was Gojo? Before you could even scream, a flash of blue light pierced through the fog, illuminating the night. Gojo emerged from the mist, his striking blue eyes glowing like twin stars in the darkness. He approached with an unsettling calm, his demeanor shifting into something fierce and predatory.  As you watched in horror from the passenger seat, Gojo leaned out of the car window, his expression disturbingly calm. In a swift, fluid motion, he seized the creature’s head, detaching it with a strength that defied belief: the creature, a grotesque blend of twisted limbs and snarling features, writhed in its final moments, its inhuman shrieks piercing the night sky. Gojo grasped the creature's decaying head, the wet sound of flesh tearing filled the air, and blood splattered against the glass like a macabre painting.

For an eternity, he stood there breathing heavily,holding the severed head aloft like a grotesque trophy. His white, messy locks falling in his face rhythmically, almost hiding his blue eyes, now glowing brightly with a sinister, unnatural sparkle in the midst of the darkness. His big hands held the severed head, his expression obscured by the shadows that danced across his features. Then, a haunting smile unfurled on his lips, sending a jolt of fear and thrill through you. He reached for his phone, and called someone: after a while a feminine voice picked up the call…you tried to catch a glimpse of the short and crypto conversation he was having: the woman at the other side must have been his colleague, Shoko Ieiri. The few words you heard clearly made your eyes widen, leaving you with a sense of impending dread. “I got the sample…it seems to have a material body. A cursed womb?… I’ll bring it to you at school tonight… yes, I’ll leave it in your lab. See you soon.”

As the car door swung open again,you understood the boy you had been kissing just moments before had transformed. Who was this cold, feral man sitting beside you? And where did he do to your Gojo ? The playfulness had vanished, replaced by a chilling intensity that sent a shiver through your entire being. “Here I am, sweetheart. Sorry for making you wait. Work is work; I hope you can understand… where were we?” even his tone sounded differently, lowered by an octave and conveying a hint of danger.

You stared at him, confusion etched on your face as your trembling hand hovered above the splatters of fresh, dark blood on his cheek. “You…you’re… stained… the blood…” Your voice trembled, breaths coming in jagged gasps.

Seeing the fear in your eyes, Gojo’s expression softened momentarily, the atmosphere shifting back to the warmth you used to know “Don’t be scared, please… I think you can now guess the reason of Yuji’s words…I belong to a hidden part of society: my clan belongs to the chaste of people who can see curses - this means…I am a sorcerer, the Strongest on Earth to be precise… this implies…there's a darker part of me that you don't know yet…sometimes it comes to the surface…and that's what it unleashes…” he paused, searching for any signs of discomfort on your face “Is this too much for you? Do you think you can still... Accept it?”

Your heart raced as you tried to process his words, adrenaline coursing suddenly through your veins: you felt an unexpected rush of desire. You crashed your lips against his once more, the taste of blood and danger igniting a fire within you. “Sorcerer or not… Blood still looks good on you; it’s almost…endearing” you admit shyly, your voice laced with a mix of fear and appreciation.

A shiver ran through him at your words, and the spark of madness flickered back to life in his eyes. “Do you think this side of me is sexy?” he growled, a predatory edge now creeping into his voice. “Now I’ll show you what I can become.”

With a zeal that took your breath away, he dragged you to the back seat, tearing your clothes off with a fervor that was both thrilling and terrifying. His kisses were fierce, biting into your neck as you moaned in pleasure, lost in the intoxicating haze of desire. “Be a good girl for me… Just like that… let me feel how much you want it…is it better now? I bet you wanted it rough from the very first moment”

You surrendered to the moment, the world outside forgotten as you explored the depths of his dark desires, entwined in a dance of ecstasy that blurred the lines between pleasure and peril, love and madness. The forest whispered secrets around you, as shadows deepened and the night became an ally to your most primal instincts.

You find yourself irresistibly drawn to his lips once more, your fingers deftly unbuttoning his shirt to unveil a torso that seemed sculpted from the purest alabaster, each muscle defined and glistening under the dim lights. Your hands glide down, slipping beneath the waistband of his boxers, where you discover him, rigid and unyielding, as if chiseled from the very essence of desire. Your fingertips dance along his length, slickened by the tantalizing bead of precum, igniting a primal groan that escapes his lips.

"Stop. Playing. With. Me." he growls through gritted teeth, his jaw clenching, each word a low rumble filled with a raw hunger that sends shivers down your spine. Yet the sight of Gojo's dominant side only stirs your defiance; you smirk, biting your lower lip in a way that teases the last crumble of his restraint.

In an instant, he lunges, pinning you beneath him, a predatory gleam in his azure eyes that speaks of insatiable lust. With swift movements, he secures you with the seatbelt, a binding that both confines and excites, as he plunges into you with a ferocity that borders on madness. The leather seat cradles you as his body claims yours. His whispers—unholy and fervent—fill your ear, intertwining with the frantic rhythm of his thrusts.

Your body writhes beneath him, struggling to accommodate his size as he lifts your legs in a mean mating press, positioning you in a way that elicits gasps of pleasure from your lips. Your eyes flutter shut, rolling back in bliss as each thrust strikes your sweet spot with a precision that sends shockwaves of ecstasy coursing through you. His grip on your ankles tightens, leaving marks of possession, a crimson hue blooming on your skin.

“Please… don’t stop… oh… feels so good,” you manage to articulate between breaths, your desperation palpable. A brand new, incredibly powerful pressure builds in your core, an impending wave crashing against the shore of your sanity. You claw at his biceps, fighting against the constriction of the seat belts wrapped around your wrists, in the attempt to hold on to him, leaving scratches down his popping muscles, while teetering on the brink of euphoria.

But just as you feel the gates of paradise beginning to part in front of you, the sharp sensation of your nails digging into his flesh pulls him back from the brink. The gentler side of Gojo emerges, his rhythmic assault halting as he brushes stray hair from your damp forehead, concern etched into his striking features. “Sorry… I let him… take control. Is it too much? Are you okay?” he breathes heavily, his voice a mixture of vulnerability and sincerity.

Frustration bubbles within you, a mixture of disbelief and longing. “ Oh No…Just shut up and fuck me, Satoru,” you demand greedy and harshly, your hips grinding against his, desperate for the friction that ignites every nerve ending in your body.

“Here we go again…” A wicked smile spreads across his lips as the dominant Satoru reclaims the moment, his eyes igniting with unholy delight. He resumes his fervent pace, deciding to test you even further: he starts tormenting you to madness, drawing small, fast circles on your swollen clit with the determined aim of pushing you closer to the edge once more. Reduced to a quivering mess, you whimper and beg for release, every sound a testament to your total submission.

“Do you know how beautiful you look when you’re close to your limits? How hard I get in front of your pretty face begging me to let you come?” he taunts, a spark of madness dancing in his gaze. A shiver races down your spine as he continues, “I want to see that face… over and over again tonight.” His cock twitches within you, a sadistic promise echoing in the depths of your mind, the world outside forgotten as you plunge deeper into this carnal abyss.

The endless cycle of pleasure and denial blurs time as his personalities intertwine within your very being, each thrust a reminder of his dominance, each shift a new wave of ecstasy. Until finally, he grants you release, the highest of highs exploding within you, while your bullied gummy walls flutter around him in a frenetic dance, your whole body unraveling as you succumb to the powerful climax, collapsing against him. Incapable of holding on any longer in front of such a marvellous sight, Gojo follows you into the forbidden paradise of maddening pleasure soon after, exploding in a series of forceful, copious spurts of thick seed, hitting your cervix , proving you further overstimulated pleasure bordering with delicious pain.

“You’ve been such a good girl for me tonight…” he whispers against your forehead,  his breath warm, the frenzy in his eyes now dimmed to a soft glow. “Well…” he chuckles, his tone teasing as he helps you gather your still trembling self. “That’s not exactly what I had in mind for our first time together, but I think we can agree it surpassed any expectation.” you let out a tired,contented sigh, running your hands in his hair, caressing his nape sofly right above his undercut “ that was perfect, indeed…just…I was scared you would never let me finish at some point… guess you also have the ‘strongest stamina’” you joke “by the way..how long has it been?” You pull back slightly to look up at him with a questioning look. His eyes wide as the picture of Yuji and Megumi waiting for you on the sidewalk out of the cinema, pissed by his usual delay. “Oh shit…I forgot …Yuji and Megumi should be done with the movie by now..” he stood up in an uncoordinated motion and gently helped your still trembling form to get dressed.

You leave the darkness of the wood behind under the pale rays of a sneering moon, finally in full display, free from the veil of clouds: he starts the engine and drives back to the city, the remnants of your wild encounter linger in the air, unbothered by the chilling presence of the demon’s severed head resting in the trunk, a stark reminder of the darkness that lingers just beyond the thrill of your desires.

This is the song I had in mind writing this...(I would say Number 18 would suit better😅)

[dreamingkitsunewrites]

PENNY DREADFUL SERIES: Materialist

...is a short series of oneshots combining nsfw/smut content with some typical horror elements... (please MDNI and make sure to read the warning tags before opening if you're not comfortable with dark themes). Each of the following episodes combines one of the Jjk men with a gothic novel and a kink.

I am honored to announce that this series is part of the SPOOKINKY event, created by @tsukimefuku , whom I would like to thank for hosting this brilliant initiative!

Hope you'll enjoy it!

~Where does Penny Dreadful come from?~

Penny dreadfuls were cheap popular serial literature produced during the 19th century in the United Kingdom. 

VIII. THE MOON (GOJO SATORU x DR JEKYLL and MR. HYDE x car sex )

"I learned to recognise the thorough and primitive duality of man; I saw that, of the two natures that contended in the field of my consciousness, even if I could rightly be said to be either, it was only because I was radically both.""

The Perfume (CHOSO KAMO x Perfume: the Story of a Murderer x Olfactophilia)

"For people could close their eyes to greatness, to horrors, to beauty, and their ears to melodies or deceiving words. But they couldn't escape scent. For scent was a brother of breath. Together with breath it entered human beings, who couldn't defend themselves against it, not if they wanted to live. And scent entered into their very core, went directly to their hearts, and decided for good and all between affection and contempt, disgust and lust, love and hate. He who ruled scent ruled the hearts of men."

The Hidden Reflection of the Darkness Within (NANAMI KENTO X The Picture of Dorian Gray x Katoptronophilia)

"Behind every exquisite thing that existed, there was something tragic (...)Nowadays people know the price of everything and the value of nothing."

A Question of Faith (GETO +SUKUNA x 'Interview with the Vampire x Corruption kink)

"Evil is a point of view. We are immortal. And what we have before us are the rich feasts that conscience cannot appreciate and mortal men cannot know without regret."

[dreamingkitsunewrites]

Just finished the filthiest fic I've ever written... and nothing...no shower for me tonight,I'll bathe directly in holy water after this....

[dreamingkitsunewrites]

New Gojo fic for the PENNY DREADFUL SERIES coming in a few hours... 😏

Prompt Reveal: DR JECKYLL AND MR HYDE GOJO!

[rahuratna]

I honestly needed a moment to appreciate just HOW MUCH you poured into this story. I'm going to start by saying that this is such an incredibly evocative take on a 'grey' version of Nanami. It captures the essence of who he'd be without being bound to duty and sacrifice: Nanami the hedonist. I can't believe I just typed that, lol, and thank you for allowing me to do that, truly.

Firstly, the choice of 'The Tempest' as the play they are watching is wonderful. The idea of freedom from constraints, whether physical or not, ties in so beautifully with the Dorian Grey AU idea. Nanami's union with the reader later becomes exactly this, a means to break free from the chains that tie him to the past and prevent him from healing fully. He becomes a hedonist in the fullest sense, but without the pathos and sordid nature of the character of Dorian Grey. Nanami, instead, returns to a scarred self that is more whole and beautiful for its truth.

Kat, just writing this out is making me realise how marvelously you've pulled this off.

Furthermore, there's something so rich and lush in your writing of this one. Your story is packed with sensuous detail, such as the way their anticipation and excitement reaches a crescendo during the course of the play. I love the way that was written, and I felt every moment of it, that familiar sensation of knowing someone you admire and desire could, in all likelihood, become your lover. That entire scene is just injected with that specific type of electric longing.

Then there was the conversation between them, echoing so beautifully some of the interactions between Dorian and Basil in the book. While Basil falls under Dorian's spell (and is wholly wretched because of it) here we see your take on a reversal of roles, where Nanami becomes entranced with the reader, enough to allow her into his inner sanctum, not so much the show of trust as a means to relieve himself of the burden he has been carrying.

This is where your portrayal of his character shines: he never loses his quiet fortitude, his desire for something better for himself, a way out of the labyrinth that eternal beauty would give him. Nanami would never be satisfied with that status quo, even as a 'grey' character. His need to be seen as his true and authentic self would always win.

Then there's the intimate scene between them. Phewwwwww. Kat. The passion between them was off the charts and in a FULLY MIRRORED BEDROOM of all things. Thank you for this blessing. 😭

But again, I have to delve deeper into that and marvel, once again, at the thought you put into the symbolism here. He makes her look at herself, and him in his scarred form, a complete and TRUE union, since a mirror shows you all your flaws and your beauty, in unrelenting detail.

And the final scene, in which she looks up at the mirror and sees their lovemaking in all its glory, her realisation at that point that what they are creating is beautiful for the truth and purity of its form, the most intimate of acts without concealment or the deception of an enchanted portrait, is such a fulfilling end to this stunning  tale.

Kat, thank you for giving me such a glorious read this evening. I took my time and relished every moment of it.

A "The Picture of Dorian Gray"!- inspired Nanami fic in two acts (From my Jjk Penny Dreadful Series-here)

*°࿐ Synopsis: After a harrowing escape from the hell of Shibuya, Nanami Kento finds a dark, twisted method to conceal the deep wounds forever etched on his flesh and spirit. He relocates to Malaysia, shedding his former identity in search of s fresh start, driven by the allure of an hedonistic lifestyle. He quickly resigns himself to a solitary existence, prioritising secrecy above all else's -that is, until one evening at the theatre, when your paths fatefully cross. What will happen next in this unfolding tale of tragedy and rebirth?

*°࿐Tags: Act 2- Nsfw + dark content (Katoptronophilia- mirror kink, softdom!nanami, fem! masturbation, pinv, breeding kink, graphic description of scar and injuries)

This work is part of the SPOOKINKY 2024 event hosted by @tsukimefuku 🖤

"Behind every exquisite thing that existed, there was something tragic (...)Nowadays people know the price of everything and the value of nothing." -Oscar Wilde

࿐✧˖*° Fic Moodboard here✧˖*°࿐

Beneath the dim, flickering glow of the bakery where you work everyday, you move like a shadow, wiping the counter where the day’s sweet offerings linger—croissants, chocolate éclairs—fragrant remnants of a life half-lived. The scent clings to you, comforting yet oppressive, as you linger on the past. A year has passed since you fled into this quiet corner of Malaysia, seeking escape, yearning for the hum of the ocean outside your window. Here, in the solitude of this bakery, you’ve become a ghost—part of the background, invisible to all but the clock and the empty tables.

Yet tonight, something stirs deep within you. At the end of your shift, you return to your cozy apartment, heading to your bedroom to let your fingers graze the golden ticket on your nightstand, a silent promise of a dream that has been lingering in your personal space for weeks: The Tempest. Tonight, the magic of Shakespeare’s world will finally become your own. You slip into the emerald night dress you bought for this occasion, catching a fleeting glimpse of a brand new woman reborn in the mirror, staring back with a defiant gaze.

…

The air of the theater hums with electricity as you step inside, your dress shimmering like a forest at dusk. Eyes turn, glances linger. The crowd falls into a hush, a soft murmur ripples through the room. You feel their gaze—a strange, unknown sensation, both exhilarating and disquieting- you’re definitely not used to being the focus of the attention around you. As you navigate the rows to your seat, eager to find yours and hide among the crowd of faces, a chill runs down your spine. There, across the balcony, a familiar figure watches you—a tall, elegant man, poised in a timeless black tuxedo.The tailored jacket hugs his athletic frame,  the deep midnight black fabric contrasting strikingly with his fair complexion. A white pocket square elegantly peeks out from the breast pocket, while a finely knotted bow tie adds a sophisticated touch. His reserved nature, shadowed by a hint of intrigue, seems to enchant every woman in the auditorium, inviting curiosity from all who cross his path. With an air of mystery that surrounds him, he garners attention effortlessly, embodying both charm and enigma in every subtle movement.

It’s him—Mr. Nanami, the enigmatic man who has haunted the bakery for months. Always at his corner table, always with a book in hand, always distant, as though carved from some distant age. His gaze is now fixed on you, unblinking, his caramel eyes drinking in every movement you make. Even among the crowd, he is a statue, an artifact of mystery, his blonde hair gleaming under the theater’s lights, his presence too immense to ignore.

«If by your Art, my dearest father, you have

put the wild waters in this roar, allay them.

The sky, it seems, would pour down stinking pitch,

But that the sea, mounting to the welkin's cheek,

Dashes the fire out.»

The character of Miranda finally speaks, signalling the start of the play. Lights go off, the world fading into darkness around you, but his gaze never wavers. It pulses between you, an electric current that thrums in your chest. Even as the actors bring the stage to life, Nanami’s attention is all on you. His eyes trace the delicate curve of your neck, they notice the way the silk of your dress clings to your feminine figure—every movement, every breath amplified. In the silence between the scenes, memories of brief encounters in the bakery flood both of your minds—small gestures, the fleeting brush of hands as you served his command. Every mundane act now seems to acquire a deeper meaning, hinting at the long buried electricity now resurfacing in all of its power.

The actors' words echo in your mind, their tale of rediscovery mirroring your own. You feel the thread between you and Nanami tighten with each passing scene. Your heartrate is accelerates inexplicably, his hands itch imperceptibly. By the play's end, the applause is drowned by the weight of his gaze, a fleeting glance that feels like an unspoken invitation. The crowd fades, and you are lost in the depths of his eyes—amber pools that seem to hold unspeakable secrets. What darkness lingers behind them? What truths lie hidden beneath his composed exterior?

In that moment, you are both spectator and part of the story, caught between the stage and the gaze of the man who watches you from the shadows, as if you are both part of the same forgotten tale.

The applause swells, a rising tide of sound that drowns everything around you. The faces blur, the claps echo like thunder, and your senses are swept into the frenzy. Yet, goosebumps rise along your exposed back, a shiver that has nothing to do with the cold. In the midst of chaos, your consciousness fails to identify the tall figure slipping quietly behind you, a shadow stretching long across your seat. But your body doesn't: every fiber of your being tenses in alert, time stretching as if waiting for something to happen at any moment.

Nanami’s hand lingers for a heartbeat before resting on your shoulder, a firm, yet gentle touch. The unexpected pressure makes you gasp, the sound barely a whisper.

"Mr. Nanami... What a surprise," you murmur, turning to face him, your voice trembling like a prayer as you feign surprise. His name spills from your lips, the remnants of the performance still thick in the air.

"Good evening, Mrs... I apologize for the intrusion," he says, his tone softer than you expected. "I saw you in the crowd and... I couldn't resist."

His apology is followed by a smile—small, sincere, and unlike the elusive stranger you’ve come to know. You blink in disbelief, caught off guard by this sudden warmth.

"Good evening," you reply, your words stammered. "No need to apologize. I’m glad you noticed me." Beneath the surface, you are deeply surprised by the fact that he did really recognize you, a simple waitress, a face everyone easily forgets.

He chuckles softly, eyes flickering with interest as he watches you. "The actors were amazing tonight, weren't they?" he continues, easing into the conversation. " Yes, indeed” you answer “I've always been fond of drama... the way music, scenery, poetry, and dance all blend into one living thing."

He catches the spark igniting your eyes as you speak, lost in your own enthusiasm. "Yes, I think it's the perfect kind of art... a fusion of all forms. A single experience woven from many threads."

He watches you, entranced by your remarkable passion for arts. Nanami always secretly thought you looked beautiful, admiring your kind nature from afar while you served tables at the bakey. But tonight he can't help feeling drawn to your every movement, noticing every detail of you, the most attractive woman he has ever laid eyes on in a while. Suddenly a low chuckle escapes him, catching you by surprise: "A real aesthete, aren’t you? I think I’ve finally found a worthy companion for my abstract musings." He muses.

You smile back, amused by the compliment. "So…you are... an ‘aesthete’ too?" you ask playfully.

"Ah... I prefer the term hedonist. There's a difference. An aesthete merely appreciates beauty for its own sake. A hedonist seeks to immerse themselves in it, to live for the pleasure it brings. Do you understand?" He smiles wryly.

You nod, half-missing the full meaning. "It makes sense to me... though 'hedonism' isn't a word you hear much these days."

At your remark, something flickers in his eyes—a momentary hesitation. His gaze drifts away, as though lost in a distant thought. Then he snaps back,as shaken from a dream.

"I have a question for you," he says, his voice now heavier. "Since you’re so drawn to this kind of topic... what do you think? Does life imitate art, or is it art that imitates life?"

You blink, caught off guard. His question is as profound as it is unsettling. Sensing your confusion, he continues, voice tightening with a quiet vulnerability.

"I know it sounds tautological... contradictory, even. But these thoughts are born from years of reflection, of trying to make sense of life."

He pauses, and for a moment, the air between you thickens with unspoken tension. The weight of his words settles around you, and you sense his inner battle—fear of revealing too much.

"Life is indeed the most intricate of masterpieces," you say softly, your voice soothing the strain in his words. "But I believe we create it. We choose the colors, the shapes, the shadows of our existence."

His eyes soften, a long, silent moment passing between you. Then, as though the walls around him have cracked, he sighs, and his words spill out.

"I’ve always had a special sensitivity... but my past... it hardened me, consumed me. I spent years hiding from it, burying my feelings beneath logic and calculation. And when I finally faced those demons, I realized..." He trails off, the confession hanging between you.

You wait, breath held, as he collects his thoughts. "I thought the pleasures of art and literature were gone forever. I thought I had lost them. But then..." He falters again, lost in the depths of his own emotions.

You try to simplify his cryptic confession. "So... you retired early and moved to Malaysia, didn't you? It's not something to be ashamed of, it's common practice here, Malaysia is such a dreamy place. I myself have left everything behind and fled here…" You try to make him feel at ease, failing to notice the deeper meaning behind his words.

His lips curled up in a faint smile, a touch of sadness in his eyes. How could such a pure soul like yours grasp the horrors hidden behind his elegant appearance? "Yes... escaping a life I didn’t recognize anymore seemed the only choice I had a year ago."

You smile back, unaware of the weight of his past, yet moved by his vulnerability. "It seems like we both needed to escape something,then" you say gently.

He watches you intensely, and for a moment, the shadows of his past flicker in his gaze, along if something else- quiet admiration for your spontaneous genuineness. Then, without warning, he clears his throat, inviting you to continue your discussion elsewhere:

"I hope you won’t misunderstand," he says, his voice low and hesitant. "But...would you join me for a drink tonight? I’d love to continue this conversation... and perhaps share a book with you. If you'd allow me."

You accept without hesitation, the thrill of the unknown surging through you. Walking side by side along the moonlit shore, your steps are light, the air thick with possibility. The evening unfolds before you, a path leading to an unseen discovery, your heart fluttering, unaware of the darkness that lurks just beyond the light of the moon, reflected inside his golden irises.

The ebony door creaks open, a haunting sound that reverberates through the dimly lit corridor as Nanami, with an air of quiet dignity, unlocks the entrance to his home, his quiet sanctuary. Leaning forward, he flicks the light switch, and with a courteous gesture, steps aside, allowing you to cross the threshold. Click. A warm, golden light floods the space, spilling like liquid amber into the darkness, inviting you into the treasure trove that is Nanami's home.

As you step inside, the musty scent of aged books mingles with a faint undertone of turpentine, whisking you away to a distant realm where art and literature reign supreme. The air is thick with stories untold, whispers of creativity echoing off the walls. Each available inch of wall space is claimed by an eclectic mix of paintings, their colors vibrant against the deep shadows. Books of every genre crowd every angle of the refined, tastefully furnished open space that stretches before you. Your eyes widen, your jaw drops; you are mesmerized, trying to absorb every intricate detail of this artistic sanctuary.

"I hope this is to your liking," Nanami's amused chuckle pulls you from your reverie, his voice like a gentle breeze stirring the still air.

"This... all of this... is yours? The paintings, the books, the antiques? How...?" You stammer, incredulous, as you survey the vast collection that feels both intimate and monumental.

"Yes," he replies, a contemplative smile gracing his lips as he leans against the doorframe, the shadows dancing across his features. "This collection is my legacy, the thing I’m most proud of..." His voice trails off, and as you admire his possessions, you fail to notice the way his gaze lingers on you, filled with a blend of longing and admiration. In his mind, your figure blurs with the contours of the most graceful of Aphrodites, the missing piece of his collection, the first soul to step into his sanctuary after a long, lonely stretch of time. He watches you spin around his living room, a vision of grace in a flowing dress that clings to your curves like a delicate drapery on a marble statue.

He could grow accustomed to this sight, to you... And in that fateful moment, he lowers his guard, granting you access to the most secluded part of his soul, a realm he has shielded jealously over the years. "Why don’t you take a tour of the house while I pour us a drink? What do you prefer: Cabernet or Whiskey?" he asks, his genuine smile like a rare gem in the dim light.

"Thank you, I’d like to explore your collection further… as for the drink… you choose, surprise me," you reply chuckling mischievously, a thrilling tension crackling in the air as your eyes lock with his, an electric connection that sends shivers down your spine.

The floorboards creak beneath your feet as you venture deeper into the labyrinthine layout, navigating narrow corridors flanked by towering shelves that groan under the weight of Nanami's extensive collection. Each step draws you further into his world, a place where dreams and memories intertwine.

As you explore, you ascend the stairs to the first floor, stumbling upon a cozy library. A plush, crimson armchair beckons you, piled high with dog-eared paperbacks and a precarious tower of art monographs. The adjacent bookshelf stands as a shrine to literary giants—Austen, Dickens, Joyce—their timeless works nestled alongside a first edition of Hemingway's "The Old Man and the Sea."

You are about to descend when something catches your eye: A door at the end of the corridor is slightly ajar, challenges you, invites your curiosity. A thrill courses through you, an all-consuming desire to uncover the mystery hidden within. Drawn by an unseen force, you approach, your heart racing as your trembling hand hovers over the doorknob. With a gentle push, you swing the door open, and a sudden burst of light slices through the darkness, momentarily blinding you. As your vision clears, you find yourself staring at your own reflection, an astonished figure in a green dress, caught in the web of shadows.

Stepping further into the room, you realize you’ve entered Nanami's peculiar bedroom. A quilted round bed dominates the space, surrounded by floor-to-ceiling mirrors that create a dizzying effect, reflecting your image endlessly in the dim light. Your gaze travels, and you find a portrait hanging on the wall—a blond man who looks strikingly like Nanami, but marred by burn scars that crisscross his body like a roadmap of pain, telling a story of flames that once ravaged his skin. His eyes, a deep, piercing gold, seem to harbor the weight of those infernos, a flicker of fire still smoldering within.

“Is this... Nanami?” you whisper to yourself, disbelief coursing through you.

"So you found out..." a faint, emotionless voice emerges from the shadows, and you immediately turn: Nanami stands on the threshold, his attractive features marred by a mask of suffering and resignation. He holds a single book in his hands: The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde.

"Nanami... I didn’t mean to intrude. The door was slightly open, and I..." you stammer, searching for an excuse. " But…What is this? Who is the man in the portrait?" you finally manage to ask, your voice trembling with confusion.

His gaze drops to the floor, a deep sadness enveloping him. "I wanted to lend you this book…maybe it would have helped you better comprehend this situation of mine. I’ve always related to Wilde’s work…and its Preface holds everything I’ve painfully learnt about life” his words ring hollow in your ears, emptied of any meaning. “This portrait... It represents the state of my soul. This... is what I really look like." His voice is heavy with truth, and the weight of his words hangs in the air like a dark cloud.

A storm of questions swirls in your mind, casting you into a sea of panic, while your gaze flashes between him and the man of the picture "This...  it can't be real. Nanami, what really happened? What is this story about?"

"Please, listen to me..." he interrupts, his tone now urgent, demanding your full attention. "Over a year ago, I was involved in an accident in Shibuya,on the night of Halloween and got severely injured. I barely managed to survive, but half of my body was burned, damaged irreparably..."

He takes a step closer, his expression lost as he struggles to share his truth. "When I woke up in a hospital bed, I took a look in the mirror, and realized I would have never been the same man I was.” He pauses, trying to steady his accelerated breath “ seeing my condition, an old friend of mine decided to set off, travelling the world for weeks in search of a way to restore my appearance. And I thought he had returned victorious at first, when he proposed to me an ancient curse allowing me to channel all of my pain and ugliness into that portrait. So I ended up switching places with the man now hanging above my bed. My friend helped me escape to start anew in this secluded place of Earth, but the truth is that this was never meant to be a blessing…with time I fell prey of the illusion of my appearance, trapping myself in a cage of mirrors, constantly afraid to see my real aspect resurfacing…I’ve been such a fool to forget the real nature of this expedient: a curse will always be always a curse"

He retreats, hiding behind a wall of shame and guilt. "I don’t expect you to understand. You know nothing of the world of sorcery from which I came... and...I wouldn't blame you if you turned your back at me now, pointing at me like a devil…"

As he fights to suppress the lump in his throat, you stand in front of him, your knees threatening to give in at every word spilling from his mouth. But it's in this moment that you see his true nature for the first time—a broken man, whose defenses are now crumbling under the weight of his long-buried secrets. "I’ve missed my chance with you, I cannot hide from the monster I’ve become," he whispers, his voice cracking with guilt and regret.

Without thinking, you step forward, closing the distance between you. Nanami's breath hitches as your hesitant hand cups his chiseled jaw, grounding him in the moment. It is high time to free him from the demons of his past.  "Destroy the picture, Nanami... don’t let that portrait weigh down your soul any longer." 

Your words provoke an earthquake into Nanami's world: his eyes widen, meeting the compassionate determination in your gaze. "And this doesn't change anything, I’m not leaving…You don’t have to hide anymore, not from me," you say softly, knowing in your heart that this moment could be the key to unlocking the darkness that has held him captive for far too long.

…

His resolve wavers as he gazes upon your lips, mere inches away from his, a tantalizing promise lingering in the air. The last thread of self-control snaps when you pull him closer, pressing your curves against his sculpted form. In that intoxicating moment, he crashes his mouth to yours, a desperate kiss that spills forth your insecurities in a breathless plea for understanding. Lips collide, and the world fades, leaving just the two of you suspended in a cocoon of time and space. 

Fingers roam restlessly, exploring, dancing over each other’s bodies in a fervent embrace, like lightning illuminating a starless sky with passion's raw energy. The kiss deepens, heats, igniting flames of longing as he pins you against the cool surface of the mirror, your bare back shivering at the sudden chill. He looms over you, strong and commanding, tension rippling through his broad shoulders before he seizes the lower edge of a golden-framed picture, throwing it to the ground with a shattering crash. 

The echo reverberates through the room, breaking the spell that held you. As the cursed image lies in shards, you blink to find the real Nanami before you, a man sculpted by both fire and fate, his scars merely facets of a twisted charm. He holds his breath, waiting for your response, his vulnerability laid bare in the depths of his eyes. 

You stay silent at first. Your trembling fingers deftly start to unbutton his shirt, tracing a path from fine fabric to the rough, fibrous tissue of his burned skin. “You look even more handsome in my eyes now,Nanami... ripped at every edge but still holding your original charm, like the finest masterpiece” you finally speak, voice thick with emotion “you’re strong, you can heal. Let me help you, please... let me…” The weight of your invitation hangs in the air, a siren's call that stirs something deep within him. He hesitantly captures your wandering hand, “Are you sure?” he asks, his forehead resting against yours, a silent confession of both uncertainty and deep care. 

In answer, you push his shirt off his shoulders, your hands gliding over the contours of his biceps, igniting a wildfire in his chest long thought extinguished. You offer him compassion and heartfelt affection, and in that moment, he feels worthy of love again. “I am sure, Nanami… give me all of you without restraints tonight…show me you’re willing to start anew” 

“Fuck,” he gasps, his hands gripping your waist, spinning you around to face the mirror. “See how stunning you look? You are too much for me now,do you understand it?” He desperately spits out through gritted teeth “but if you choose to give yourself to me tonight, know that there will be no turning back. I won’t accept being left alone tomorrow...” His breath tickles your neck as he nibbles at your soft skin, pulling back to meet your gaze with a gravity that sends shivers down your spine. “What do you say? Do you accept my condition?” 

“Yes,” you simply breathe out, eyes locked on the reflection before you, feeling small yet cherished in his powerful embrace. “I guess I am the luckiest of  men, then…” His warm breath cascades over the delicate flesh behind your ear, a relieved smile curling against your skin as you tremble between his arms. 

“I could hold you like this forever…” he whispers, tracing the line of your spine with his index finger. His hands find the thin straps of your dress, gently coaxing them down your shoulders. The silky fabric slips away, pooling at your feet, revealing you in all your glory. “You are a masterpiece here, the most exquisite work of art I have ever seen.”

His gaze drifts to the mirror, breathless as he drinks in the sight of your curves, fingers exploring the valley between your breasts, brushing against your hardened nipples with a soft touch that ignites a deep groan from his throat. “Look at you; I’m going to worship every inch of your delicious body tonight, just like a painter brushing the pure canvas in front of him, I will paint your body with pleasure and reverence” With a confident caress, his hand glides down, cupping your sex, igniting a spark of longing that makes your breath hitch. 

“Nanami,” your voice is a prayer, each syllable infused with need as he parts your folds, cool air colliding with your now exposed clit. His experienced fingers start to explore your womanhood and a shiver dances along your spine “So soft,so wet for me already… keep those beautiful eyes open for me,I want you to watch as we create a work of art of pleasure tonight.” his other hand cups your chin, preventing you from looking away from your entwined image.

He moves with purpose, fingers drawing delicate circles on your sensitive nub, escalating your breaths into gasps. “You know, I’ve always believed that sex is a form of art—the highest, perhaps. The sensations it creates, the way bodies merge in a symphony of unbridled passion…” His rhythm quickens, pressure mounting until you scream his name, your body arching as waves of pleasure crash over you. 

“Let it happen, just like that, give in to it, feel the way your body yearns for mine” he encourages you, guiding you throughout your climax with his confident ministrations. “Look at you now,” he cups your jaw, tilting your head to see the beauty of your flushed cheeks and wild hair. “You are alive… the essence of beauty.” His kisses scatter across your skin, igniting every nerve, his hardness pressing against your plush curves, a testament to his hunger. 

His veiny hands unfasten his belt, pulling down his elegant pants to reveal himself to you: a glorious display of manhood, standing proud and ready in the mirror facing you. The base is girthy, the long shaft crossed by a single bluish vein up to the swollen tip, already for glistening with precum “look what your beauty does to me” his hips jacks forward instinctively as he notices the hunger in your eyes “Ready?” he asks once more, searching your gaze for any hint of doubt before entering you slowly from behind, his eyes locked on yours in the reflective surface, watching as pleasure and pain intertwine on your face. 

He’s barely halfway in but you already feel him everywhere, a melding of flesh and desire driving you mad as he fills you completely. A strangled groan escapes him. “fuck, you're too tight… "His eyes flutter shut as he revels in the sensation of your snug channel stretching apart for him, sweaty pearls coaxes his forehead, brows furrowed in concentration “you were made for me.” He buries his face in your hair, inhaling your intoxicating scent as he stills for a moment, savoring the connection of your entwined bodies. 

When his hips begin to move, there is no gentleness—only a primal need. He slams against you, each thrust sending you gasping against the mirror, fingers clutching the golden frame for support. Your body turned into a canvas painted with pleasure: head tilted back, throat exposed, breasts heaving with each  fervent thrust, trembling legs on the brink of surrender.  The smacking sound of flesh meeting flesh reverberates, a wild melody echoing in the room as you surrender to the rhythm of ecstasy, bodies swaying in perfect synchronicity. 

Together, you reach the precipice of bliss. The mirror captures the art of your union, an abstract painting of two entwined souls—calling out each other’s names, your bodies slick and sticky, pressed together in a tender embrace. In that moment, you know that this is more than just a union of bodies; it is a celebration of art, love, and the unyielding spirit of desire.

 Nanami’s eyes roll back as he feels you envelop him in a fierce grip, but he forces his gaze open, eager to witness the masterpiece unfolding before him. “I'm almost there…” He announces, grunting in your ear as he surrenders to your magic. Warm spurts of his very essence paint your walls white, making you his in the most primal of ways. He groans in pride and delight when the glass reflects the lewd sight of his overflowing seed dripping down your leg. Turning to face him, a loving smile dances upon both of your lips, the calm after a storm. “That was incredible, my diamond… thank you for sharing this masterpiece with me,” he murmurs, placing gentle kisses upon your closed eyelids, the warmth of his damp hair brushing against your forehead. “You’ve shown me that with you, I can finally find my way back to beauty.” He nuzzles your noses together, laughter bubbling forth as he regards you with a playful glint in his eye. “But I fear I need more from you tonight… are you ready for another round?”

You nod, a spark reigniting within you, a shared yearning to delve deeper into the connection that has blossomed between you in the stillness of the night. Without warning, he lifts you off the ground, effortlessly cradling you in his arms, bridal-style, and carries you toward his round bed, laying you down upon the luxurious velvet sheets. The sensation takes your breath away, and you gaze up at him, wide-eyed with wonder.

He kneels at your feet, crawling onto the bed, leaving a trail of kisses along your calves, thighs, and stomach, until he reaches your lips. For a moment, he pauses, studying your moonlit features, before pushing himself into your inviting warmth once more. This time, there is no urgency; instead, he makes love to you with a tenderness that transcends flesh, his thrusts slow and deep, punctuated by soft kisses and feather-light caresses. You gaze upward at the mirror hanging from the ceiling, capturing your supine figure beneath his muscled torso, tensing with every intimate movement.

In that sacred moment of Epiphany, the truth unfurls before you: together, you and Nanami create a beauty that has always eluded you both, a beauty that defies the boundaries of time and space, a masterpiece beyond convention. You were each other’s missing piece. Each creak of the bed beneath you resonates with magic, a spell binding you to this moment of bliss and rebirth, witnessed by every mirror surrounding you.

“We are art,” you lean in and whisper into his ear, your voice filled with newfound conviction, as the night wraps around you like a cloak, and the shadows dance in celebration of your fateful union.

Thanks for reading this far!🙏

Comments and Reblogs are appreciated 💕

Don't repost my works without permission.

[dreamingkitsunewrites]

🖤🎉Published the last chapter today!The series is officially over!! 🎉🖤

PENNY DREADFUL SERIES: Materialist

...is a short series of oneshots combining nsfw/smut content with some typical horror elements... (please MDNI and make sure to read the warning tags before opening if you're not comfortable with dark themes). Each of the following episodes combines one of the Jjk men with a gothic novel and a kink.

I am honored to announce that this series is part of the SPOOKINKY event, created by @tsukimefuku , whom I would like to thank for hosting this brilliant initiative!

Hope you'll enjoy it!

~Where does Penny Dreadful come from?~

Penny dreadfuls were cheap popular serial literature produced during the 19th century in the United Kingdom. 

VIII. THE MOON (GOJO SATORU x DR JEKYLL and MR. HYDE x car sex )

"I learned to recognise the thorough and primitive duality of man; I saw that, of the two natures that contended in the field of my consciousness, even if I could rightly be said to be either, it was only because I was radically both.""

The Perfume (CHOSO KAMO x Perfume: the Story of a Murderer x Olfactophilia)

"For people could close their eyes to greatness, to horrors, to beauty, and their ears to melodies or deceiving words. But they couldn't escape scent. For scent was a brother of breath. Together with breath it entered human beings, who couldn't defend themselves against it, not if they wanted to live. And scent entered into their very core, went directly to their hearts, and decided for good and all between affection and contempt, disgust and lust, love and hate. He who ruled scent ruled the hearts of men."

The Hidden Reflection of the Darkness Within (NANAMI KENTO X The Picture of Dorian Gray x Katoptronophilia)

"Behind every exquisite thing that existed, there was something tragic (...)Nowadays people know the price of everything and the value of nothing."

A Question of Faith (GETO +SUKUNA x 'Interview with the Vampire x Corruption kink)

"Evil is a point of view. We are immortal. And what we have before us are the rich feasts that conscience cannot appreciate and mortal men cannot know without regret."

[dreamingkitsunewrites]

Choso fic is here!!!

Heyyyy there! Since HALLOWEEN is approaching, it's high time to finally reveal my idea for this year's celebrations!

PENNY DREADFUL: Materialist

is a short series of oneshots combining nsfw/smut content with some typical horror elements...

(please MDNI and read the warning tags before reading if you're not comfortable with it)

The idea behind the pairings of novels and characters comes from my own reflections on the peculiarities of the latter and their fascinating backstories. Let me know if you also see similarities between our beloved Jjk men (and women) and other spooky books/movies...

I am honored to announce that this series is part of the SPOOKINKY event, created by @tsukimefuku , whom I would like to thank for this brilliant initiative!

Hope you'll enjoy it!

Can you already guess the novel by the quote???😏

Where does Penny Dreadful come from?

Penny dreadfuls were cheap popular serial literature produced during the 19th century in the United Kingdom. The term typically referred to a story published in weekly parts of 8 to 16 pages, each costing one penny. The subject matter of these stories was typically sensational, focusing on the exploits of detectives, criminals, or supernatural entities.

GOJO SATORU X (coming soon). " Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx"

"I learned to recognise the thorough and primitive duality of man; I saw that, of the two natures that contended in the field of my consciousness, even if I could rightly be said to be either, it was only because I was radically both.""

The Perfume (CHOSO KAMO x Perfume: the Story of a Murderer)

"For people could close their eyes to greatness, to horrors, to beauty, and their ears to melodies or deceiving words. But they couldn't escape scent. For scent was a brother of breath. Together with breath it entered human beings, who couldn't defend themselves against it, not if they wanted to live. And scent entered into their very core, went directly to their hearts, and decided for good and all between affection and contempt, disgust and lust, love and hate. He who ruled scent ruled the hearts of men."

NANAMI KENTO X (coming soon) xxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Behind every exquisite thing that existed, there was something tragic (...)Nowadays people know the price of everything and the value of nothing.(...)I don't want to be at the mercy of my emotions. I want to use them, to enjoy them, and to dominate them."

(SPECIAL 🫣) (coming soon). Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Evil is a point of view. We are immortal. And what we have before us are the rich feasts that conscience cannot appreciate and mortal men cannot know without regret. God kills, and so shall we; indiscriminately He takes the richest and the poorest, and so shall we; for no creatures under God are as we are, none so like Him as ourselves, dark angels not confined to the stinking limits of hell but wandering His earth and all its kingdoms."

[tsukimefuku]

More SPOOKINKY submissions!

Thank you a lot for joining in the spookinky train 🎃💜

Heyyyy there! Since HALLOWEEN is approaching, it's high time to finally reveal my idea for this year's celebrations!

PENNY DREADFUL: Materialist

is a short series of oneshots combining nsfw/smut content with some typical horror elements...

(please MDNI and read the warning tags before reading if you're not comfortable with it)

The idea behind the pairings of novels and characters comes from my own reflections on the peculiarities of the latter and their fascinating backstories. Let me know if you also see similarities between our beloved Jjk men (and women) and other spooky books/movies...

I am honored to announce that this series is part of the SPOOKINKY event, created by @tsukimefuku , whom I would like to thank for this brilliant initiative!

Hope you'll enjoy it!

Can you already guess the novel by the quote???😏

Where does Penny Dreadful come from?

Penny dreadfuls were cheap popular serial literature produced during the 19th century in the United Kingdom. The term typically referred to a story published in weekly parts of 8 to 16 pages, each costing one penny. The subject matter of these stories was typically sensational, focusing on the exploits of detectives, criminals, or supernatural entities.

GOJO SATORU X (coming soon). " Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx"

"I learned to recognise the thorough and primitive duality of man; I saw that, of the two natures that contended in the field of my consciousness, even if I could rightly be said to be either, it was only because I was radically both.""

CHOSO KAMO X (coming soon). Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"For people could close their eyes to greatness, to horrors, to beauty, and their ears to melodies or deceiving words. But they couldn't escape scent. For scent was a brother of breath. Together with breath it entered human beings, who couldn't defend themselves against it, not if they wanted to live. And scent entered into their very core, went directly to their hearts, and decided for good and all between affection and contempt, disgust and lust, love and hate. He who ruled scent ruled the hearts of men."

NANAMI KENTO X (coming soon) xxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Behind every exquisite thing that existed, there was something tragic (...)Nowadays people know the price of everything and the value of nothing.(...)I don't want to be at the mercy of my emotions. I want to use them, to enjoy them, and to dominate them."

(SPECIAL 🫣) (coming soon). Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Evil is a point of view. We are immortal. And what we have before us are the rich feasts that conscience cannot appreciate and mortal men cannot know without regret. God kills, and so shall we; indiscriminately He takes the richest and the poorest, and so shall we; for no creatures under God are as we are, none so like Him as ourselves, dark angels not confined to the stinking limits of hell but wandering His earth and all its kingdoms."