#books i would sell my soul to read again
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books i would sell my soul to read again for the first time:
the way i used to be - amber smith
the seven husbands of evelyn hugo - taylor jenkins reid
house of salt and sorrows - erin a craig
if he had been with me - laura nowlin
these violent delights - chloe gong
dance of thieves - mary e. pearson
the silent patient - alex michaelides
caraval - stephanie garber
all the light we cannot see - anthony doerr
#books i would sell my soul to read again#ya fantasy#ya romance#book recommendations#the way i used to be#the seven husbands of evelyn hugo#evelyn and celia#house of salt and sorrows#if he had been with me#these violent delights#chloe gong#roma montagov#juliette cai#dance of thieves#jase ballenger#kazi#the silent patient#caraval#caraval series#scarlett dragna#all the light we cannot see#sad books#booktok#books#enemies to lovers
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Dp x Dc thoughts and stuff
New Dimension, Who's This?
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6
From Danny's short experience Jason was about as trusting as he first was when Fright Night joined him. He didn’t think Frighty’s method of accept my eternal loyalty or die would work very well here. The guy, despite looking like a brick wall and a fridge had a child, seemed to have a very gooey center. Now to hope that wasn’t just the contaminated ecto.
Contact was the easiest way to get the bad ecto (Becto?) out and he was NOT one for cuddling. Just mentioning it made the man squirm, well not outwardly, but his core shivered.
Danny didn't see a big deal in it, but maybe it had been the years in the ghost realm, where personal space wasn't really a thing when you can phase through people... his human half was also used to Tucker and Sam, whom he'd shared a bed with so many times Jazz ended up giving him a pamphlet on "healthy polyamory".
Alfred, the name of the butler, had convinced Jason to take him on a tour of the manor. There were about a million rooms, way too many living spaces (no one needed that many seating areas), a whole barn, and a really nice kitchen with food that didn't fight back.
As they walked Danny kept close, either a hand on his shoulder or floating close enough to be up against him.
Although Jason seemed stoic externally Danny could feel each and every emotion he had. He never seemed uncomfortable with Danny, but he was guarded. Some feelings, like nostalgia, became volatile from the corrupted ecto and quickly turned into anger.
One of these times was just seeing Tim, his brother, came out of his room with about 12 empty coffee cups in hand. The feeling, for just a second, started as care that switched to anger quicker than Danny had been expecting. There had been an emotion between the two, but Danny hadn't caught it. The anger seemed more ghostly than the first part, it was shaky and unstable.
With that shift came a surge of ecto that sounded like a screaming child, Danny placed a second hand on him to help filter it out. His eyes flickered green then went back to the light blue with a grayish outline that they had been before.
Tim had stopped in his tracks, frozen in place with his mountain of dirty cups. No one moved. Then, as if nothing happened, Jason continued walking, leading Danny to what he’d come to find was the library.
Danny loved to read as a kid, but he died, had to stop the ghost coming through his parent's portal, save the world, pass high school, become king, and give up a more human life to dedicate to ruling an entire dimension that he never got back into it. Especially once he'd established peace throughout most of the realm: a majority of his work consisted of paper work. Very boring paper work.
"You can grab a book if you want." Jason sat on a comfy looking chair, leaning into it and slouching down. He looked a lot less intimidating like this.
"Nah. I have to read a lot for work, but thanks for the offer." Danny floated above him, one hand anchoring him to the man.
"What do you do for work?" Jason asked, not putting the book down.
"Lot of people sell their soul." Danny watched his own hair flowing in the air like it was underwater, he's not sure when it started doing that, but it looked badass so he wasn't complaining. "It’s depressing paperwork when you have to define the worth of a soul in numbers."
Jason hummed and continued to read. They sat there like that for a while before Jason spoke up again.
"How did you know the pit rage was taking over, when we were in the hall."
"Ghost speak isn't translatable exactly, but your core kinda babbles like a baby." Danny looked down at the man, he'd closed his book. "It cries when it's angry and cries when it's sad, but your human emotions come first and are amplified by your core."
"So, what, you just heard a ghost crying?"
"More like I heard your human emotions through a megaphone and then ghostly crying right after."
Jason picked his book back up, but Danny had a feeling he wasn't actually reading it.
They stayed like that for what felt like hours to Danny. He didn't think it right to ask any questions. Besides, he was being vague about his own answers too.
Through the years he'd gotten the hang of being cryptic enough while still giving an answer from Clocky.
Clockwork!
Danny sat up, accidentally pulling Jason up with him a bit. "I need to get in contact with Clockwork!"
Jason grumbled and fixed his jacket, "Who's that?"
"The ancient of time, he'll know how to get me back and how to fix you... if he answers or wasn't behind this."
...
Jason did not seem happy about contacting the hellblazer/detective, but he was in town. What luck.
Danny no longer felt very lucky when the blonde detective with a strong English accent started yelling.
"This is the fucker wreaking havoc with the lazarus pits?"
Jason sighed, "Can you help us or not?"
The man breathed out a puff of smoke and mumbled to himself. "Yeah, yeah. I can help." He sat on the nearest chair and looked down at his PDA, or well, Jason said they were phones. This universe seemed a few years past his own. "The infinite realms aren't easy to get a hold of. You need to be pretty powerful to go in between the realms. How did you get stuck here anyway?"
"Was practicing with my dimension hopping dog, I went through a portal, he didn't. Now I'm stuck here." Technically that wasn't a lie, he was with Cujo when he himself had made the portal.
"Dimension hopping dog, right." He took another hit from his cigarette before grunting and standing up. Danny wasn't a fan of this type: arrogant bastards that believe you aren't worth their time. "Only thing I can think of is a summoning."
"Okay sure, how do we do that?" Danny asked floating behind Jason, a hand on his back. John looked at him skeptically, so Danny shot back. "I've never done a summoning that would be ridiculous! That's like standing in the same room with someone and calling them."
"Fine, let’s go down to the cave."
Once in fruit loop 3.0's basement the hellblazer pulled out a book and started drawing out patterns on the floor. Danny recognized a few words, which gave him confidence that the summoning would at least bring someone from the infinite realms.
The wording was very old, but from what he could read it was about summoning the most powerful being in the infinite realms.
Danny assumed it would be Clockwork, and just hoped its wasn’t some manifestation of Pariah Dark.
John finished, then turned to stand at the front as if he'd rather be anywhere else but here, and started to chant. The circle glowed a familiar homely green when he feels a pull in his gut.
"Fuck."
...
Jason watched as Constantine drew out the circle with strange hieroglyphs. He'd read that book when trying to find ways to remove the pit rage years ago. This summoning was meant for the strongest being in the entire realm. It could be any kind of monstrosity.
His stomach dropped when the sickly green glow filled the room. The shadows danced unnaturally and the room dropped a few degrees.
Behind him Danny made a blip of a noise and disappeared. For a moment he assumed the man was scared, making himself invisible to hide from the creature crawling out from a hell dimension.
Only he didn't feel Danny behind him anymore.
"Welp... didn't expect that. Definitely an ego boost I tell ya." Standing in the center of the circle was Danny. He didn't look anything like the man he'd spent all day with. He was a few feet taller, had pale green skin that shone almost white and six lanky arms with pointed nails. The fangs and slightly pointed ears he already had were pulled longer, his legs were just as unsettling as his arms, it almost looked like he'd been pulled through a black hole. Stretched through time and space.
His hair was longer as well, it floated above him like it wasn't experiencing gravity. Floating above that was a ring of a green aurora borealis. His face was hard to look at directly, it shifted. It was just the outlines, it was all eyes, it was empty, it was a black hole.
Around him shone little starts that twinkled occasionally, Jason had been part of the Justice League when a solar flare nearly killed half the planet. This being had the power of hundreds of those and was moving them around absentmindedly. one hand seemed to burn slightly, but it was too bright for him to focus on it.
He looked ethereal and terrifying.
Constantine broke the silence first, "State who you are!"
In a million voices that echoed through the cave and into Jason's chest Danny spoke.
"I am Phantom, King of the Infinite Realms, Champion of Pariah Dark, Bringer of Peace, Ancient of Space, The Great One." Da... Phantom looked down at the circle. There was amusement in his voice, "I see, the words I didn't recognize were a binding of truth, that means I can only communicate in ghost speak."
Constantine looked more fed up than scared, but he knew when the con-man bit off more than he could chew. He turned to Jason and whispered to him, "He's the bloody king. I'm not helping you fuck the king."
"I do not need help with that." Phantom said before shining brighter, a green tinge covering the edges of his body.
Constantine turned back, most likely expecting the creature couldn't hear them. "I met Pariah Dark, your magical essence is..."
"Ghosts have cores." Phantom corrected, crossing the central arms as the rest continued moving stars around.
"Yeah, yeah. Your core is different. Since when are you king?"
"Time moves differently between realms. On my earth it was about a decade ago, but by the zones standards it was nearly 50. When did you last hear about them?"
Constantine huffed, pocketing the cigarette that had gone out when Phantom appeared. “Three years ago, but I don’t delve into the infinite realms often.”
“Zatana helped me a bit with the whole being dead thing. Maybe she'll know?” Jason hadn’t talked to her much in the years that followed, she’d not been able to help him. Though now looking back he hadn’t given her much of a chance.
“Yeah, that might…” Once again Phantom interrupted Constantine.
“Wait, wait. I know this magical signature.” The two looked back at the being, “You're the bastard who keeps selling bits of his soul. Do you know how many disputes I've had to settle, how much fucking paper work I've had to do because of you!”
Constantine, ever the survivalist bolts. An act Jason hadn’t been expecting in the slightest. The hellblazer threw the book at him when he left, muttering something that changed the green color to something softer, less toxic.
Jason goes to stand in front of Phantom, the man he’d spent the entire day with was an eldritch being of unfathomable power. He excused the summoning with a wave of his hand, as the book showed.
Although he did shrink down to a more human size, only his face changed in appearance. The rest of him was still pale and lanky, the pointy ears looking cuter than they had before, whe they were as long as a sword.
Jason stayed silent. How was he meant to go about this. What had he promised to this being that it was willing to stay with him. What had he sold to the creature that dictates the value of a life.
“Oh sweet!" Danny/Phanton did a strange squat and wiggle like he was trying his legs out for the first time in a while. "Wanna go for like a walk or something?”
Jason’s brain seemed to skip a grove when he heard Danny’s voice coming out of the blueish creature.
“A walk sounds nice.” Jason said, ignoring how his mind was racing with the possibilities of this being really curing him… and of what he’ll ask in return.
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6
@bjurnberg, @skulld3mort-1fan, @akikkobara @undead-bi-dinosaur, @amyheart19, @phoenixdemonqueen, @not-your-average-url, @seraphinedemort, @theywontletmeusetheoneiwant, @satisfactionbroughtmeback, @kyrianclawraith, @i-always-say-yea, @gin2212
(sorry this took forever, im certain being a fanfic writter curses you or something. So many fucking things were happening at once gah. I've had this plotted out since i posted part 2, but never got around to turn it into a realish fic)
#danny phantom#dpxdc#dcxdp#jason todd#danny fenton#dead on main#Can you tell I smoke weed not cigs?#I honestly don't know if the terms are different and trying to look that up is fucking hard
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after hours ⤑ gojo satoru | m.
⟶ 𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦: ❝ thanks to the missions assigned by the higher-ups, you've not seen your boyfriend in two weeks. thus, when he asks you to meet him in his office, at two am no less, there's little you can do to refuse him. ❞ established relationship. pwp.
❥ pairing: gojo x f!reader
❥ genre: fluff ∴ smut
❥ word count: 14.7k don't look at me
⤑ 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: hard dom!gojo, bratty sub!reader, big cock!gojo, bdsm themes, office sex, teasing, hickeys, marking, fingering, degradation, dirty talk, finger sucking, spanking, pain kink, thigh riding, masturbation, praise, grinding, thigh spanking, choking, nipple play, nipple torture, bondage, anal play, gojo is mean, orgasm control, orgasm denial, cum eating, excessive rubbing/grinding of genitals, wet & messy, self exhibitionism & voyeurism, unprotected sex, riding, rough sex, crying, begging, overstimulation, objectification kink (i.e. she wants to be used as a cocksleeve), deep dicking, hair pulling, once again gojo is fucking mean, spit as lube, anal fingering, multiple creampies, multiple orgasms, forced orgasm, squirting, brief cum play
➵ 𝑎/𝑛: nothing but gojo brain rot for the rest of the gowhores out there because i am v much obsessed with this man. 12/10 would sell my soul for 1 [one] lick of his dick
― read it on AO3 here
It’s a Tuesday night when your phone buzzes from under your pillow. Considering it’s way past midnight, and you’re attempting to fall asleep—though to no avail, sleep generally didn’t come to you until the early hours of night—you decide to ignore it. Whoever it is, can wait till the morning. After you’ve had some well deserved rest.
At least, that’s what you tell yourself at first.
That is, until your phone buzzes again after a couple of moments. Then again, and again, and again. Until the buzzing sound drives you insane and you have no choice but to answer whoever was messaging you. Whoever it is, it better be a life or death situation—if it’s anything short of mass curses terrorising midtown Tokyo and slaughtering everyone, you’ll be the one committing a series of murders. Especially if it’s the higher-ups sending you on another mission.
When your phone buzzes again, this time with a slew of vibrations, you groan and blindly reach under your pillow to grab it, your eyes squinting at the harsh light when you see multiple notifications from your boyfriend. Curiosity speckling your being, you unlock your phone and open his messages.
asshole💖: u up?
asshole💖: baby?
asshole💖: baabbbbyyy
asshole💖: come on wakey wakey sweet angel
asshole💖: its not even 3am i know ur not asleep
asshole💖: honey?
asshole💖: sweetheart?
asshole💖: pretty girl?
asshole💖: princess?
asshole💖: little dove?
you: no, i am asleep
asshole💖: haha, knew you weren’t :)
asshole💖: where r u rn?
you: ?
you: in bed
you: where else would i be???
asshole💖: which bed, mine or urs
you: mine obviously
you: ur luxury penthouse is 2 big n bougie for me to stay in it comfortably without u
you: all that space to myself is… disconcerting
asshole💖: u deserve luxury n bougie baby
asshole💖: nothing but the best for my girl
That has you pausing, a warm fuzziness settling within your stomach. You pull your lower lip between your teeth and gnaw at the flesh, your eyes roving across the text over and over again. Satoru spoils you like no one else would, like no one else could. Lavish dates at fancy, completely booked out, reservation only restaurants, extravagant holidays and cruises to beautiful countries across the world, expensive gifts from luxury brands with far more zeros than it’s worth on the price tag.
But none of that compares to the way Satoru is completely and utterly enamoured with you; nor the way he claims you as his. My girl. Something about the honeyed possessiveness in his words blooms butterflies within the pits of your abdomen. And if you close your eyes, you can envision the carnal lust in his eyes as his gaze roves over your body, feel the greedy hunger in his touch as his imaginary fingers skim over your flesh, setting it afire with need. You’ve never felt as loved, or desired, in your life as you have with Satoru.
A smile curls at your lips involuntarily and you begin typing again.
you: ok that’s sweet
you: but also it’s fine, i like my room
asshole💖: ok so ur at the school then, yeah? come meet me at my office
you: what
you: ???????
you: no
you: its 2am
you: some of us are trying to sleep
asshole💖: without me? unfortunate.
asshole💖: and also unacceptable
you: not my fault you’re on a mission
You pause, your exhausted brain slowly parsing his words as you reach over his previous texts once again. In your tiredness, you’d somehow missed the fact that he’d asked you to meet in his office—an office that was definitely in Tokyo, Japan and not London, England where he’d been sent on a mission. As soon as it clicks, you shoot up in bed, the covers falling to your waist. The warmth you’d enveloped yourself disappears, your flesh prickling with goosebumps as a shiver runs up your spine at the sudden drop in temperature. Ignoring the sudden chill, your fingers hastily glide over your phone screen as you reply to him.
you: wait. did u say meet u at ur office????
you: satoru r u back???
asshole💖: lol yeah
asshole💖: also not my fault i was on a mission either :((((
asshole💖: blame the higher ups
asshole💖: maybe i should kill all of them <3
asshole💖: if it weren’t for them, i would never have to leave u
you: 🙄
you: you’ve been saying that ur gonna kill them all for years and yet… here we r, so either follow thru or move on 🙄🙄🙄
you: but also gojo… when tf did u get back 🤨
asshole💖: gojo?!
asshole💖: who tf is gojo
you: ??? u lmao
asshole💖: no tf i’m not
asshole💖: it’s satoru, or toru, or baby, or love of my life, or my one and only, or the best dick game ever to u
asshole💖: not gojo
you: ur literally so annoying
asshole💖: you love me
you: right now? debatable. i am TRYING to sleep
asshole💖: but u can’t sleep can u?
you: well, i could if SOMEONE stops blowing up my phone with texts 😐
asshole💖: hahaha
asshole💖: ur so funny
you: oh my god. WHAT do u want???????
asshole💖: i literally told you. meet me in my office lol
you: ? yeah u mentioned
you: but why?
you: can’t we just see each other tomorrow morning
you: u know
you: at a more reasonable time
asshole💖: no i have something to show u
you: what?
asshole💖: a surprise :)
you: i literally hate you. its 2 ! AM !
asshole💖: yeah but i just got back
asshole💖: and i missed u
you: …
you: i missed you too toru
asshole💖: okay good. so you’ll meet me in my office then?
you: that is not what i said
asshole💖: come ooonnn baby. i really, really missed you :(
asshole💖: and that pretty pussy
you: you dick!!!! surprise my ass
you: this is just about u getting ur dick wet!!!!!
asshole💖: hahahaha u got me
asshole💖: but no i srsly have a surprise
asshole💖: so my office, yeah?
you: satoru, it’s so late
you: i rly am trying to sleep
Despite your blatant refusal, you find yourself complying. It wasn’t very often that you could truly deny Satoru. More than that, you have missed him, and in spite of the late hour, you couldn’t wait to see him. Throwing the covers off of yourself completely, you slip your feet into your sliders and walk across your room to your closet.
asshole💖: i know u can’t sleep till u get this gojick
you: wtf is a gojick
asshole💖: gojo dick 🍆💦🍆💦🍆💦
you: 😐
you: yes i can. watch me do it rn
you; 🥱😴💤
It only takes you a brief few seconds to type out the messages, before you open your wardrobe and begin looking for some clothes to wear. It’s the middle of winter, and considering the school’s location high in the mountains, on the far outskirts of Tokyo, you would not be able to get away crossing the campus from your accommodation to Satoru’s office—no matter how short the walk—in just your scant pyjamas. Not without you first freezing your tits off at least.
asshole💖: hahaha come on u know u want ur gojogasms
asshole💖: so come to my office
you: you ! are ! so ! annoying !!!!!!
you: also why ur office?
you: you can literally warp here and it’s be easier. hell u could even walk. the office isn’t far from my room
asshole💖: yeah but where’s the fun in that lol
asshole💖: office because i’m doing paperwork
you: haha what a joke. u never do paperwork
asshole💖: well SOMEONE said im too mean to ijichi. so now i’m doing my own paperwork
asshole💖: but it’s boring. and i want u
asshole💖: i promise i’ll make it worth ur while
you: ….
asshole💖: come on angel
you: ugh fine
you: this surprise better be worth it too
asshole💖: ur gonna love it
you: if the surprise is just ur dick i’m going to be so mad
asshole💖: 😈
asshole💖: alsoooooooo
asshole💖: wear something sexy
Flicking your eyes from the message on your phone screen, you look at the pair of sweatpants and thick jumper you’d rifled from your closet. Warm but definitely not sexy. You haphazardly throw them back into your cupboard before texting your boyfriend back.
you: fuck u
asshole💖: don’t worry sweetheart, gonna fuck u so good
Twenty minutes later, you’re walking through the empty corridors of Tokyo Jujutsu High. Thick shafts of moonlight filter through the glass windows, the hoary effulgence your only source of light as you navigate through the school. The wintry air is crisp against your skin, the brittle wind seeping through the cracks of the window and nipping your naked flesh. Limbs trembling, you pull your boyfriend’s jacket closer to you—the article one of many he’d left in your room in the year you’ve been together—it’s warmth your only reprieve from the cold.
Other than Satoru’s jacket, you’re not wearing much else—just a skimpy lingerie set— and though his coat is warm, and oversized enough to cover you to mid-thigh, your outfit does little to shield you from the frigid weather. Nonetheless, with how you’re practically running across the campus grounds, you’ve built up enough heat to keep you warm. As thrilling as it is to walk around the deserted school grounds practically naked for a rendezvous with your boyfriend, you’d really rather not have one of your fellow faculty members—or god forbid, a student—catch you in your current state of dress.
It’s clear you’re not here to complete paperwork. More than that, no one in their right mind would be caught dead out and about in an outfit like this in the middle of winter. Sexy, but definitely not warm.
Thankfully, within moments, you arrive at the door to Satoru’s office and, with a brief knock, you enter. The second you do, however, you halt, a frown forming on your lips. Your boyfriend is nowhere to be seen. Eyebrows furrowed, your expression coloured with confusion, you approach his desk. The lights are dimmed low, a soft amber glow cast over the space. Your gaze flickers around and from the abandoned papers sprawled on Satoru’s desk, along with his jacket slung over the back of the chair, you know he has been here.
So where the fuck is he now?
Just as you move for your phone, you hear heavy footsteps echo across the hallway. Cocking your head to the side, you watch as Satoru enters his office, only to pause when he sees you. Your boyfriend seems to have abandoned his blindfold, lambent eyes of cerulean on display as they rake over you, a hum of appreciation rumbling through his chest as he takes in your outfit.
“Satoru,” you breathe heavily.
The sound of your voice has him moving once again, your breath hitching as he closes the distance, until he’s standing right in front of you.
“Satoru—” you choke out a second time, your throat tightening at the sight of his blown out pupils, the inky wells dilated with lust and obscuring the ethereal blue of his irises.
Your boyfriend simply hums again, the rich timbre of the sound reverberating through the air and straight to your core. Inadvertently, your thighs clench, molten desire pooling within the pits of your abdomen.
“So pretty in my clothing,” he murmurs, dark possessiveness overshadowing the lust in his eyes. His hand wraps around you, a gasp falling from your lips as he pulls your chest flush against his own, only to lift you up and perch you on the edge of his desk. In a smooth motion, he steps between your legs, your thighs instinctively spreading to make room for him.
You stare at him through the thick of your eyelashes and swallow thickly— an attempt to soothe your dry throat. “W-Where’s my surprise?” you finally ask, grimacing internally at the stutter in your voice.
It’s been a little over two weeks since you’ve seen Satoru—both of you passing each other like ships in the night. Whenever you were back from a mission, it’d seem like Satoru was scheduled on one, and vice versa. You have no idea if the higher-ups had purposely done it, but if you had to bet money on it, you’d bet that they had. The animosity between Satoru and them was no secret, and you wouldn’t put it past them to take out their frustration with him on your relationship.
Two weeks may seem like a short time, but you couldn’t deny just how much you missed him in those days, and reunited now, it was even more evident in the way your body ached for him, the way your pussy wept to be filled by him.
Running his glossy lips along the column of your throat, “You’ll have to wait for it,” Satoru murmurs before lightly nipping your flesh. A gasp of surprise slips through your mouth, your head falling to his shoulder before lolling to the side as you grant him further access. The heat between your thighs intensifies—your arousal dripping out of you and onto your thighs.
“I—I want it now,” you somehow manage to force out, your eyes fluttering as Satoru blooms bruises into your skin—his lips suckling and his teeth scraping your flesh. The hand around your waist drops to your hip and, gripping it, he pulls you further into him. Feeling the hard outline of his throbbing shaft, you let out a small moan; Satoru lowly chuckles.
“Yeah, sweetheart?” he responds, his voice heavily laced with a taunt. The pet name drips from his lips, thick like honey and as sweet as sin. “You want it now?” he mimics. As he speaks, his hips buck forward, your mouth parting in a loud groan when his cock presses further against your core. Your pussy clenches at the sensation, your hands moving to grip Satoru’s shirt.
“T-Toru,” his name spills from your lips in a needy whimper, your hips thrusting forward to push against him. Your actions cause Satoru to laugh, the sound low and dark against your neck.
“Tell me, what is it you want?” Satoru taunts, a knowing lilt to his voice. You can’t see his face from the way it's buried into the delicate column of your throat. But you don’t need to see it, you can feel the shit-eating, teasing grin that paints his plump lips—in more ways than one.
A ripple of annoyance flutters through you at his cockiness. He has you exactly how he always does—wanton and desperate for him—and he knows it, feels it in the way you squirm under him. Hell, he could probably smell it, your arousal dripping out of you and onto your thighs, his desk, his crotch. You’d be damned if he had you this easy, he’d never let you live it down. Thus, gathering as much of your willpower, you allow a teasing smile to curl at your lips.
“I want my surprise, Gojo,” you purr out your demand, drawing out the syllables of his name in a sultry tone. When your voice comes out steady, you internally cheer. Instantly, Satoru lifts his head before harshly biting the soft flesh of your earlobe. The action tears a soft cry from your lips, Satoru’s fingers digging into the soft flesh at your hips, so hard you’re sure he’ll bruise his fingerprints into your skin.
“What did you just call me?” he questions, eyeing you with his unimpressed gaze.
“Gojo,” you goad once again. You stare at him with wide eyes, the faux innocence belied by a mischievous twinkle.
“You’ll regret that, baby,” Satoru sneers.
His long fingers move to push the hem of his jacket further up your thighs, uncovering more and more of your skin. With each inch of flesh revealed to his gaze, Satoru devours you, his grandidierite eyes following the movement of his hands up your legs. With a final push, Satoru bunches the hem of his coat around your hips, his hand slipping underneath the material. A guttural moan emanates from your throat when you feel his warm palm pressing hard against your abdomen.
Immediately, his hand begins trailing down until his fingers reach the waistband of your lace panties. He doesn’t bother divesting the coat from your body. Instead, he watches your face as his fingers dip under the elastic.
“Spread,” comes his command; his deep voice cutting sharply through the air.
You don’t have to be asked twice, your thighs immediately parting as you grant him better access to your folds, your pussy desperately aching for his touch.
“Someone’s being good,” Satoru chuckles.
Before you can retort, however, his hand darts further into your underwear, his fingers slipping between your folds and causing you to hiss at the sudden contact. Completely ignoring your clit, Satoru’s fingers begin softly massaging your soaked, puffy lips—the pads of his middle and pointer finger rubbing against either fold of your sex.
“S’toru,” you gasp, your eyes fluttering as you feel him play with your folds.
“Aww, is my baby all swollen and needy? Have you missed my cock in you, princess?” Satoru jeers, a lopsided smirk on his face.
Your nose wrinkles at the taunt. “F-Fuck you,” you stammer.
In a flash, Satoru’s hand moves, his pointer finger and thumb swiftly pinching your swollen clit. The sudden pain, mixed with pleasure, has you crying out, your hand shooting to grip his arm as you dig your nails into its flesh.
“Such a fucking brat, aren’t you, sweetheart,” Satoru practically spits out the endearment. “But it’s all for show, isn’t it? I know how much you want me, know how much of a desperate little cockslut you really are for me,” he continues with a hiss. Thighs trembling, you mew out your disagreement, though the high-pitched, needy inclination of your voice gives you away in an instant.
In indolent movements, Satoru circles the outline of your clit with his fingertip, lightly rolling it under his touch. Whining at the action, you feel your pussy clench around nothing; a gush of wetness floods out of you and down your thighs.
Moving his fingers through your slit, Satoru smirks. His gaze firmly locked on yours, he runs his long, nimble fingers through your cunt, gathering as much of your wetness onto them as he can. Then, travelling further down, he comes into contact with your rippling entrance. Satoru lets out a soft coo when he feels the slick, heated hole.
“God, you’re already so wet. Bet I could slide my cock into this tight little hole right now if I wanted to, bet you’d take it all like a well-trained whore,” he derisively sneers.
Reflexively, your pussy begins to pulsate, twitching around his fingers. The pads of his pointer and middle finger press against your entrance—just enough pressure to draw your attention to it, but not enough to press into you. No matter how much you buck into his hand.
“Oh? I can feel this pretty cunt twitch, baby. Is that what you want? To feel my fat cock slide into this little hole and fuck it open?” Satoru jeers, emphasising his words by sliding two fingers into you.
Pliant in your state of lust, the walls of your cunt easily spread open around his digits, the ringed muscles contracting and sucking him deeper into your velvet depths. Your forehead drops to rest on his chest in response, a low keen escaping your chest when you feel his fingers thrust inside you. Unrelenting, Satoru pushes them deeper and deeper—the motion incredibly slow and deliberate, making you feel every centimetre of his fingers, until he’s pushed them hilt-deep.
“P-please,” you stutter out, your hips grinding into his hand as you try to get him to move.
“Look at me, baby. I want to see how fucked out you are just for my fingers,” Satoru commands.
Unable to disobey, you shift your head and look up at him through the thick of your eyelashes. Gaze locked onto your own, Satoru groans at the turbulent, heady lust clearly visible in your eyes. Pleased by your obedience, he begins leisurely thrusting his fingers into you, the digits wriggling inside you with every plunge. Soft whimpers fall from your lips, your fingers curling around Satoru’s arm tighter as you moan in pleasure.
“Shit—Look at you. Look at the way you’re fucking into my hand. Needy bitch,” Satoru laughs lowly. And sure enough, you grind against his palm, your ass rocking onto his fingers. Swivelling your hips, you thrust into him harder—your cunt walls pulsating as your pussy tries to swallow his fingers deeper. However, all of a sudden, Satoru’s pulling his hand out of your panties, his fingers pulling out of your cunt and leaving you feeling empty all of a sudden.
“No!” you sob, your hips bucking wildly in an attempt to chase his fingers. Softly, Satoru hushes you, pressing soothing kisses against your neck—even as he keeps his hand between your thighs—his fingers rubbing your nether lips and wiping your slick onto them. Pulling away from your sex, he brings his fingers to your lips.
“Awww baby, it’s okay. I’ll ruin that sweet little cunt soon. Fuck you so good, you’ll be crying on my cock,” Satoru cajoles.
“Toru—Toru, please,” you whine, your hips squirming over his desk. You should feel ashamed, you know you should, with the way your pussy is leaking all over his desk. Yet, you can’t find it in yourself to care. Not when the emptiness in your cunt aches to be filled up.
“Yeah, baby? Want me to fill you up nice and tight with my cock? Want me to cum inside till you’re leaking?” he taunts. The sinfulness of his words has you releasing another gush of arousal, the walls of your pussy tightening around nothing as you feel the dull ache return with a vengeance. Brushing his fingers against your lips, he paints them in your own essence.
“Suck,” Satoru orders as he pushes the digits into your mouth and onto your tongue. Reflexively, you wrap your mouth around the appendages, licking off your own arousal—the heady flavour heavy on your tongue. Satoru hums in approval. Then, he’s stepping away, his fingers slipping from your mouth.
With laboured breaths, you watch as he steps away from you and towards his chair. Eyes glued to his figure, you watch as he takes a seat, his thighs spreading out to accommodate his lengthy legs. In his new position, you can clearly see the way his trousers tent—his indurated cock straining within the confines of his jeans. Staring at you with lust-filled eyes, Satoru beckons you over to him with a crook of his fingers, and on wobbly legs, you walk over to him. When you’re a few feet in front of him, Satoru raises his palm—stopping you in your tracks.
Hand falling down to his side, “Take off my coat,” he orders.
Obediently, you comply. Your fingers move to unfasten the buttons of his jacket, hastily undoing each one before you clasp the material in your hands and shrug it off. The moment your figure comes into view, Satoru’s jaw clenches—the corner muscles flexing.
“Fuck,” Satoru breathes out.
Deliberately, his dark gaze wanders over you—practically feasting on your figure as he drinks you in. Pale blue and black lace cling to your skin; the skimpy material doing nothing to shield you from his predatory glower.
“Come here, pretty girl,” your boyfriend calls out to you. You hop off the desk and close the short distance, stopping when you’re between Satoru’s thick, spread thighs.
“Fuck, baby. Is this a new set? I’ve never seen it before,” he asks, his eyes trailing over your body.
With a teasing smirk, you look down at him. He’s asked you to dress sexy, so you have. Thankfully, you’d had this little piece hidden away, bought after one of your recent missions in Ginza. It was also one of the few pieces you hadn’t shown Satoru yet, something you were grateful for now. It’s a pretty set—made of a mix of delicate lace and soft satin. Of course, it had cost a small fortune—but it’d been worth every yen.
The cups are made of see-through baby blue lace—clearly revealing your hardened nipples as they poke against the material—while the thin straps are made of black satin, each wrapping around your rib cage and breasts like a harness, while a thicker one reaches from between your breasts to wrap around your neck like a choker. The panties are designed in a similar manner—thin, barely-there lace covering your sex while multiple black satin straps sit on your upper hips—just under your waist. You completed the look with a pair of black garters and stockings, the black suspenders clinging onto the lace tops of your thigh highs.
Definitely sexy, just like he’d asked.
“Mhm, do you like it?” you ask before twirling.
All of a sudden, with your back turned towards him, you feel Satoru’s hands grip your hips—halting you in your movements. Lips curling into a devious glint, you know your boyfriend’s seen the best part of this set. You’re glad he was more preoccupied with the way your cunt had felt against his fingers earlier—otherwise, you’re sure he would have realised sooner.
“Fuck are these—” Satoru breathes out, his voice a little strained as he stares at your ass. Turning around and looking at him over your shoulder, your eyes flash with playful delight.
“Crotchless? Mhm,” you hum in response. Satoru sucks in a sharp breath, and instantly, he’s pressing against the lower curve of your spine, pushing you to bend over in front of him.
The movement causes your ass to spread slightly, the thick bands of lace resting against fleshy cheeks pulling apart in tandem. Hissing at the sight, Satoru’s hands grip your ass before his thumbs press against the lower part of your cheeks: spreading the globes and further revealing your sex to him. A strangled moan slips from his throat, his eyes trailing from your ass to your slit, watching as the two thick pieces of fabric turn narrow, resting in the junction of either of your thighs before attaching to the thicker material that he knows covers your mons pubis.
You feel his heavy gaze rest against your ass and, with his hands spreading your cheeks, you know you’re completely on display for his viewing pleasure. Growing wetter against his gaze, you feel him move one of his thumbs from your ass, the other holding you open wider, while he brushes the pad through your soaked slit. A soft moan slips past your throat at the gentle touch, his thumb lightly dipping into your messy hole.
“Sexy enough?” you innocently question. Then, lowering your voice a couple of decibels, “It’s got easy access,” you purr.
Instantly, you feel your boyfriend spank your ass—hard. Heat sears across your skin, a cry tearing through your lips at the sudden strike. Flesh smarting with pain, you feel your boyfriend’s thick lips press against the tender skin: lavishing it with soothing kisses.
“Easy access? God, you’re such a dirty fucking slut. I should spank your pretty ass raw for being such a filthy, depraved whore,” Satoru sneers. His words cause you to clench around his thumb.
“Oh? Do you like that sweetheart? You want me to spank you?” Satoru taunts, pushing his thumb deeper into your dripping hole. Eagerly, you nod, bucking your hips back into him at the prospect. Leaning forward, he presses a tender kiss to the base of your spine, the soft touch making you sigh heavily.
“Oh, I know you do, baby. You’re such a desperate little pain slut,” Satoru says. Then all of a sudden, he’s bringing his hand over your bare ass cheek. Sharp pain flares across your ass, causing you to whimper out his name. When he brings his palm onto your ass, lightly gripping and caressing it soothingly, you let out another deep sigh. “You’ll be good for me, won’t you?” Satoru coos.
Abruptly, he’s pushing you away. Stumbling forward, you manage to catch yourself, your palms bracing against Satoru’s desk—your boyfriend holding onto your hip to steady you, before he turns you around once more so you can watch him. Through lust-fogged eyes—your thighs rubbing against each other in a bid to alleviate the intense ache between them—you follow the way he unbuckles his jeans: a ripple of anticipation thrumming through you. Time passes slowly, and it feels like Satoru can’t move quick enough. Eventually, he pulls his cock out from under his jeans, a low whimper falling from your throat when you see it.
Perhaps it’s just that you haven’t seen it in a while—but, somehow, he looks bigger than usual. With a thick, angry pink head: the bulbous tip leaking precum, and a swollen shaft: long, thick and ridged with dusky-rose veins, you can’t help the way your mouth waters. Eyes fixated on him, you watch as he runs his large hands over his cock, swallowing thickly as it pulses in his hold. When he runs his thumb over his own tip, covering it in his own precum, you let out a pained whimper—your cunt aching to be filled by him.
“Is this what you want, baby?” Satoru asks sweetly whilst lazily palming his cock. Swiftly, you nod, your hand shooting out to grip his member. The moment you move, Satoru tuts and smacks your hand lightly.
“Satoru,” you whine, once again reaching for his cock. Again, Satoru tuts and bats your hand away.
“I didn’t say you could touch, sweetheart,” he reprimands while clicking his tongue. “In fact…” Satoru continues.
The moment he drawls out the words, you feel an inkling of despair, paired with excitement, course through you. Indolently stroking his cock, your eyes following the movement surreptitiously.
“You’re not allowed to touch at all, do you understand me, princess?” he commands, practically purring. Hearing the words, your face immediately falls—petulance etched across your features.
“Noooo, Toru,” you whine, a pout curling onto your lips. Your fingers twitch to touch him. it’s been so long, you want—no, need—to feel it. Hand shooting out, it moves to curl around his thick shaft. However, anticipating the movement, Satoru brings his hand down onto your thigh hard, causing you to mewl in pain.
“I said no,” Satoru hisses, his voice low, and dangerous.
Whimpering, you squirm harder. However, with how slick your thighs are—covered in a light sheen of your own wetness—the movement does nothing to alleviate your wanton neediness. A broken sob falls from your lip; Satoru moves his hands to your hips and pulls you closer. Dipping his head down, he runs his nose along the length of your torso: from just under your breasts, to the top of your mound. He places a tender kiss against the waistband of your underwear—his supple lips causing your flesh to tingle with pleasure.
“I told you to be good for me, baby. Don’t you want to be good for me?” Satoru taunts. An impertinent retort sits at the tip of your tongue, but you bite it down; mainly because you’re desperate to feel his cock in you—or even on you at this point.
“I’ll be good,” you murmur back.
Satoru smiles against your skin, and with a soft kiss, paired with a hum of approval, he pulls away. Then, in one fluid motion, he pushes his thigh between your legs before bringing your hips down onto them. Hissing through your teeth at the movement, your cunt clenches around nothing—the rough, hard fabric of his jeans pressing against your aching pussy. Satoru lets out a soft grunt, his thigh twitching slightly as he feels the heat of your core seep through the denim.
“God—you’re so hot. And so fucking wet…” Satoru murmurs through gritted teeth. The rough denim against your bare, swollen folds has you whimpering, and before he can say anything, you’re already fidgeting over his thighs.
“Depraved little slut. Does it feel good, baby? Hmmm, I bet it does… finally having something other than yourself touch your needy pussy,” Satoru taunts, a wry grin on his face. Eagerly, you nod, your hips moving harder.
Suddenly, he spanks your thigh, making you cry out his name. The flesh blooming with pain from the sharp impact, Satoru soothingly runs his palms up and down your thigh. “Now, I want you to be good, sweetheart. Can you do that?” Satoru asks, his voice coming out in a deep hum.
Hastily nodding, “I’ll be good,” you repeat once again.
“Oh, we’ll see about that,” Satoru chuckles, knowing that your obedient streak would run out sooner or later. “Now, here’s what I want you to do… I want you to ride my thigh,” Satoru commands.
You mewl in pleasure, nodding eagerly once again. You’ll ride his thigh for the rest of the night if it means he finally plays with you. Then, after a brief pause, and with a borderline sadistic smile, “But I want you to keep your hands to yourself,” Satoru finishes.
Despair washes through you at that.
“Satoru, that’s not fair. P-Please. W-Wanna feel you,” you whimper out in protest.
“I know you do, baby. But this is your punishment for behaving like a little brat. How many times did I have to tell you to keep your hands to yourself, hmm? How many times have you called me Gojo, huh baby?” Satoru snarks. The deep baritone of his voice resounds through his office and involuntarily, your stomach twists.
“I’m sooory,” you whine out your apology.
Satoru chuckles darkly. His hand moves to your hip, and dipping it between your thighs, he lazily brushes it against your exposed clit. Crying out, you begin rocking over his thigh—your eyes fluttering open and shut as he continues stroking your clit with featherlight movements.
“Oh, I bet you are, sweetheart. I bet you’re soo sorry,” Satoru coos, and if you didn’t know your boyfriend better, you’d believe the false sympathy in his voice.
However, you do know better, and you’re proven right a few brief seconds after, when that same sympathy disappears. All of a sudden, Satoru flicks your clit hard, his fingernail scraping against the sensitive bud. You cry out, pleasure blurring your vision as your head falls back.
“But I told you you’d regret it, didn’t I?” Satoru laughs wryly, a sardonic smile curling at his glossy lips. “So, now, you’ll ride my thigh and watch me play with myself knowing you can’t touch. I think that’s fair, don’t you, baby?”
It’s not often that anyone would call Satoru sweet, but to you, he is. He’s sweet, and loving, and gives into every single one of your whims. But Satoru’s dominance is not to be tested—and you know that he won’t budge—no matter how much you whine or beg. At least, not until he’s sure you’re at your wit’s end.
Spanking your thigh suddenly, “I asked you a question, princess, I expect an answer,” Satoru hisses.
“Y-Yes, Toru. That’s fair,” you snivel.
It’s not. You know it’s not.
And every part of you wants to rebel, to scream that no, it’s not fair and you want to touch him, need to touch him.
Nevertheless, you know that will only result in Satoru punishing you with something worse. More than that, you’re too caught up in how good the coarse fabric of his jeans feels against your naked, sopping cunt.
“Good girl. Now, ride,” Satoru purrs as he leans back in the leather chair.
Yielding to his dominance, you gyrate your cunt against his thighs, your hands falling to grip your own—your fingers twitching to touch him. Whiny gasps and moans fall from your lips; the abrasiveness of his jeans causes you to cry out in pleasure. His thigh is thick between yours, your clit dragging across the length as you try to press it harder into him. With every movement of your hips, you leave broad trails of slick over his jeans—the thick material covered in a light coating of arousal. Though, with each motion of your hips, the fabric grows wetter.
From his reclined position, Satoru simply watches the way you move: your hips swivelling and your stomach writhing enticingly as you do your best to grind over him. Captivated by your erotic motions, Satoru begins palming at his heavy length. Lazily, he strokes his pulsating member—rhythmically squeezing it whenever you get to his tip. Mushroom tip leaking translucent beads of precum, he swipes at his slit every now and then, coating his thumb in the sticky substance as he wets his dick with his own arousal.
Seeing his movement, you let out a soft whimper; your mouth watering. You’d give anything—anything—to feel his cock. Plagued by the way it pulses in his large hands—how the angry bulbous head leaks all over him—your movements become more feverish: each motion a little faster, or harsher than the previous one.
Meanwhile, Satoru’s lust-darkened gaze trails down your body, stopping when he gets to your chest. Within the confines of your bra, your nipples are twisted hard—the buds straining against the lace mesh of the cup. A large part of him wants to remove the bra and tease your nipples until you’re begging him to cum—but he can’t deny just how undeniably good it looks on you, the sight of the baby blue and black material against your skin causing his cock to throb painfully in his hand. So, instead, he reaches out and lightly brushes his thumb against your covered nipple.
“Fuck,” you cry out, your fingernails digging into your thighs as you shudder over him.
Nonetheless, repeatedly, Satoru begins swiping his thumb over your nipples—dragging them under his pad—while his other hand leisurely strokes his own shaft. Almost painfully tightened to hardness, each of his movements has your sensitive nipples brushing against the coarse material of your bra, the sensation only heightening your pleasure. Briefly, you pause your motions, simply sitting on his thigh as your cunt erratically clenches, while you relish in the way he teases your hardened bud.
God, you desperately need to touch him.
In an instant, Satoru pinches the nipple between his thumb and forefinger, before twisting it painfully. A sharp thrum of stinging pain shoots from your breast and straight to your core: your cunt clenching and releasing a gush of wetness at the pain.
“Did I say you could stop, sweetheart?” Satoru hisses, his pretty features twisted into a domineering sneer.
Despite his words, the pain has you arching into his hold, a moan of ecstasy emanating from your throat as you wordlessly beg for more. Satoru growls, and twists your nipple harder this time; his fingers pulling the hardened peak painfully.
“Don’t be a fucking brat. I told you to move,” he scolds.
Having had enough of your own obedience, petulance rises in your chest, and for a moment, you don’t do anything—simply looking at him, defiance rife within your eyes. Seeing the mischievous spark, Satoru raises a single eyebrow at you.
He trails his hand up your chest, his hand splaying against your sternum before he wraps it around your throat. The thick lace band of the bra’s choker pulls tighter against your throat, Satoru’s warm fingers simultaneously flexing around your neck. With his hand spread over your throat, he tenderly brushes his lips against yours. Then, pulling your lip between his teeth, he nips at the soft petal.
“Do you really want to be a brat now, princess? When you’re so close to cumming?” Satoru’s sweet voice breaks the silence; his breath wafting against your lower face.
He doesn’t say it explicitly, but the warning is there: as clear as day. If you don’t obey him, he won’t let you cum. The threat of your boyfriend edging you has your eyes widening. Usually, you would push him more—loving nothing more than when your boyfriend punishes you by pushing you to your limits. But it’s been so long since you’ve had him that you’re sure if he edges you even once, you’ll go insane, each of your brain cells fried by ravenous lust. You already can’t touch him—the restraint driving you crazy. So, instead of challenging him further, you begin moving on top of him again.
“That’s my good girl,” Satoru praises, his head dropping so he can brush his thick lips against the outline of your collarbone.
The appraising action has you mewling—and unable to help yourself—you drop your head; your nose buries in his thick hair as you breathe him in.
“Come on, sweet girl, don’t you wanna cum?” Satoru asks as he purposely tenses his thigh. His ministration causes his muscle to contract to hardness, the tense flesh pressing against your swollen clit.
The action draws a deep, guttural groan from you and you begin moving over him again. Not having had a decent orgasm in over two weeks—the orgasms you wring from your fingers or your toys nowhere near the blissful intensity of the ones Satoru reaps from you—you can already feel your stomach begin to twist; the dull heat intensifying into a searing vengeance.
Your eyes drop to where Satoru is once again playing with his own cock, palming at the heavy length in long, slow strokes. Mouth drying at the sight, you can’t resist any longer. Hand shooting out, you press your palm against his length and caress it. The moment you feel it—thick and pulsating—under your touch, you whimper needily.
Instantly, Satoru pinches your nipple—twisting and pulling it harshly. Pain flares around your breast, the stinging sensation causing your entrance to quiver and release another gush of wetness onto his jeans.
“What did I say?” Satoru hisses out.
“Please,” you whine, your hand reaching out to stroke him again. However, batting your hand away, Satoru lets out a low growl.
“Hands to yourself or I’ll tie them up,” Satoru warns through grit teeth.
Pausing for a moment, your throat constricts as you imagine being bound and at the mercy of your angry, dominant boyfriend. A thrum of excitement flitting through you, you simply quirk your eyebrow. Then, with a mischievous smile curling on your face, “You have nothing to tie me up with,” you purr out, a challenging twinkle sparkling in your eyes.
“I don’t need something to restrain you, princess,” Satoru spits out.
Then, as if to prove a point, he’s twisting your hands behind your back. Eyes widening at the sudden movement, he leaves you no room to react, one of his strong hands already gripping both your wrists in his hold. Wildly, you thrash against him, trying to release your wrists from his hold. However, Satoru is much stronger than you, the strongest, and his fingers curl around your wrists tightly in a warning.
“Toruuu,” you whine out, and moving your thigh up, you brush your knee against his cock. The unexpected movement has Satoru hissing; his grip around your wrists loosens. Using the opportunity, you break away from his hold before palming at his cock. Swiftly, you run your hand along the entire length, high-pitched keens resounding from your mouth as you relish in the velvet feel of it.
All of a sudden, Satoru spanks your thigh. In a swift motion, he buries his hand into the pocket of his jeans, before pulling out his crumpled blindfold. Your eyes widen at the fabric, and swiftly, Satoru has your hands behind your back—his fingers expertly moving to bind your wrists. Ferociously, you struggle against his hold, doing your best to prevent him from restraining your hands, but Satoru is used to your disobedience, and without much trouble, he has you tied up.
“N-No. No, wanna touch you,” you whimper out, your knee once again rising to brush against his cock. However, anticipating the movement, Satoru brings both his hands onto your thighs—holding them down with his strong grip.
“I said no. Now, I’m willing to let this slide—I know you’re desperate to touch me. But if you disobey me again, I won’t let you cum. Are we clear, princess?” Satoru hisses in a warning.
With your hands bound behind your wrists, you pout. Momentarily, you try struggling again against the binding; however, the knotted material only tightens, making you whimper.
“What did I say, sweetheart? Are you going to try disobeying? Or do you want to cum?” Satoru growls.
You pull your lip between your teeth, gnawing at it as you contemplate your next decision. Again, you want to disobey—you want him to punish you until you can’t take it anymore. However, the overwhelming need to cum overtakes your brattish tendency, and giving in to him, you submit once more.
“I want to cum. I’ll be good,” you mumble out. The corners of his lips pull into a smile, and Satoru leans forward to brush them against yours in appraisal.
“That’s my good girl. See, you do know how to behave,” Satoru hums. Preening under his praise, you nod, your thighs twitching. “Come on, baby, ride me,” Satoru urges, his hands softly massaging the flesh of your thighs.
Wrists flexing around your restraint, you let out a series of short cries and whimpers—your hips moving against him once again. One of your boyfriend’s hands moves to grip your hip, the other wanders up your body to leisurely toy with your nipple—pinching and tugging it through the lace of your bra.
The hand resting on your hip grips you, his fingers digging almost bruisingly into your pelvis as he helps you grind on him. Harder and harder, you rock on top of him: dragging your swollen, aching cunt over the entire length of his thigh as you chase your own pleasure. It’s been so long since you’ve had Satoru play with you like this that even the rough friction of his jeans against your swollen clit is going to have you cumming.
Dark eyes falling to where your thigh clenches his, your cunt moving on him, Satoru lets out a hiss. Fingers tightening on your hips, “That’s it. Good little whore. Get yourself off on my thigh. Look at you, you’re so fucking soaked I can feel you drench my jeans. Desperate fucking cockslut,” Satoru spits out. His words have you whimpering; your pussy involuntarily clenches around nothing—the contraction only serving to emphasise the emptiness of your walls.
Eyes dropping to his cock, you let out a low mew. Left untouched, it stands erect, pressed against his abdomen as it continues leaking into the cotton of his shirt. Imperceptibly, it pulses—the prominent veins pulsing every time blood is pumped to the thick, swollen shaft.
“S’toru, please. P-Please. W-Want your c-cock,” you stammer out as you begin moving in a more frenzied manner.
Humming noncommittally, Satoru presses his thumb against your nipple before rolling it in one tight circle. The ministration has you mewling his name, your spine tingling with pleasure.
“Is that right, sweet girl? Are you already that desperate for my cock? Do you want me to sink into that tight cunt? Feel my cock stretch open that tiny, needy little hole as you cum around me? Is that what you want, baby?” Satoru taunts. His voice is sweet—mellifluous and syrupy. Yet, there’s a darker undercurrent to it, a sinful undertone of dominance that causes your stomach to flip.
“Oh fuck—fuck yes… Toru, I want it. I want it so bad, please,” you beg over him.
Satoru lets out a dark chuckle, his hand moving from your hip to grip your ass. Large palm splaying across the plump flesh, he grips it in his hold before rolling and palming at the muscle.
Satoru hums.
“But I don’t think you can take it, sweetheart. It’s been so long since I’ve fucked that sweet little cunt. Mmmm… that’s right, your tiny pussy is probably too tight to take my fat cock now,” Satoru taunts. Swiftly, you shake your head, your head dropping to his shoulder as you sob out his name.
“I can take it. I can! I want to feel you stretch me out. Toru, please. I want it—want you to ruin my cunt and fuck it open, please,” you wail, pleading with him over and over again; your hips writhing wildly on his thigh.
“Needy fucking whore. God, you’re so fucking desperate,” Satoru hisses
Sitting up in the chair, he pulls your chest against his—both his hands falling to hold your ass—helping you move harder over him. His head dips into the curve of your throat, his nose running up the flesh until his plump lips tease your earlobe.
“Did you miss my cock, baby? Did you miss how good it feels when I slide into that tight little pussy? How I push into that little hole, stretch it open before fucking you hard and deep? I know I did. I missed feeling your dirty little cunt milk my cock,” Satoru groans out.
You let out a shuddering sob, your eyes screwed shut as his deep, melodious, throaty voice reverberates through your eardrum. Nodding against his shoulder, you whine out his name—his words only causing the emptiness of your pussy to intensify.
“You’re already so wet you’ve completely soaked my jeans, you know. I bet you’ll soak my cock just as well—get it nice and wet and messy so I can fuck you hard and fast and rough. Just the way you like—just the way you deserve,” Satoru continues taunting.
Gasping for air, you bury your forehead further into his shoulder, wishing that you could wrap your arms around his shoulders and cling to him.
Between laboured breaths, “S-S’toru… wanna cum… please,” you heave out.
The hands grasping your ass moves to spread your cheeks, his fingers dipping between them. Indolently, he strokes the pads through your wet slit, gathering up your wetness onto them, before trailing up to circle the puckered rim off your ass. Feeling his fingers tease your asshole, you let out a sharp cry, your back arching in pleasure. You push harder against him, shifting your weight so you can grind your clit into the top of his thigh.
The hard material repetitively brushes your throbbing, engorged clit—forcing tingles of heated pleasure to prickle at your skin. Every writhing motion, every time you squirm over him, you climb higher and higher to the brink of your own pleasure. Continuously, Satoru teases your asshole—his slick fingers tauntingly circling the outline of your rim.
When you whine in pleasure, “God, I missed how much of a slut you are for me. Missed how eager you are to take me into any hole,” Satoru admits, his voice thick with torrid hunger. He pushes his finger against the ring of muscles, applying just enough force to tease your asshole, but not enough to push through. The pressure against your ass has the emptiness of your pussy flaring up.
“M-Missed you too. P-Please, Toru… N-Need… Need something,” you force out.
You’re so incredibly close—teetering on the precipice of your orgasm as you ride his thigh. Rocking harder onto him, you grind your clit into his leg, trying to force your own orgasm. Sparks of pleasure jolt across your spine, and you let out a low moan as you feel your end near. However, just before you can fall off of the edge, Satoru lifts you off of him. Swiftly, without any friction against your clit, the intensity of your orgasm fades; the searing heat in your stomach dwindling into a dull ache.
“N-No. You said I could cum! Please! I’m being good!” you sob out in protest, fighting against his strength as you attempt to continue riding his thigh. Tears sting at your eyes, your vision blurring slightly.
Hand coming down onto your thigh sharply, “Not yet. You’ll cum when I say so,” Satoru scolds.
Shaking your head, you scrunch your eyes, a single tear rolling down your cheek, and wail in objection, “But you said! You said I could cum! Satoru, please! I’m being good.”
“Then continue being good and I’ll let you cum. Be patient, princess,” Satoru admonishes. Whimpering as you continue writhing in his hold, Satoru’s strength keeps you from pressing against his thigh again. His hand falls onto his cock, and wrapping around the base, he lifts it up.
He drags his palm over his shaft, till he gets to the weepy tip. Then, swiping his thumb against the head, he coats the pad of his appendage in the sticky wetness of his arousal. Your throat constricts, watching as stringy ropes of precum cling to his thumb. Satoru tears his hand away, and bringing it up to your lips, he swipes it against your lip. Your eyes flutter shut at the movement, Satoru painting your mouth in his essence. Helpless under the action, you poke out your tongue and lick your lips, keening as his heady flavour taints your tongue.
“Filthy cockslut,” Satoru purrs, a praising lilt to his voice. “Do I taste good?” he coos while pressing his thumb between your lips.
Feeling the weight of it on your tongue, his arousal bathing your taste buds, you moan. Instinctively, your tongue roves over his digit, your eyes slipping shut as you relish in his heavy taste. Eventually, Satoru pulls it out, only to swipe at your swollen, precum stained lips.
“That’s my good slut,” your boyfriend praises.
Dropping his hand to his cock, he grips the shaft and holds it up once again. His other hand shoots to your hips and pulls you so you’re straddling both his thighs. With your legs spread open, Satoru drags his cockhead through your puffy folds. Crying out in pleasure, your head falls back; your hips instinctively squirming on top of him.
“Want it, S’toru,” you mumble, your hips swivelling in a circle.
Moving over him, you drag your slit across the velvet head of his cock, trying to position it at your aching entrance. With every second that passes, your walls throb tortuously—the emptiness of them only heightening as Satoru continues to teasingly drag his cockhead through your folds. When his tip catches on your entrance, your cunt rippling around him involuntarily, you both gasp.
His eyes fixated on where his cock strokes through your cunt, Satoru simply watches. Thick, filmy strings of your arousal drip from your pussy—hanging in the air and over his hand and cock in gooey ropes. Each and every time he swipes his head through your slit, you release another gush of wetness, until his entire shaft is coated in your arousal. The stickiness of your sex is only aided further by his own wetness—his precum gathering in thick globs around his slit—and with every drag, he only coats your cunt in his own arousal.
“Fucking shit, you’re so fucking messy. Look down, baby, look at how your needy cunt soaks my cock,” Satoru urges. With a keening moan, your gaze drops to where his cock presses against your pussy.
Gripping his cock harder, he positions it at your clit and—when you feel him press his head against your throbbing, engorged clit—you can’t help but let out a strangled moan. Satoru lets out a low hiss, the hardened bundle of nerves throbbing intoxicatingly against his slit. The surreptitious motion stimulates his cock, causing more of his precum to leak out. Moaning in ecstasy, you feel your throat tighten when his warm arousal drips over your clit, coating the swollen bud in more of his stickiness. Squirming over him, you begin rocking your clit against his tip, dragging it back and forth as you try to stimulate yourself.
“That’s it, be a good cockslut and rub that pretty little cunt over me. Get it nice and wet so I can fuck open your wet pussy,” Satoru orders.
Mewling in pleasure, you do as he says, repeatedly grinding your throbbing bud into his oozing cockhead. Agonisingly, the entrance to your cunt quivers—your entire sex weeping for him to fill you up.
“Fuck me,” you gasp out. Satoru only hums noncommittally, moving both hands to grip at your hips.
“Hmmm, I don’t think you’re ready. I don’t think you want it enough,” Satoru purrs—the low vibrations of his voice shooting straight to your core. Shaky breaths falling from your lips, you squirm harder on top of him.
“I do! I want it so bad. S’toru, please, fuck me. Want to feel your cock in me,” you croon desperately.
Dark chuckles resounding through the air, the sound heavy with dominance, Satoru positions his cock at your entrance. Feeling him press his cock against your entrance—just enough to tease, but not enough to enter you—you cry out in pleasure. Responsively, the tight rings of muscles clench, trying to pull him further into you.
Laughingly lowly, “God, I can feel your tight little cunt clenching. Are you desperate for my cock, pretty girl?” Satoru asks, the inflexion of his voice dripping with taunt.
“Yes. Yes. Want it,” you reply, unhesitant.
Pressing his cock harder against your entrance, Satoru grips your hips tightly, preventing you from sinking his cock into you. Desirous mews and whimpers fall from your lips; tears sting your eyes as your boyfriend continues to tease you. Every passing moment has the heat in your stomach growing wilder and wilder—until wanton desire courses through your bloodstream, overtaking your entire being.
“Are you sure, baby? You want it?” Satoru coos, the taunt heavy in your voice.
He drops his head to your chest, his lips wrapping around your bra-clad nipple. Lazily, your boyfriend laves at the hardened bud—wetting the fabric of your bra as he teases your nipple. His action draws a hoarse cry from deep within your throat; your voice cracks for a moment.
“Yes. Yes. Please. Please, I’ll do anything, Toru, please,” you gasp out, your hips once again squirming on top of him. Satoru chuckles lowly, the sound laced with a sinister inclination.
“Anything? Are you sure, baby?” Satoru questions.
The mischievous intonation of his voice should alarm you, and if your mind wasn’t hazed with desire, if you weren’t so incredibly fucked out and desperate, it would have. But right now, driven to the brink of insanity by Satoru’s teasing, you can’t bring yourself to care. It doesn’t matter what he has in store for you, doesn’t matter what Satoru choose to do, you’ll take anything he gives you and more; especially if it means Satoru fucks you right here, right now.
“Yes. Yes. Please. Anything. Anything, Toru, please just fuck me,” you sob, your dry throat straining to force the words out.
“You have no idea what you’re getting into, do you, sweet girl?” Satoru questions. However, you barely register his words. Instead, pleasure thrums through your breast—the vibrations of Satoru’s words shooting straight to your core.
“Don’t care! Don’t care. Fuck me. Want your cock. Toru, please, just fuck me. Please. Please, please, please,” you repeat over and over again.
Arms struggling behind your back, you futilely tug at the restraints as you try to free yourself. At least if they were free you could hold onto his shoulders and fuck yourself onto his cock. You feel Satoru smirk against your tit, and then suddenly, he’s pushing your hips down. Feeling the intense pressure of his flared cockhead against your entrance, your mouth drops open in a silent scream.
Satoru was right, you weren’t ready for him—because two weeks may not seem like a long time, but it is. It is when he’s huge—ridiculously long and absurdly thick—and you’re far too small to take him when you haven’t felt him stretch you out in days. And it’s been so long that despite how wet you are, how wet his cock is, he still struggles to open you out. Nonetheless, unrelentingly, Satoru presses into you—his hands pushing your hips down onto his cock—and eventually, he pops into you.
The moment his head breaches your walls—you throw your head back and let out a strangled wail. He’s incredibly thick inside you, the ringed muscles that make up your entrance pulled thin around him. Eyes slipping shut, you moan in a mix of pain and pleasure, relishing in the delicious burn of him stretching you out. Ruthlessly, he pushes the rest of him into you, ignoring your cries of ‘Too much’ and ‘Slower’ as the taut flesh of your inner walls is forcibly pulled apart around his hard length. Thich inch by inch, he fucks his cock into you; refusing to stop until he’s buried into the hilt. Then, roughly pulling your hips onto him, he sinks the last few inches into you in one sudden movement—burying himself into your cunt to the hilt.
Wired beyond belief, pleasure consumes you, the veined ridges of his cock hitting every erogenous spot inside your cunt. When the blunt tip of his cockhead hits the back of your supple cervix, a high-pitched wail tears through you. Toes curling, your thighs begin trembling violently as you suddenly cum around his cock. Back contorting violently, your fingers grip your own wrists behind your back as you sob out his name. Orgasm rocketing through you out of the blue, you vehemently convulse over your boyfriend. Over and over again, you cry out his name, twisting and writhing as blinding ecstasy courses through you. It’s been so long since you’ve had a decent orgasm, that the intensity of your first one has your vision blurring, thick tears rolling down your cheeks.
“Fucking cockslut,” Satoru hisses. “Did you just cum from being fucked open on my cock? Fuck—you got so much tighter,” Satoru harshly grunts out.
Then, without waiting any longer, he begins fucking into you from underneath. Gripping at your hips, he rams his cock upward, pulling you down harshly onto him. With each motion, your own orgasm is drawn out—making you cry out his name loud, your eyes rolling back into your skull. Cunt rippling around him, you milk his shaft—Satoru forcing himself into your erratically tightening and untightening walls. Viciously, you convulse as you cum over your boyfriend; Satoru groans when thick rivulets of your cum begin flowing down his cock. The additional wetness adds to the mess between your thighs, and only aids his motions, his cock slippery enough to batter into you.
Through it all, you let the tide of our orgasm wash through you, drifting on its wave of euphoria as it drowns you in nothing but utter, unadulterated ecstasy. Reduced to a sobbing, quivering mess on top of your boyfriend, you heave for air as you try to satiate the burn in your lungs. Ceaselessly, however, Satoru fucks into you—refusing to give you any reprieve from his cock.
Coming down from your high, you whine as you feel the blunt head of Satoru’s cock enter your pussy—over and over again—as he impales you onto his cock. His thrusts are forceful, your body jerking up and down over him. With every movement, you struggle against your restraints harder—wanting to dig your fingers into his shoulder blades as he bounces you onto his cock. Instead, you settle for falling over him, your head resting on your shoulder, and your face pressed into his neck.
All of a sudden, Satoru spanks your ass, causing you to cry out.
“Sit up, I want you to ride my cock,” Satoru commands.
Limply, you pull yourself off of him, Satoru’s head immediately dipping to take one of your nipples into his mouth. Gathering your strength, you plant your feet firmly on the ground before flexing your thighs as you begin to ride him. The both of you hiss; your bodies writhing harder together.
Every time he impales his cock into you, you feel the ridges of his cock drag against your sensitive inner walls, causing you to cry out in pleasure. Sensitivity still grips at your sex, the ache of overstimulation only turning you on more. With a swivel of your hips, you bring yourself down onto his cock harder—both of you gasping when the motion causes his cockhead to slam against the back walls of your pussy. He’s so deep inside you, that there’s an intense, nauseating, pressure inside your stomach, and the back of your cunt throbs, Satoru relentlessly battering your cervix.
“H-Harder. W-want you to f-fuck me, h-harder,” you stutter out.
His pace is already intense, your entire body bouncing on top of him as you take him deep inside you. Still, you voluntarily clench around his cock, purposely tightening your walls against his shaft as you beckon him deeper.
“Harder? You want it harder?” Satoru asks, causing you to hastily nod.
Throat tight, and mind addled with pleasure, you can barely string together a coherent sentence. Rather, you push your hips harder into his, undulating them over his cock. Satoru grunts when you clamp down around him again.
“Fuck. Hold on, princess, I’m going to fucking ruin you,” Satoru breathes out, emphasising each word with a brutal thrust, his cockhead dragging against your sweet spot.
Eyes rolling into the back of your skull, “Please, want it,” you gasp out, white spots already blinding your vision again.
“Oh, I know you do. Love when I fuck you hard and fast like this, don’t you baby. Love when I fuck you dumb; leave you a speechless, quivering mess, don’t you, baby?” Satoru derides. Again, your throat tightens, your toes curling in pleasure as he purposely, vehemently, drags his head against your g-spot before battering it into your cervix.
“Yessssss, want you to use me, please,” you hiss. Satoru grips your hips tighter.
“Is that what you want, my sweet girl? Do you want me to use you as my own personal cocksleeve? Cum inside and fill you up?” Satoru gibes. Fingers flexing behind your back, you whimper out—the walls of your sex clenching around his throbbing shaft.
“Say it, I want you to say it. Tell me what you want,” Satoru hisses out, his hand coming down onto your ass hard. The sharp pain has you wailing out his name, Satoru soothingly rolling the cheek in his palm.
“W-Want you to u-use me as your c-cocks-sleeve, pleeeassse,” you mewl. Again, out of the blue, Satoru spanks you; your back contorting in euphoria.
“Then hold on slut, I’m going to use this tight little cunt however I want. You’re here for my pleasure now,” Satoru whispers against your ear, his words low and gravelly.
“S’toru, wanna cum again,” you slur out. Satoru only chuckles at that.
“You either cum from me fucking you, or you don’t cum at all. Don’t forget, you asked for this. Said I could do anything,” Satoru replies.
Then, one hand gripping your wrists, the other curling around your waist, Satoru pulls you flush against him. Using your weight to brace himself, Satoru increases his pace. Viciously slamming into you from underneath, the thick of his girth spreading your soft, sensitive walls around his cock with each rapid stroke. Immediately, your mouth falls open as you begin wailing out his name.
Blindly, your fingers flex for some sort of purchase, but with them tied up, you find none. Thus, helpless, your body bounces over Satoru—jolted up and down onto his cock—as he uses you in the way you had asked for. Hips surging into you from above, he batters your cunt, the ringed muscles releasing another gush of wetness. Euphoria tingles at your spine, your entire body heating as you feel your second orgasm thrum through you. However, without any stimulation to your clit, you can’t bring yourself to cum.
Instead, you teeter over the edge, your orgasm practically taunting you with every one of Satoru’s deep, hard thrusts. Between the friction of his jeans rubbing against the bottom of your thighs, and the way his cock repeatedly plunges into your silken depths, tears of pleasure sting your eyes. Eyelids screwing shut, the tears gathered in them begin to spill down, and you sob out his name—the ecstatic bliss of euphoria causing you to grow mad with lust.
You’re so close, but you know you can’t cum. Not without his permission, and definitely not without him playing with your clit.
“Toru, wanna c-cum,” you once again croon out. Again, Satoru brings his hand harshly onto your ass, the soft muscle smarting with pain.
“And I told you, you either cum from being used like my cocksleeve, or you don’t cum at all,” Satoru responds. Through it all, his pace doesn’t falter for a single moment.
You feel Satoru’s cock pulsate inside you—the rhythm falling out of place—and when he swells with a throb, you feel despair course through you. You know your boyfriend well enough to know he’s close, and if he cums before you do, you won’t cum at all. Vigour renewed by your realisation, you squirm over him, trying your hardest to grind your clit into his abdomen, or the open zipper of his jeans resting on either side of his cock.
“Fuck—I’m cumming,” Satoru groans as he thrusts into you with reckless abandon. “You’re gonna take it, aren’t you, baby? Gonna lemme fill up this tight, pretty little cunt with my cum? Fuck I know you will. Your cunt always looks so pretty when it’s sloppy with my cum.” His words have you moving in a frenzy, thrashing your hips against his abdomen as you futilely try to stimulate your own clit.
However, it’s all in vain, because swivelling your hips in his hands, Satoru rocks you further onto him. Then, all of a sudden, he pulls you down with one, fluid motion. The action has him burying his cock as deep as he can into you, and you find yourself winded—his blunt cockhead pushing painfully deep against your cervix. Satoru grinds his cock into you, using your cunt to sheath the entirety of his length: from tip to shaft.
“Fuck.” With a low groan, Satoru cums.
His cock pulsates inside you, swelling a little as it releases rope after rope of his cum into you. Feeling his warm seed flood your depths, you wail out his name, desperately needing to cum. Nonetheless, Satoru ignores you. Instead, he continues spilling inside you, thick pools of his cum gathering deep against your cervix, painting your inner walls white. Warmth fills you from the inside, and with the sheer amount he’s cum inside you, you wonder if he, like you, hasn’t had a good orgasm in a while.
“Toru—Toru, please,” you sob dryly.
Frustrated tears flow freely down your face, your words almost garbled and unintelligible as you plead for an orgasm. High-pitched keen slipping from your throat, you writhe against him harder; your thighs flex as you try bouncing your ass on his cock again—urgently chasing your own orgasm. Fingers digging into the flesh of your ass—hard enough that you know he’s bruised you—Satoru halts your motion, using his strength against you.
Satoru pulls away from your neck to look at your face. He takes in the sight of you, your eyelids teary, half-lidded and completely fucked out. He trails over the tear stains over your cheeks, your lips bruised and swollen, the precum he’d swiped on them dried out by now. Leaning up, he gently kisses your cheeks, his tongue swiping up to lick at the salty trails of your tears.
“Beg for it,” Satoru sneers.
“Please,” you breathe out. You look up at him through the thick of your lashes, your doe-like, teary eyes and swollen, precum-stained lips causing Satoru to groan.
“That’s my sweet girl,” Satoru praises.
Immediately, he retreats from your cunt, ignoring your moans of displeasure. Satoru draws up to his full height, easily lifting you up in his arms, before manoeuvring your trembling body so you’re bent over his desk. The side of your head rests on the table, cheek pressed against the wood, and bracing your feet on the ground, you thrust your hips back into him—chasing any form of friction.
Gripping your hips, Satoru holds your ass up and then, in one smooth thrust, he’s completely buried in you. With how rough he’s just fucked you, paired with his cum staining your walls and your own wetness, he should slide in easily. Nonetheless, the abrupt intrusion has you howling out, his girth splitting you apart once more as he leaves you no time to adjust. It’s too much all at once, your hips jerking forward as you try to pull away from him.
Satoru’s fingertips dig into your hips, holding your ass flush against his hips, and you cry out in a mix of pleasure and pain, your walls throbbing around his vascularised length. The uncontrollable clenching of your walls only highlights how incredibly big he is, his length buried so deep inside you, the head of his cock once again sits flat against your cervix. His sudden thrust has his cum spilling out of you, milky white rivulets smearing his cock, dripping down his balls, and onto your thighs.
“Fuck, baby. Always so tight for me like this,” Satoru moans, his hand coming down to spank your ass in tandem. The sharp impact has your hips jerking, a moan tearing from your throat. Satoru’s head falls back, revelling in the way your cunt tightens around him.
“Toru, move,” you urge, your hips squirming under his. Satoru bends over your back, his clothed chest pressing into your bare back.
“Who knew my Kitten was so cock-hungry?” Satoru purrs against your ear, emphasising his words with a deep thrust.
Your thighs shake and you fall further onto the table, your hands splaying on either side as your chest presses flat against the surface. Drawing back up to his height, Satoru begins thrusting hard into you. Over and over, he plunges his cock into you. His pace isn’t fast as before, but with his feet anchored to the ground, his thrusts are somehow more forceful, deeper. With every forward drive of his hips, your entire body jolts, your own hips digging into the edge of the table with how hard he impales you.
“Too—Too much,” comes your strained protest. Nonetheless, Satoru only laughs derisively behind you. One of his hands moves from your hips, caressing up the delicate curve of your spine and up to your neck, only for his fingers to curl into the roots of your hair. Tugging harshly, he forces you to arch your neck, your back bending in unison.
“Isn’t this what you asked for, princess? Begged me to use you as a cocksleeve, said you’d do anything just as long as I fucked you,” Satoru sneers, the derisiveness in his voice causing your skin to flash with heat. A deep, throaty mew is your only response, your brain unable to form words anymore. When you don’t respond, Satoru pulls your hair once again, simultaneously driving his hips forward in a brutal thrust.
“Hnnn—Deep, too deep, S’toru,” you gasp, your words slightly slurred. The pain of his cockhead battering into the walls of your cervix intermingles with the way his veiny cock strokes every nerve ending inside your cunt.
“I told you to be good for me, sweetheart. I asked you a question, I expect an answer” Satoru hisses, his fingers uncurling from your hair to spank your ass instead.
“Yes! I-It’s what I w-wanted,” you choke out, your voice faltering. Satoru caresses your tender cheek, a hum of approval tremoring from deep within his chest as he feels the heat of pain emanate from your flesh. Then, hand trailing down to your thigh, he grips your flesh before manoeuvring it to rest on the desk, your knee bending with the action.
In your new position, Satoru can press deeper into you, your wet, tumescent cunt peeking from between the apex of your thighs. Satoru’s lips curl sardonically before he swivels his hips. The rolling motion shifts the angle of his shaft inside you and you sob out his name once again. His entire length is hot inside you, the shaft throbbing rhythmically—completely different from the way your own walls ripple erratically. With a hard thrust, Satoru angles his cock to brush against your g-spot as he slides in. Instantly, you screech out his name, your thighs quivering violently.
Ruthlessly, he abuses your cunt—his cockhead brushes against your g-spot with every plunge of his cock. Dark eyes roam over your helpless form, Satoru watching as your muscles tremble almost imperceptibly from pleasure. Every time he impales his cock inside you, you jerk forward, only for him to pull you back onto his shaft. Each movement causes your sensitised, lace-clad nipples against the smooth wood—drawing out further sensations of pleasure as you gradually grow delirious.
Satoru’s hands move to drop to your ass, and thumbs pressing into the fleshy cheeks, he spreads them apart. A throaty groan resounds through the air, Satoru’s cerulean eyes fixating immediately onto the way your tumid cunt is stretched thin around his girth, how your wetness—mixed with his cum—leaks out of you and onto his cock, your thighs, his balls, with every thrust; and just above it all, is your tiny little asshole, the puckered rim twitching with pleasure.
Unable to stop himself, Satoru spreads them further apart, only to bend down slightly and spit. Instantly, you feel the warm wetness trail down the seam of your ass and onto your asshole, a small whimper resounding from your throat. Ignoring you, Satoru traces the puckered ring, relishing in the way it trembles under his touch. Then, running his fingers through your soaked slit, he gathers as much of your sticky arousal and his cum onto his middle finger, and with featherlight touches, he circles your asshole before dipping the tip of his finger into you, the muscles reflexively tightening to deny him entrance.
“Ah—Toru,” you hiss, the intrusion causing your stomach to clench.
“Relax, baby. It’s not the first time I’ve used this tight little hole, is it?” Satoru orders. Taking a deep breath, you will yourself to relax, Satoru groans when his finger slides in easily, the intrusion aided by the excessive amount of slick that coats his digit. When he’s buried knuckle deep into your ass he stills, the hot muscles clenching tightly around his appendage. Experimentally, he wiggles his finger inside you and you let out a heavy moan of pleasure.
“That’s it. Only filthy whores like you enjoy having their asses played with, don’t they, princess?” Satoru ribs, his voice mocking as he thrusts his finger deeper into your asshole. Whimpering, you only nod your head—your mind clouded with ecstasy from the feeling of your boyfriend’s finger inside your ass, while the head of his cock is still burrowed in your cunt.
When you don’t reply, Satoru pulls his finger out, only to shove both his middle and pointer finger into you this time. Blissed out, your pliant asshole initially stretches readily to let him in, however, the moment they probe further, the muscles clench involuntarily. Unhindered by the sudden contraction—more than used to loosening up the tight hole for his use—Satoru thrusts both his fingers hilt deep into you, before curling them and stroking the sensitive nerves inside your ass.
“Fuck! Toru,” you cry out, your hips jerking to pull away from him.
“Say it,” he hisses before swivelling his cock, the movement causing him to expertly stroke your sweet spot.
“O-Only filthy whores like me enjoy having their asses played with,” you cry out in pleasure.
Humming in approval behind you, Satoru begins fucking into you once again, his cock thrusting in and out of you, his fingers mimicking the rhythm as he forces them into your ass.
“S’toru—” you whimper.
This time, your voice is incredibly low and nearly inaudible; almost drowned out by the slick sounds of his cock fucking into your cum sodden cunt and the slapping of his skin against yours. Taking pity on you, Satoru leans over and presses a kiss to your shoulder blade. It’s a warming gesture, one meant to comfort you. However, the movement forces him slightly deeper into you making you jerk.
“Toru!” you sob.
“Fuck—cum for me, pretty girl,” Satoru orders.
As he speaks, the hand spreading your ass cheek moves to curl around your body before two fingers press against your clit. A strained sob escapes your lips as the sudden pleasure hurtles you off the edge. Body quaking, you wail out his name, the sound coming out more like a strangled groan as your throat strains under the sound. Satoru hisses, his jaw clenching as he feels you clamp down impossibly tight around his girth. Emboldened by your orgasm, he wildly thrusts both his cock, and his fingers, into you, drawing out the delirious pleasure that ricochets through your body.
“Fuck yes, that’s it sweet girl, cum around my cock,” Satoru urges.
All of a sudden, he rips out the fingers in your ass, using the hand instead to press into your back as he ruts his cock into you. The abrupt exit of his digits has you yelping, your slightly gaping hole clenching around nothing as Satoru thrusts into you with reckless abandon. The fingers toying with your clit increase in their vigour, your eyes rolling back in pleasure. Under him, your thighs tremble, your toes curling as he draws out your pleasure.
“Cum again. Fuck, cum again. Wanna feel you milk my cum out my cock,” Satoru commands.
“N-No, c-can’t. Too much,” you refute with a sob, your head shaking as your eyes screw shut. Satoru laughs mockingly at your weeping form.
“You begged me to cum, cried for it like a desperate slut. So cum,” he orders, his fingers rolling and pinching your tumid bundle of nerves. Simultaneously, his cock pierces into you, his bulbous head dragging against the sensitive tissue of your sweet spot.
With an ear-splitting wail, you cry out his name as your body locks. Ecstasy suddenly rockets through you, hurtling you over the precipice and sending you diving head first into your orgasm once more. Drawing into yourself, your body curls and shudders under him as you quietly sob. Your walls contract painfully, Satoru hissing at how you tighten around him.
“Fuck—fuck,” Satoru groans out.
The vehement rippling of your walls milks his shaft as he begins chasing his own high. A lewd squelching fills the air, the sloppy sounds of your cum-filled, dripping pussy loud in the night. Through it all, Satoru continues plunging into you, heightening your climax, and soon, the pain of overstimulation ripples through your over-stimulated sex. Through your desire-clouded mind, you vaguely register the burning ache that passes through you.
“N-No more. S’toru, please, too much, hurts,” you slur from underneath him, unable to articulate a coherent form of thought from the unbridled euphoria that clouds your mind. Relentless in his pursuit of his own pleasure, however, Satoru continues toying with your clit, revelling in the way the messy, wet walls of your cunt erratically tighten around him.
“Fuck, you can do it, sweet girl. Wanna cum deep in you while you milk my cock,” Satoru softly coaxes. When he pinches your clit once more, you scream out his name.
Pleasure blurs your vision, and eyes screwing shut, white-spots blind the darkness of your mind. Abruptly, the knot within your stomach unravels, and feeling the sudden relief spread through your abdomen, you’re forced over the precipice of blissful ecstasy once again. Jaw slackening, your mouth falls open and your throat strains as you force out a silent cry. Without warning, your walls tighten—almost painfully—around Satoru’s cock, the forceful contractions causing pelt after pelt of your cum to gush out of you. When he feels wetness pelt against the material of his slacks, Satoru groans, realising you’ve squirted all over him and his desk.
“Fuck, that’s it,” Satoru hisses.
Satoru’s hands move to grip your ass cheeks, and forces them apart, his eyes dropping to where his girth splits you open. Then, with two stuttered thrusts, he impales his cock as deep as he can into you, his balls tightening. For a second time that night, his thick cum floods inside you, shooting out of his length and straight against your cervix. Through the overstimulated fog of ecstasy, you feel the torrent of his seed pour into you, your womb overwhelmed with his warmth.
While your body uncontrollably spasms—your muscles still reeling with the aftershocks of your orgasm—you slowly come to. Drifting back to reality, the high of your climax ebbs into a post-orgasmic haze. Breath laboured, the two of you heave for air as you stay completely still. Feeling the dryness of your throat, you swallow thickly in a bid to soothe the raw muscles.
As your mind slowly clears, the inescapable warmth of Satoru’s cum within your belly becomes apparent. You whine softly, relishing in the comforting sensation. Behind you, Satoru stays buried deep inside you, hips moving imperceptibly as he rides out the aftershocks of his own climax. When the erratic clenching of your walls becomes too much, Satoru hisses in overstimulation before drawing out.
As he pulls his cock out from your depths, you whimper, his bulbous cockhead stroking against your over-sensitised walls. The head retreats with a slight pop, your hips jerking when your tender walls stretch around his tip once more, before you’re left empty. You lay limply on the table, your entire body trembling. Gasping for air, you try to catch your breath, your muscles involuntarily twitching.
Satoru flops onto his chair, a groan of appreciation emanating from his throat. In your position, bent over his desk, you’re completely bared for him, ass and cunt on display. Your raw, abused sex drips with a mixture of cum, the sloppy essence spilling out of you are your cunt clenches around nothing. Unable to help himself, Satoru caresses your folds, two fingers stroking up your slit and toward your entrance. Gathering up his cum that had spilled out of you onto his digits, he presses them into your gaping entrance, pushing his seed back inside you.
“S’toru, sensitive,” you whine, your hips sluggishly squirming in a bid to pull away from him.
Satoru rolls closer to you, presses a soft kiss to your ass cheek in an apology. Pulling his fingers out, he reaches out for you. Strong arms circle your waist and, gathering you within his embrace, Satoru pulls your boneless form onto his lap. You settle into your boyfriend, your back flush against his chest as your head rests against his shoulder.
“God, I fucking missed you,” Satoru sighs. He nuzzles his face into your neck, lavishing the delicate column with tender kisses.
“Missed you too,” you reply, your voice hoarse. Snuggling further into him, you allow his scent to wash over you and exhale in contentment. After a few short moments, you tilt your head to the side and look up at him.
“So, where’s my surprise?” you question, your eyebrow cocking. Satoru chuckles, the sound reverberating through his chest and into your back.
“It’s inside you right now,” he smirks in response, arrogance dripping in his voice. You frown, confusion painting your features as you attempt to make sense of his words. Then, realisation dawns upon you, your eyes narrowing instantly.
“Gojo Satoru, was my surprise your fucking cum?” you screech, only to wince when your aching, dry throat protests the sound.
“Told you you’d love it,” Satoru grins.
“You’re so fucking annoying,” you scowl.
Satoru’s only response is to laugh in that annoying, purposely high-pitched tone of his.
a/n: this is my first fic in a while and i am probably v rusty with my writing but i hope you all enjoyed it :)
m.list
#jjk smut#jjk fanfic#jjk x reader#jjk x fem!reader#jjk x you#gojo x you#gojo x reader#gojo x female reader#gojo satoru x you#gojo satoru x reader#gojo satoru x female reader#jjk gojo x reader#jjk gojo x you#gojo smut#gojo fluff#gojo fanfic#mdni#gojo satoru imagine#gojo satoru smut
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Drunk Dancin
Elliott (Sdv) X reader
(art from Pinterest)
This was so fun to write I hope you all enjoy! I got kinda lazy towards the end Sorry it's been awhile sense I've had inspo so this might be bad. Also I didn't proof read this shit🤣🖤
It had been a rough day on the farm, the crops were dying due to the change in season, the animals were grumpy even though they had plenty to eat and space to wander, And then to top it off the mines nearly killed me, and now I grumpily stumble to the stardrop saloon.
It's a busy night for the tiny bar. Friday nights are always like that, groups and sad lonely souls gather there to drink, sing, and stumble out sometime past midnight every Friday without fail.
As I make my way inside I see it's still relatively quiet. I walk up to the bar nodding my head to Pam who sits at her usual corner.
“Hey kid you're looking rough, what happened this time?” she asks, turning her head to me with a slight chuckle as she takes a sip of her beer. I look at her with a sigh as I slump over the bar lazily grabbing my drink and sliding it closer to me. “Oh, you know the same old shit. Crops are assholes, and my animals and the creatures in the mines want me dead.” I say lifting my cup to my lips and downing half of my drink before lowering my glass. “It’s been fun,” I say giving her a sarcastic smile.
“Jesus kid you outta slow down there wont be any good tomorrow if you're sloshed,” she says with a grin. I look at her with a raised eyebrow before I can respond. She laughs. “I’m just kidding, the best cure for a shitty day is a drink. If I had any extra cash I would buy you one outta pity but well I'm kinda runnin’ a little short for my tab as is so.. Don’t tell Gus,” she tells me with a wink, I let out a little chuckle. “ Your secrets are safe with me,” I tell her before downing the rest of my drink and calling Gus over for another, which he gladly sells me before I get up from the bar and wander to a table neatly nested in the corner. I sit down and after a few minutes, I see my good friend Leah wander into the saloon collecting her drink from the bar. She wandered to the table next to me. “ well hey their Y/n what are you up to tonight.”She asks as she pulls out her seat to sit down.
I look up at her with a grin holding up my drink. “Girl I’m drinking in hopes I don't wake up tomorrow sober!” I tell her as we both laugh. “ Jeez Y/n what the hell did you do now, don't you tell me you passed out in those mines again!” she jokes with a grin on her face as she takes a sip of her beer.
“Hey now I didn't pass out, but I got too damn close to those rock crabs are the devil.'' I shake my head as I chuckle. “ They keep sneaking up on me and by the time I see one of those things there are 3 more behind me.” I say Leah just laughs “Sounds like you need to buy some armor or something if you gonna keep going down there-” she starts to say before a new voice unintentionally cuts her off.
“Good evening Leah,y/n how are you both tonight?” the person says, looking towards the voice we see Elliott. I was starting to wonder where he was normally earlier. “ hey El where were you? You're a bit later than usual.” I ask the redhead. He just chuckles and takes a seat in between the two tables. “Well, you know how I was having a dry spell of inspiration? Well, I don't know What hit me but today I was able to get 3 chapters done in my novel! I was so caught up in it that I didn't even realize the whole day had run away from me. I feel so alive at the moment!” he tells us excitedly. For the past week, Elliott has been talking about how he had no clue what to write in this book of his, it was kind of sad to see him so upset, but now he's happy and inspired again! Don't get me wrong is amazing, I'm happy for him and even happier that he's so much more enthusiastic and optimistic now, but I just wish he was like this 3 days ago. Because now his joy is feeling a bit suffocating. Or maybe that's just because of my shitty day.
Even so, I sit there and listen to him excitedly explaining some plot twist he wanted to add to a future chapter.
As he speaks I can't help but tune into the music playing from the jukebox. It's decently loud but not enough to give you a headache and the songs playing are mostly from the 70’s and 80's. I guess Gus has decent musical taste! Who knew?
About an hour has passed and our little trio has had our fair share of drinks. We sit there joking around for a little longer before Leah thinks it might be a good idea to pull Elliott and me up to dance. “Leah I don’t know how fuckin to dance??” I slur as she pulls me up. She groans “Come on don't be lame let all just dance! I bet you can do it! Elliott, don't you think they can do it too??” she asks him. Elliott being a little less than drunk more on the tipsy side just laughs.
“ You know I think they can! Go on, go dance, you can do it,” he says, giving me a slight push. Without thinking I grab onto his hand and spin around to face him. “You know what! I’ll go if you come with us.”
Telling him to come with us was the worst thing to say ever.
Cause he was an amazing dancer with a couple of drinks under his belt. And he looked divine doing it. His red suit jacket had been long forgotten on the back of his chair, his long red hair was put up messily in a bun and he was dancing like he should have been on a stage.
He swayed and spun, stumbled once or twice, and laughed with us when we pointed it out to him. It was a beautiful thing to witness, but he didn't take my focus away completely, as Leah and I had been spinning around together, jumping up and down bobbing our heads to the beat as we stumbled and laughed.
As we dance my head starts to spin, dizziness overcoming every aspect of my mind and vision almost knocking me down. But as I stumble, a hand grabs my wrist from behind and spins me around full circle. As I nearly fall forward the person's other hand finds its way to my waist pulling me towards them, my back hits their chest and I hear a laugh. “I can see you've been having fun, you should be more careful, you just never know who you'll stumble into.”
Recognizing the voice, a dopey grin creeps onto my face as I turn my head to look at the culprit.
And just as I guessed it was Elliott standing behind me with an oddly placed smirk on his face. Seeing him sobers me up a little bit in the best way possible.
“ Well now you're the one who grabbed me, I could have stumbled my way into anyone I like. you just happened to be quick about it.” I said with a giggle as I spun around one more to the beat of the song playing. Now facing him as we move around the dancefloor.
“Yes, well. Ah, what can I say i can't think of a good excuse at the moment. I’ve wanted to dance with you for quite some time, And when I saw you had wandered out of Leah's grasp well. I suppose you can call me somewhat of an opportunist.” he says as we both let out a laugh
“ Well, I can’t say I'm complaining that you took that opportunity.” I wink “Nothing against Leah she's quite a good dancer.”
“Better than me?” Elliott says with a joking tone. “Definitely,” I responded with a grin. He places a dramatic hand on his chest as he tries to flip his hair forgetting it's put up at the moment “I’m hurt, I thought I was better than that.” he jokes. A small chuckle escapes me at the gesture before the night goes on and blurs together, not in the sense that I don't remember more like that of a watercolor painting when the colors bleed into one another as we had dancing in a wave of color that turns into something else entirely.
The door of the saloon swung open as we exited, we were one of the last few folks leaving. Leah had left about an hour prior leaving us to our fun, not without saying goodbye first. Waving goodnight to Gus, me and Elliott make our way to the town square. Stopping I turn to him with a tired look “Are you sure you wanna walk me home? It's getting pretty late.'' I asked him. It's not like the walk to the farm is long but for him to walk all the way there and then to the beach is quite the trek even with shortcuts it can take quite a while. “Of course. I'm not gonna let you walk home alone at this hour. It wouldn't be right, especially after the drinks you had earlier.” he tells me with a grin i gaze at him skeptically. Looking him up and down.
Even after the long night he looks surprisingly put together in a semi-messy way, his hair is still put up in that messy bun from earlier but now some more strands are pulled out some of them sticking to his face after the night of dancing, his white dress shirt was wrinkled now and his red coat was lazily thrown over his shoulder. Even so, his posture was still surprisingly straight though he was very slightly hunched over but it was kinda hard to notice. After a few moments, I shrugged my shoulders “Well if you insist.”I told him.
“Oh, I insist” he smiles, turning to the side he offers me his arm. I laugh a bit and take it “Trying to pull the gentlemen card tonight Elliott?” I joke as we make our way past the little garden turning the corner to make our descent down the pathway that leads to my farm. “ I don't need to pull a card. It's just who I am,” he says, his voice a bit smoother than before. Making a little heat rise to my face. I thank the dark shadows of the night for shielding the small details from his view. Damn, that silver tongue of his. I think to myself before I remember to respond “Whatever you say El.” I chuckle looking straight ahead of us. The air is cool as we walk but not uncomfortable in the slightest. It is more of a calming breeze that floats past us picking up the smell of some of the freshly bloomed spring flowers with a slight smell of rain from the previous day. I feel as though I could never tire of the night air, And to admit walking with the man that's haunted my dreams each night just adds that little bit more to it that makes it hard for me to remember that it's real.
“Well, here we are.” I hear Elliott mumble pulling me out of my thoughts. I didn’t even realize we had walked up the steps to my front porch. “ thank you so much, Elliott.'' I smile warmly at him as I release his arm from my hold. “ It was really sweet of you to walk me home tonight. And also thank you for the fun night you and Leah provided me with.” I told him.
“It's always a pleasure, and I would do it again any time any place,” he responds with a nod. a small grin gracing his features. A few moments pass before he decides to speak once more
“ Well I suppose it's getting quite late and I wouldn't want to keep you up too late so I guess I'll be going now,” he says hesitantly. I bow my head with a smile before opening my door a small bit of confidence overcoming me as I get i silly idea
“ Well, it's not that late, how about you come inside for a moment and grab some tea before you go?”
“ that. Would be lovely. As long as you don't mind.” he says taking a step inside my home.
“ I don't mind, I offered,” I responded with a laugh closing the door behind us as I went to heat the kettle. It was a small offer but it was a night neither of us would forget for a long time.
#sdv fanart#sdv elliott#sdv farmer#sdv sebastian#sdv sam#sdv shane#sdv fanfic#stardew farmer#stardew elliott#stardew valley#stardew fanart
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Book Review 43 - Even Though I Knew The End by C. L. Polk
Oh this was fun. Never would have heard of it if it hadn’t been nominated for a Hugo, and devoured it in the course of a computer-less Sunday afternoon. It wasn’t exactly reaching for the stars, but it knew what it was about and it executed it well; there’s a real virtue to that. Also I adore slightly cheesy but self-serious noir and the early 20th century really is the ideal setting for classical urban fantasy.
The story follows Helen, a private investigator and warlock in 1930s Chicago. Ten years prior to the story, she sold her soul to a demon to resurrect her younger brother from a car crash that would have otherwise killed her entire family – for her trouble, she was cast out from the magical brotherhood training her as a mystic and forced to make a living as a cut-rate diviner and gumshoe in Chicago. The plot kicks off three days before the deal comes due and her soul’s forfeit, and she takes one last consulting job to add a bit more to the nest egg she’ll be leaving for her girlfriend Edith when she’s torn from the mortal coil. And then, of course, she finds out that a) her employer is a demon, b) the case she’s consulting on is someone ritually murdering other poor souls who’ve made deals, days before they come due, and c) if she solves it she’ll get her soul back, along with enough money to make to San Francisco with Edith and start a new life free and clear.
So this is not a book that sets out to surprise the reader. The storytelling is efficient and the foreshadowing is reasonably honest – you can guess just about every twist well ahead of time with even the slightest bit of effort. I’d say the book isn’t trying to break any new ground, but actually it’s the only example I can think off hand of this sort of genre emulation period piece that both has a queer protagonist and doesn’t either elide or edit out the homophobia of the their environment, so there is that. Anyway, ‘genre emulation’ is the right term I think – snappy, tightly written noir plot that doesn’t outlast its welcome (this was absolutely a novella-sized story).
I really don’t know the author or their work well enough to know how intentional it is, but the ending very much felt like a comment on the whole Bury Your Gays/Tragic Lesbian trope. Essentially, Edith gets herself heroically sacrificed saving Helen’s life in the climactic showdown. Then, once the dust has settled and Marlow (her demonic client) has given Helen her soul back she…immediately sells it again to bring her back. Better ten years of Californian bliss with her true love then an eternity in heaven (and besides, that brother she’d saved the first time had just killed an angel, so someone’s going to need to keep him company in hell). The book’s title is in no way subtle or metaphorical, it is a line of the protagonist’s internal monologue.
The story’s universe is a folk-Christian one, and it is absolutely imperative that when reading it you don’t poke at the underlying metaphysics at all. Angels and demons are real and magicians are the distant descendants of Nephilim and some of the Grigori still haunt the earth, and we have it on good authority that God doesn’t actually care about being gay and everyone seems very frightened of the idea of summoning the Archangel Michael to earth, but start asking any followup questions about angels and world events during the Roosevelt Administration and you’re ruin the story for yourself. Just don’t worry about it.
As a final note, I really did love Marlowe – or properly, she’s one of my favorite types of demons in these sorts of stories. Epitome of high class beauty, lives in a palatial penthouse waited upon handed and foot by layers of servants, eats the best food and wears the best clothes and has the best lovers, even a generous employer and creditor as long as you do what she wants and give her what she’s owed. The sort of demon who seems like falling out of heaven was worth it, and one you can imagine actually convincing someone to sell their soul. She’s fun!
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Jonathan Harker: The ‘Absolute Love Corrupts Absolutely’ Villain That Almost Was*
*LONG before Francis Ford Coppola’s Cinematic Gary Oldman Fanfiction
Spoilers ahead for the Dracula Daily enjoyers, because I’m whipping out all my literary receipts on this.
I recently finished speed-rereading Dracula because I have no self-control. In doing so, I got a refresher on quite a few incendiary factors of the book that time had dulled in my memory.
1. There’s a TON of ‘I’m not like other girls!’ and ‘men good, women dainty,’ and ‘What no I’m not projecting, honest, I just really like the words manful, voluptuous, manful, aquiline, manful, God, and manful again. –Bramothy Stoker,’ so brace for that from basically the whole cast. I’m blaming it partly on Bram Flakes’ own prejudices, of which there are plenty, and the fact that he’d clearly never met a thesaurus in his life.
(I appreciate everyone’s mental revamp of Mina as the New Woman to Lucy’s Classic Damsel, but…oof. Everyone’s in for a harsh Period/Stoker Accurate reminder.)
2. Brammy Pajamas was either hanging around some exceptionally devout Christians to write some of the second/third act scenes with everyone basically thrashing and wailing and falling on their knees and clasping/kissing hands as they pray to/thank God, all while thinking it was perfectly natural behavior for these characters…or he legit had no clue how any kind of ordinary human being, Christian or otherwise, would react to the situations he puts them in.
(Seriously, it’s not even that everyone’s devout, it’s that they’re all written to act like they’re in a soap opera where the only direction they got was to be as hammy and histrionic as physically possible. You’ll know the scenes when you see them.)
3. Jonathan Harker has not only been done dirty by every adaptation since the book in terms of being a main character, along with being the character to spend the most time with Dracula in close quarters, period, and being the love interest for Mina—his whole character arc by the second half of the book is the most blazing hot, “If my beloved is destined for damnation, I’m heading to Hell with her, fuck all else,” shit I have ever read in classic literature, full stop.
Not Dracula. Not any character based on Dracula.
Jonathan fucking Harker is the OG archetype for Love Corrupts (Violently), and the canon story avoided him going full tragic villain by t h i s much. You want proof? Let’s go.
NOTE: MAIN SPOILERS STRAIGHT FROM THE BOOK, SHIELD YOUR EYES
Here’s the part most Harker fans scream over, myself included:
“To one thing I have made up my mind: if we find out that Mina must be a vampire in the end, then she shall not go into that unknown and terrible land alone. I suppose it is thus that in old times one vampire meant many; just as their hideous bodies could only rest in sacred earth, so the holiest love was the recruiting sergeant for their ghastly ranks.”
Good shit, good shit! Jonathan was already prepared to risk falling to his death from a cliff or being eaten by wolves rather than stay in Castle Dracula for a bloodthirsty eternity with the ladies. But now? Mina is quite literally his, “You are worth Hell,” Beloved. But there’s more. Fast forward to one of Team Fuck-Up-That-Old-Undead-Man’s first head-on encounters with the Count. As they’re waiting, Jonathan gets impatient, declaring:
“I care for nothing now,” he answered hotly, “except to wipe out this brute from the face of creation. I would sell my own soul to do it!”
He says as much in front of his Christian+ buddies who, by now, had pretty fair reasons to believe in the legitimacy of Hell and all its demons. Van Helsing is definitely startled and seemingly talks him down from such an oath. Key word being seemingly. Because we jump forward again to a point where Mina, in full saintly forgiveness mode (and apparently selectively forgetting Van Helsing’s history lesson about Dracula’s pre-vampire days being ones of a slaughtering tyrant), saying that if/when they destroy the Count, oh, how happy his soul will be to be free of his torment on Earth, et cetera. Jonathan Harker has a rebuttal to share. Namely:
“May God give him into my hand just for long enough to destroy that earthly life of him which we are aiming at. If beyond that I could send his soul forever and ever to burning hell I would do it!”
God forgives. Jonathan Harker emphatically does not.
Onward again, and he speaks volumes by what he does not say. Chiefly, there’s a point where Mina, now in full martyr preparation should the worst happen, makes the boys swear an oath to destroy her body if/when she succumbs and dies to Dracula’s vampiric poisoning so she cannot rise again as one of his ladies. The boys swear. Mostly. What we get from Jonathan is…
“And must I, too, make such a promise, oh, my wife?”
“You too, my dearest.” (Note: The rest of her paragraph here is full of the most knife-twisting, utterly warped martyr ‘pep talk’ I’ve ever read, and I have no idea how she/Bramarama thought it would remotely convince Jonathan this was all a reasonable and chill thing she was talking about. Anyway.)
It’s important to note that absolutely nowhere in the ensuing text does Jonathan ever speak the promise out loud. He does read the goddamn Burial Service at Mina’s request, which he barely chokes his way through. But he never makes the oath.
Another jump ahead. They are on the hunt for Dracula and, alas, have just missed him at a key point. Most of the gang are shaking their fists at the sky, cursing up and down. And what is Jonathan doing? Well, to quote Jack Seward, just before the epiphany…
“We men were all in a fever of excitement, except Harker, who is calm; his hands are as cold as ice, and an hour ago I found him whetting the edge of the great Ghoorka knife which he now always carries with him. It will be a bad look-out for the Count if the edge of that ‘Kukri’ ever touches his throat, driven by that stern, ice-cold hand!”
And upon discovery of the Count slipping them…
“Harker smiled—actually smiled—the dark bitter smile of one who is without hope; but at the same time his action belied his words, for his hands instinctively sought the hilt of the great Kukri knife and rested there.”
For context, by this point Jonathan had already come at Dracula with said Kukri knife a while back, having nearly landed the blow after charging out of the pack and nearly fucking gutting the Count. For extra context, this is a Kukri knife:
He’s just been walking around with that. For half the book. Plotting.
And, with all of this in mind, we can only assume Jonathan had two plans of action in mind.
Plan A, follow Van Helsing’s lead.
…Not counting the moment he almost bit the Professor’s head off for saying he had to bring Mina along with him to Castle Dracula. Another good scene which includes his very succinct reaction to Van Helsing’s suggestion, even if he does have to agree in the end:
“Not for the world! Not for Heaven or Hell!”
Anyway. If the plan works out, cool. He gets to kill Dracula, Mina is saved. Best case scenario!
But then there’s the unspoken, explicitly unwritten (in case his pages need to be read), but heavily foreshadowed Plan B. They cannot destroy the Count, in time or otherwise. Mina is now either a corpse waiting to awake as a vampire, or a vampire already. The others, true to their vow, mean to destroy her.
Jonathan Harker, true only to Mina, in whatever form she may take, still has that Kukri. And the element of surprise. And a full acknowledgment of the realities of Heaven, Hell, and his holding Mina’s continued existence above them, his friends, his sanity, his humanity, and himself.
In short, all your tragically romantic Draculas can kindly go fuck themselves with a wooden stake. Jonathan Harker is the first and best gothic horror example of a person in love to the point of madness, damnation, and willingness to deceive or destroy anyone who would endanger the one he loves. The only reason we never got to see it in action was because Stoker had to tack on a happy ending. If he hadn’t?
The census would be less four unsuspecting heroes and plus two newlywed vampires.
The End.
Suck on it, Francis.
#Jonathan Harker is a good boy a lovely young man and he Can and Will Kill for His Wife :) :) :)#seriously there's a whole other essay to go with how gloriously fucked up-passionate this stance is within both the time it was written#and the novel itself which is SATURATED with God Christ and more God#for this fucker to have gone through what he did in the castle on top of all the very clear proofs of divine VS infernal goings-on#this dude is flipping the bird to all of it#the whole mess (be it of God or the Devil or fucking Dracula)#none of it ranks higher than Mina in his mind#my guy is fucked up and I love him#jonathan harker#dracula#mina murray#mina harker#dracula daily#spoilers
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First the camera pans across eight books arrayed with hundreds of sticky tabs, flaunting that they have been closely read and meticulously annotated. Next a description runs across the screen: “Books I would sell my soul to read again for the first time”. The music crescendoes, and a manicured hand reveals the books’ covers in time with the beat, featuring authors including Simone de Beauvoir, Elena Ferrante and Sally Rooney.
The user, who is called “buryme.withmybooks”, does not say why she likes them, but that does not matter. On TikTok hyperbole is the name of the social-media game.
One thing I really enjoy is when The Economist describes something like they're a great grandparent encountering civilization for the first time since WWI
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i want NEED more of layla x marc x reader's relationship bestie !! i feel like layla would've been softer than marc but she'd also would keep it in balance. like usually being soft but stays firm when you're acting bratty and doesn't back up from punishing you,,, and and and do you think she'd be more into praising or degrading you ???
ops i totally forgot about marc being in the relationship too --
all ours.
pairing: layla el faouly x (f)reader x marc spector
word count: 965
warnings: minors dni please, pov switch, illusions of sex, oral, fingering, cum eating, choking, slight hand kink, praising, dom/sub undertones, layla wears the pants in this three way ok.
etc: bestie when i tell you i blacked out in bi when i wrote this i mean it, like layla? dream, please give me a chance. marc AND layla? thee dream team that i would sell my soul to get a chance with! i also made marc the softer one….because i couldn’t help myself lmaksk.
i do not give anyone permission to translate or repost my work, please be respectful — if you enjoyed please comment or reblog!
“Look at her,” Layla’s grin is more mocking than it is soothing; happy, teasing. The swipe of her fingers spreading your folds, the slick sound as they move against your clit - just enough to touch, a small taste of what you want, what you need - makes your cheeks heat even more; your teeth dig into your already sore bottom lip.
When she lifts her fingers, your hips try to trail after them pathetically. The two fingers she holds up are visibly wet, coated, your arousal put on display for the three of you. The smirk she sends Marc makes your stomach sink, your resolve breaking. You would feel embarrassed, should feel embarrassed, neither of them have touched you all night. At least nothing more than the small fleeting ones here and there; a brush to your back through your dress, a puff of air from speaking close to your neck, your ear, wafting over your skin. The tiniest of finger grazes when Layla would give or take.
No it was the looks they had given you. The lack of the deep set scowl that faded away when Marc was in the mood. The way Layla’s eyes kept sweeping along your body, how she would comment on how cute you looked to Marc, “Isn’t she so pretty? So beautiful, all ours”. The smile that followed from the statements a mix of teasing and admiration that sent your stomach plummeting, and heart racing.
And maybe that's why she did it. Maybe she loved watching you squirm, or watching the way it was so easy to tell you wanted them, wanted her - it was always the same.
It wasn't hard for her to see it, to see that shift in your body. The looks, the way you pressed your thighs closer together, or the way you kept staring at her hands. Your eyes sweeping over each finger, her wrist, her palm, whatever object she was holding or touching at that moment - the gleam of want in your eye, the hard bob of your throat - the dirty thoughts she was sure were going through your head making you move uncomfortably in your seat. Layla could feel the gravitational pull of your body, of your need, the more you would stare, the less you would talk; the heavier your breath got when she would take pity on you and give you only a taste of what you wanted.
Layla could read you like the back of her hand, as could Marc. You displayed your lust like a beautiful picture book to them, always open, always ready to be read, to be learned, to touch, to place, over and over again.
Though, she never knew what mood you were in until they got you home, or until you couldn't take it anymore and you all but begged to be touched. Sometimes you’d want her to wrap her hands around your throat and make you come on her fingers until you were screaming and Marc was swallowing them down - or muffling your cries with his cock.
Other times you wanted to feel the soft press of her fingertips all over your skin, wanted her to tease and pick you apart slowly, so so slowly, until you were grinding your hips up into hers, or her thigh. Making you come untouched.
Some nights all you wanted was to watch Marc make her come over and over until you begged to have a turn - or until Marc has come inside of her and presses your face into Layla’s cunt to swallow down what wasn't buried deep.
Layla liked it all, she liked you begging for her to touch you, to fuck you, to let you come. She loved how eager you were to please, how cute you looked being dominated by both her and Marc. How submissive you could be, the sad little moans you’d give when you wouldnt get your way, wouldn't be allowed to come.
Marc being the softer one of the two when it came to letting you finish when you’ve been a little too bratty; didn't listen to directions, made a move when you were told to stay, to take, to please. If it were up to her you would beg for hours to come, days if that's what it took for a lesson to be learned.
“Please let me come, please.”
“Oh, baby,” Layla would purr. Smile against your cheek, or wherever her lips were currently torturing you at. “I don’t think you deserve it, not just yet.”
“Layla.” Marc would answer for you, groan for you.
But Marc was a softy when it came to his girls. And she couldn’t deny the love she had for the soft intimate moments the three of you shared when you went slow, took each other to that precipice, to that crest with the intimacy of something more than just fucking, than fuffiling a need or punishment.
“You’re so pretty when you come, look at her Marc.”
“Fuck.”
“Such a good girl.”
And right now the look Marc has in his eyes, the heavy rising of his chest as he stares at the wetness on her fingers, at your arousal - enough to get both of their mouths watering - Layla can tell that tonight is going to be a giving night.
That they were going to be a sweaty heaving mess by the time all was said and done.
Walking over to Marc, her steps slow and methodical, she grabs his jaw with a light grip; something flutters inside of her as she watches him open his mouth without her even having to ask. His lips wrapping around her fingers, the suction of his tongue as he licks your arousal off of her fingers, has her smirking, “I get her first.”
#layla el faouly x reader#marc spector smut#layla el faouly smut#layla el faouly#marc spector#marc spector x reader#layla el faouly x you#marc spector x you#moon knight smut#moon knight x you#moon knight x reader#layla el faouly fic#moon knight fic#marc spector fic#**
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Ok, idk if you've ever read Jane Austen but consider the following:
Morpheus and the Reader making THE WORST first impressions of each other but eventually falling in love when they realize that THEY WERE BOTH WRONG
Morpheus falling in love with the Reader who's this spirited, passionate, creative soul who's more open than he is.
The Reader having an active imagination that amuses Morpheus and he sometimes uses it to make her thoughts come to life
The Reader who has been by Morpheus' side since the beginning and has been secretly in love with him and endures seeing Morpheus in different romantic relationships. Only after he returns from his capture does he realise how much the Reader means to him
Morpheus and the Reader once having a relationship but they break up only to find each other again due to the Reader having a connection to one of his symbols of power (it would be the Ruby and they would be the 'Mother and Son' instead of John Dee and Ethel Cripps).
Reader being the only one to call Morpheus out on his 'high and mighty' bullcrap
These are all based on some tropes I've spotted in each of Jane Austen's books.
BONUS: Reader and Morpheus falling in love but the ghost of his past romantic relationships looms over them and Reader has to run away because she fears she may end up like the others (this one was inspired by Jane Eyre)
🌹
I AM EATING UP ALL OF THIS!!!!!!!!!
You gently turned over the ruby necklace.
It was his.
You knew it, you knew the moment you spotted it in an old market place. It drew you in, dare you say a moth to a flame.
You should return it, it was the proper thing to do. But, you couldn’t. You couldn’t say goodbye to it. Its warmth was a hug from him, it comforted you immensely. And most of all, you couldn’t step back into the Dreaming to even say hello. Despite the centuries together, despite him being your closest friend, he also broke your heart.
Or you broke his.
It was a mess. A heated breakup over something you couldn’t necessarily remember. Well, you suppose you sort of remembered why: pride, ego, secrecy, and guarded self.
You both thought you were ready for your relationship, but it was a lie. It was an awful rebound for each of you which only severed your once precious relationship and ripped it to tattered shreds.
You clutched the ruby to your chest. A rise of tears swelled up inside of you. Maybe you should just toss it out the window and forget it all. Maybe you should sell it. Or maybe you should hold if tighter and treasure it and all the wondrous happy memories.
“You could imagine my surprise to learn you have found my ruby.”
You whipped around. Dream stood in your room, and he was just a beautiful as you remembered him.
“Dream,” you whispered.
“Hello, my dear,” he spoke softly.
Your heart soared at his affectionate nickname for you. You quickly stood up. Your heart pounded in your chest. However, your initial excitement faltered. His ruby necklace dangled loosely in your hand.
Right. Of course.
You handed it over towards him, “Sorry, you are obviously here for this.”
Stepping closer, he gently pushed down your hand. “I was until I heard you had it.”
Your eyebrows furrowed together.
“I recently had some time to reflect,” he began. “And I wished to see you again.”
“What?” You breathed out.
“I want to invite you to the Dreaming, and I wish to discuss our prior … relationship.”
“Dream -“
“Please.” He stepped forward, invading your peace. He clasped your hands in his. His ruby necklace nearly clattered to the floor. “Just give me a few days time and come. We have much to discuss, and I have much to apologize for.”
He leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours. He inhaled deeply. He let his senses be consumed by you. How long had it been? Far, far too long.
You sighed, closing your eyes. He was Dream, but something was different about him. To be honest, your heart screamed yes the moment he asked. “Okay, I’ll be there.”
“Wonderful.” He took his ruby back, clutching it in his hand. He softly kissed your temple. “I will come for you, I promise my dear.”
“And I will wait.”
#the sandman#morpheus#dream of the endless#morpheus x reader#dream of the endless x reader#🌹 anon#ask
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I'm so mad right now and I need to rant. I know I should get over it, but I literally can't. It's so annoying to meet hxh fans in real life.
I'm buying bit by bit the volumes of yu yu hakusho and hunter x hunter (level e is not available in my country), and reading them (again). I got volume 28 and took some photos of some panels that I liked and shared them as a collage in my story. It looked nice, I liked it and I am really happy that I finally got it. The thing is that a friend I haven't properly talked to for I don't know how long saw my story and realized that I liked hxh. We started talking, but damn, I don't regret sharing what I bought, but why are people like this? This is the second time it happens to me (third time if I include a non-fan but knows hxh): everytime someone hears that I like togashi's work, they start complaining about the popular hiatus (as if he's the only mangaka who does that). I so prefer to meet the guys who act all surprised everytime I go to buy a hxh volume in the comic book store. At least they try to make a conversation about the story and just ask me about my favorite character.
My conversation with this guy started with him just complaining about how togashi doesn't continue the story and he should leave it to someone else but he's too proud and blablabla. I tried to be sympathetic since he seems to be a fan of his work from years ago, but I did defend togashi a whole lot (he said I should stop defending him but never in my life I would do such a thing). I find it awful how some fans still put so much pressure on togashi to continue hxh when we know about his condition. And to just leave the story to someone else? It's clear that those people haven't done anything close to a story to say that.
I literally already made peace with the fact that I don't need an ending. As a fan, of course I want to know how it ends. But also as a fan, I don't want him to sell his soul to the devil only to know the ending.
And something I said to this guy was that he should make his own ending, I have mine and I will throw it away when hxh ends. It was literally a joke to lighten up the situation and it wasn't even something to focus on because in between I was saying other things. And he literally focused on that and said "don't let it be fujoshi" (used as an insult) and I'm here like: are we back into the 2000s and nobody told me?
1. What is the problem?
2. Why do you care?
3. We didn't even speak about any kind of ships, what are you trying to say?
4. Are you sure you know what type of story you're reading?
And this question is for me: How am I meeting dude bros in real life? Why are they in the WILD? AND HOW THE HELL DID I BEFRIEND ONE YEARS AGO WITHOUT ME KNOWING? I want a friend who also likes hxh and togashi's work to talk, but not like this </3
I'm so tired of these kind of people. While living my life outside of the Internet and just being in my corner of the fandom living the great life, I tend to forget that they still exist and there are people who still act like this. What annoys me the most is that literally, they don't know what type of story they're reading. They like to say they like hxh because they know it's good and it gives you some kind of "status" within the anime community because togashi is a really good mangaka and someone who influenced a lot of people within the manga community. Without him, shonen as a genre wouldn't be the same. But then, they also choose to ignore what they don't like about his work, like the queer elements. It's highly known that togashi loves to play with gender and sexuality, but that's only a fact for them when they find it convenient. If you don't like it, don't watch/read it, but it's ignorant and blatant stupid to just act as if it's not there and talk shit about other people only because it's uncomfortable to you. And I'm not even saying that everyone should analyze the story, some people just like to enjoy it and move on with their lives and some others don't know how to analize it, but one thing is that and another thing is just to close off to the possibility when it's clearly there. But of course, the others are sick, not them who are clearly homophobic and don't want to admit it. They should ask themselves why do they get so mad about the possibility of two kids being together romantically and just work on themselves. What's worst is that this guy even said to me he likes NANA and I don’t want to know what kind of interpretation he has because DAMN
To be honest, sometimes I'm a bit surprised about how well togashi seems to know the anime community, but of course he does, he's being a fan for how long now and he's being a mangaka for how long. And I so hope he keeps trolling because DAMN these people are annoying
The worst part is that these fans wouldn't even be friends with togashi or wouldn't like him as a fan because togashi really does look like the type of fan they would hate. Togashi likes BL, mpreg, obscure stories, horror (body horror even) and science fiction (both genres who allow and are known for queerness), he used to make doujinshis (even in an era that was even more bad looked upon than now), he likes to draw bishonen characters (even in a time which was more common to see buff characters in shonen), he drew gender-bender designs of kurama and hiei, he included a homoerotic art of kurama and karasu (a friend made it for him i think) in his doujinshi, he wanted to make a shonen with gay characters and crossdressing and the list goes on and on. He likes so many things that these others fans are disgusted by and it really looks like they don't know who they are admiring. The reason why ending D got so much negative attention when it came out is because it doesn't sound believable that a mangaka like togashi himself, the same person who made level e and is constantly worried of making an interesting story, would make such a bland and heteronormative ending in a story like hxh no less.
They should just shut up and go do their homework instead, they look ridiculous.
And no, I didn't answer this guy again and I don’t think I will, though I really want to troll him.
#hxh#togashi#justxtalking#rant is over#I've been trying to study korean but couldn't focus so i came here#me correcting the typos after i posted it#and by the way he doesn't like killua but loves gon#who hurt him so much
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hi there, I have a milkshake idea for you
Do you know your drawing about vox? with
Alastor & Lucifer & adam& Niffty
The way you drew Vox With them reminds me of (Katarina Claes ) from Anime: My Next Life as a Villainess: All Routes Lead to Doom!
for example
Like Very few people who have genuinely met Vox have not been at the very least intrigued by his personality and behaviors, Even when kidnapped, he got to know his captor and immediately struck up a friendship in a short conversation. he has unintentionally charmed many individuals as a result and finds herself surrounded by friends whom he genuinely cares about and vice-versa.
vox is incredibly simple-minded. Despite being a fan of romance novels, he is utterly oblivious to his friends' close affection towards him, both males and females alike. As a result, he often misinterprets the rivalry of his friends who are vying for his attention, usually making incorrect assumptions.
I borrow Some of the lyrics from fandom.com about (Katarina Claes )
Imagine with me that Vox doesn't want to fall in love again Because when he was alive. Vox was with someone he thought they The One to him But the relationship ended badly To the point that Vox doesn't think he deserves to be in love with anyone else again.
When he died and went to hell And became a overlord In years
And one day vox made a decision that he resigns from his position overlord
And he goes far away with Vark Without anyone knowing
I think Vox just wants to be alone with his pet and live a quiet life
Like having his own island In the sea of hell of Greed Ring
Because It's the only place with oceans, I think.
or
Vox goes to the Earth lives among humans Disguised in human form while Vark Disguised as a dark blue dog
What do you think would be everyone's reaction if Vox disappeared?
I didn’t realize the resemblance until you mentioned it! I watched the anime to season 2 so I have to catch up.
anyway-
I LOVE THIS IDEA!
Vox would for sure hate the idea of falling in love both the reason you mentioned AND because he half robot!
He thinks that no one wants a half robot TV demon, not when there’s sinners like Angel dust. Even tho it’s not the case
This fear first came when he fall to hell, many sinners was making fun of him and his TV head before he become an overlord! (All of them are now died)
This was Also around the time he meet Alastor, and since Alastor have a high dislike for modern technology, Alastor might have accidentally enhanced the fear
so it would make sense if he absolutely oblivious because of this! Even tho he read countless books about romance, he himself thinks he will never have something like that.
——————
Okay so this is mostly my personal headcanons on how Vox meet Lucifer and Alastor! He met both of them at a Overlord meeting (when he newly became one) And got along with the both of them (because one is the king of hell and the other is a overlord for decades who wouldn’t want to be their friends?)
This is how Vox also meet Niffty! After getting to know Alastor he introduced Niffty to Vox as well as husk!
This is also how Vox gets his technology to other rings and stores a meeting with heaven!
Now am not sure how Vox would have met Adam, but it either meeting Adam when his a sinner (and then somehow not recognizing him) and Vox decide to take him in.
or having a meeting with the angels to discuss getting Voxtech into heaven (what I was talking about earlier) and convince them to make a partnership to not attack the Vee’s, in turn Vox have to sell half of his soul to Adam. And their relationship want from there.
————————-
NOW I ONLY BRING THIS UP SO YOU KNOW WHY THEY REACT THE WAY THEY DO!
Lucifer would immediately know that Vox want to a different ring, a overlord soul is the most noticeable thing, it suddenly disappearing would catch Lucifer attention instantly.
After hurting down Vox, Lucifer would keep the secret both for Vox and for his own personal reasons. And letting the poor overwork demon his vacation.
Alastor would the Second to notice, not seeing Vox in a few weeks which is weird for the TV demon.
At first Alastor thought he liked the idea of Vox not being around, no more insufferable modern technology and annoying pest. But in short time Alastor grow bored and out right frustrated, why is his rival not fighting him?!
he would go to the Vee’s tower to give Vox a lesson only to find out that he left and never come back months ago.
Knowing that Vox couldn’t have died that easily, Alastor started looking all over pride ring for the TV demon, which slowly makes him more worried and anxious about Vox over time.
Vox was the few things that didn’t change much (other than his appearance) which give comfort to Alastor, him suddenly disappearing? Alastor would have meltdown trying to find him. he knows he can’t say much, he himself left for 7 years because of Lilith deal. (He scared that Vox might be in the same situation)
Niffty is on the same boat with Alastor, helping him trying to find Vox. He was the few people who actually is unaffected by her crazy behavior! She doesn’t want to lose him any time soon.
basically Niffty and Alastor would try everything in their power to find Vox and bring him home, they would continue until they find him or Lucifer break the news to them a year later.
Adam would be the most unaffected if we take the partnership route, which I personally think is how they would meet!
at first he would think Vox is late to their monthly meeting, it wouldn’t be the first time. But after a hour he will realize Vox isn’t coming.
he try texting him only to have nothing back and then come back after a month to see a empty meeting room.
he try to give Vox some privacy and saying things like “I don’t care about that demon!” Or “it whatever”
it will take half a year for Adam to snap and try to find Vox. Tracking Where his soul is and try hurting it down. It tome a while for adam break into the other ring and finally meet Vox again.
in total everyone will freak out and hunt him down to the best of their abilities.
——————
sorry if this is super long! I just want on a rant on how they would meet an how they would react to Vox leaving! :)
(also sorry if there’s any mistake I made, I just rushed this to not forget anything)
#hazbin vox#vox hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel vox#vox#hazbin hotel#headcanons#Vox headcanons#staticguitar#staticlovetune#staticapple#staticradio#radio static#Staticneedle#StaticCat#Ask#Ask blog#ask me anything#ask box#answered#send asks#alastor#adam#lucifer#niffty
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THE ONE AND HIS BROTHER
This fic is also available on Wattpad or AO3, if you would prefer to read it elsewhere.
⸻
Summary:
Rafal had lived to complete his oath and rule as the One (the one true School Master), and Rhian, reduced to mortal, was redeemed. Now, both brothers come to terms with their tale’s ending, an uncertain, prophecy-less future, and the two begin anew since the Great War, without the constraints of a fairy tale.
And, even Rafal must learn to accept his true nature, his supposed, newly-surfaced Goodness and the guilt it carries.
Context:
The "anticlimax" of Fall was narrowly subverted, and both brothers are alive, contending with the aftermath of the Great War.
⸻
Rafal stepped through the window of the silver tower that housed the Storian on a newly-healed leg, catching sight of Rhian huddled in the dark, afternoon shade.
Rhian flipped a page and looked up from THE TWO TROLLS, red-faced and bleary-eyed, his back against the stone cell’s wall. Restless souls indeed. A euphemism for Evil. An underplaying of his life and acts. “Did you return Midas to that book-gobbler village? What's it called?”
“Gavaldon—and, yes, I did. He deserves a peaceful life, for all that he’s done to serve our tale,” Rafal said sedately.
Rhian could no longer hold back as his mental dam broke. Hot tears spilled from his eyes, tracing trails on his sun-kissed cheeks. “I'm sorry."
“I know…” Rafal began, but he had other loads on his mind. “And, I can't believe I—I don't know why I revived that pastry prat, Rufius. He always got on my last nerve, the coward.”
And yet—Rafal appeared subdued, lacking in his usual contempt, Rhian noted.
Then, Rafal finally surrendered, posture sagging. He dropped down to the stone floor heavily, back sliding against the wall, settling beside Rhian, utterly drained by the Great War and his flight to Gavaldon.
His cape crumpled, crushed beneath him where he sat on it, and he drew his arms tight to his side, scraping his wrist on the wall without realizing it.
Rafal had drawn pinpricks of blood, the shallowest of scrapes, before his pale skin repaired itself flawlessly, proof the Storian kept its word, when he’d made his second vow. Alone. When he was named the One.
Rhian observed this, and heaved a sigh of relief.
Rafal turned to him.
Rhian stared back passively, his eyes leaden, chastened, finding nothing substantial to say in return. "At least his pastries were better than Gavaldon's."
"Mmm," Rafal mused unresponsively. He did not listen, buried in his own haze of thought. Then, he spoke once more. “I mean, I'm Good, but I'm not a weak-willed Ever. And, yet—I felt guilt. I still do,” Rafal admitted somberly. “What's wrong with me?” The pit of his stomach lurched at the thought again. “We’ve—I’ve cost lives.” He stared through Rhian, conscience-stricken, oddly troubled.
Rhian sighed defeatedly. “You're Good and... I'm not.” Guilt-ridden, his voice broke. "It was never you. I cost lives. My own foolishness and sin and hollow, bottomless greed. At every turn, I was cowed and tried to save my own skin. Every time. And you valiantly put your own life at risk. Repeatedly, for near-strangers, and for me, most of all."
“Thanks,” Rafal muttered, regaining a shade of his old self. “Now isn’t that reassuring to hear from the one who caused all our problems?” he sniped.
Rhian sunk his face into his hands, elbows propped up on the storybook settled in his lap.
Rafal rushed to set his mistake right. That had been unforgiving. The Good Forgive rang and reared in his head like a phantom presence. “Don't sell yourself short. You can still do Good with the life you have.” He prodded Rhian’s arm with his elbow, nodding at the storybook in Rhian’s lap. “At least you're not a cannibalistic face-thief of a monster.”
Rhian lifted his blotchy, red face from his hands and flushed deeper with shame as he looked up again to meet Rafal’s eyes. “I almost killed you, but I held my rogue, restless soul back. It was about to consume me again, but I never want to feel like that again.”
“It was like you were possessed,” Rafal reflected.
“But I wasn't. I possessed myself. It was all me, my soul.” Rhian paused. “How—how did you live with the Evil you once committed?”
“I… don't know. It just came naturally to me, as effortlessly as breathing back then. It wasn't as foreign as yours. My Evil was… controlled, for lack of a better word. It wasn't an out-of-body experience or like a parasite. I could command it, use it, use others, bend all to my will.” Rafal looked down, white, spiked sheaves of hair sweeping forward across his eyes, catching in his lashes.
Then, Rafal reddened with a realization that jolted up his spine.
“How will I lead the School, now that I've lost it, my Evil? Will anyone respect or even listen to me—Midas. Midas already opposed me, not that he was so wrong in the end. I wasn't fair to him. Who knows what else could happen? I could soon have a revolt on my hands, brewing under the surface without even knowing it!”
“Your students seemed ready to lay down their lives for you on the warfront, without question, without fear, without doubt. I think you'll have no trouble. In truth, I think you already convinced them, when you got them to follow you. You’ve probably secured their loyalty to you, and to the Woods you’ll shape, the future you’ll bring.” Rhian inhaled as if it pained him. “Your School seemed ready to die for you when I stood at the front. They trust you. You just have to learn to trust them.”
Rafal nodded slowly, his breath turning ragged. “But, how… did you live with a conscience weighing you down? How did you never feel ashamed and self-conscious all the time, every last minute of your existence? The guilt. The guilt that comes with Good—it's suffocating!”
“I was. Self-conscious.” Rhian brushed a stray curl back from his brow. “I… never entirely rid myself of that reflexive shame. But, there are other ways to lead. You've been and done both: Good and Evil. Just, use your judgment. It'll never fail you. Storian knows it's infinitely better than mine.”
“That, I'll do. I don't suppose you're willing to help me appeal to your… the Ever students though?”
“Always,” Rhian vowed. “I'll remain at your side for as long as my life allows. You'll forget about me one day though.”
“Never. That could never happen,” Rafal averred. “Besides, we can't know what's ahead now. I've sent a missive to Monrovia, in order to arrest Marialena and sentence her to life under the sea.”
Rhian smirked, mildly cheered by the prospect of the wayward wretch being locked up for good.
Of course—Rafal had neglected to mention to his brother that he'd publicly threatened the old king of Ravenbow with lethal, dark magic, before his entire retinue as eyewitnesses at Four Point, at a recent audience he’d sought without even a scruple of advance notice.
Everyone, most of all the king himself, had surpassed terrified, but Rafal hadn’t yielded his sorcery’s chokehold on the man, not until the old, quivering king had vindicated Rhian, in a rather quavering voice, for the act of malice against one of own, a loyal subject, the young soldier Rhian had killed in cold blood.
The king had proclaimed that Rhian would be formally deemed “not guilty by reason of insanity, on account of ‘possession by supreme, magical entity,’ henceforth not to be named in this aforementioned, binding document, nor in all subsequent documentation by the royal court or common scribes of Ravenbow, in accordance with rational forethought and the reasonable and necessary fear of condemnation by the manifestly blameless and divine law aboven, which all Men and other mortal beings doth and willen observe forevermore.”
Accordingly, the rulers of Bloodbrook, Kingdom Kyrgios, and Jaunt Jolie had swiftly fallen into line shortly thereafter, and had also very conveniently agreed not to press charges against Rhian after Rafal’s display of power.
Thus, on that fateful day, Rhian Mistral was absolved, granted total immunity from the rule of Woods law, and held in tremendously high esteem by all the kingdoms, that is, unless Rafal received further notice in any remote futurity which conflicted with the leaders’ decrees. Yet, he didn’t expect to see a single quarrel from the chastened Woods leaders. They would bow if he had to sidestep civil, Ever diplomacy in the name of a greater Good, and break their spines and their wills in the process.
The rest of the proceedings of the first-ever Great War Reparations Summit went on as usual, with the One silent as a stone statue yet still conspicuously in attendance in his midnight blue robes.
Since the final decision, to establish a Woods-wide railroad complex that would be titled the Flowerground, and the closing banquet of the summit, the other Woods leaders noted to themselves that they needn’t call in any bygone, originally agreed-upon favors of the last few decades from the School, ever. They feared dealing with the One, and felt their precious, social standings were satisfactory, left as they were.
Rafal also omitted the fact that he’d paid the Kingdom Council a staggering sum of leftover-rubble-turned-Midas-gold, which hadn’t yet reverted to worthless debris, in the School's name, to pardon Rhian for high crimes against humanity and the Woods as a whole.
The exorbitant lump sum was marked in a black, leather checkbook he’d stamped with a moth to dissuade Rhian from ever peeking in it. It was covertly labeled: 'Miscellaneous Outlying Expenses & Future Expenditures for the Enlightenment of Evers and the Propagation of Sin.’
A second, crimson checkbook, the decoy, or rather, the real one, depending on what Rhian would be searching for, was designated: ‘Immediate Repairs and Renovations.’ Eventually, Rafal told Rhian he'd accounted for collateral damage: the Pan’s and the Midas-gold’s devastation, and the overall destruction wreaked by the war.
Finally, the young Ravenbow soldier’s family had been presented with a vast, fruitful tract of land at the edge of School grounds, to recompense the pay the lad’s lost decades of mercenary service to the Ravenbow throne would have resulted in.
All was in order. Rafal had worked tirelessly in the name of Good. Rhian need not know of his brother’s more… objectionable methods.
Lie of omission still intact, Rafal instead opted to tell Rhian, “The rest of the Saders have assured me that they and the rest of their line won't interfere or involve themselves with the School again. Her word may not have been final. So, you could still be appointed, if the Storian views you as ‘worthy.’”
Rhian shook his head, dismissing Rafal’s attempts to raise his spirits.
“I know it'll never be equal to the crime, but you did atone and stand vigil for the Ravenbow soldier and all those taken by the war; it’s more than I’ve done. The king of Ravenbow doesn't hold it against you. You're forgiven. You're free to a fresh start. And I won't leave you to it,” Rafal declared in a brazen lie. “I won't ever leave you, full-stop. You'll never be alone again. We can learn to be human, together—until we can comprehend and piece together these broken souls of ours.”
(Rafal had decided to leave out the fact that he would briefly leave Rhian and the School in the near future, to free the Demimagus from its lamp and fulfill his promise to it. He’d leave in the night and return before Rhian awoke. Such news would require too much explanation and probably prove itself too much for Rhian to hear in this state.)
“Thank you.” Rhian leaned his head on Rafal's shoulder.
“For what?” Rafal breathed.
Head bowed, Rhian spoke. “For my redemption. For a second chance. For never giving up on me. For believing in me, in my ability to change. For not yielding. For forcing me to see the error of my ways. For being enough—even if I once couldn't see it, what I had right by me, all along.”
“I'll never stop being your brother,” Rafal promised. “And, we know well enough, better than anyone, souls aren't static. They never were. This strife has only sown an age of balance and peace.
“We can't spare a glance back, except to educate those that'll come after, so they don't fall into the same conflicts, so they know this tale will never repeat itself, as long as we've set the necessary safeguards in place.
“The Pirate Captain was installed in Neverland, the Mermaids’ throne was stabilized, and I reestablished Gavaldon as forbidden, barred from the Woods and safely tucked away, upon returning Midas. All sides now have moral purpose, and that, not me, will uphold balance for as long as we both shall live,” Rafal affirmed.
“Yes,” Rhian agreed, “We can only look ahead.”
⸻
Days later, Rhian insisted to Rafal that he gather the students for a School-wide announcement in the Theater of Tales. “Your time has come. I guess we have an announcement to make then. To our—your School.” Rhian’s stomach had finally settled with the weight of the truth.
“Our,” Rafal corrected. “Are you sure that you want me to break the news?” he asked with the ghost of a devilishly sly grin darting across his chiseled features, pallid, jade eyes glinting mischievously.
“Sure,” Rhian ceded weakly, wearily. “Have your way. I know you live to watch the drama of others. Just don’t shock them to death. Some Evers are faint-hearted.”
“Lovely.” Rafal grinned wolfishly. It was a rather predatory grin.
Rhian blanched sheepishly for having enabled his brother. “Wait—”
“It’s well overdue that I got to enjoy a new source of entertainment for a change. This will hereby be the start of my well-deserved vacation. From you.”
“But—”
Rafal sneered incredulously. “You don't know the students like I do. Remember who was on their side during the war? Not Rhian! Regardless, whatever harm I inflict on them is for their own good. It’s never severe or permanently scarring.” He paused. “With the exception of physical maiming, I suppose,” he amended.
Rhian sighed. Rafal’s sadistic streak would never end, would it? “If you're truly Good, you're going to have to work on that unquenchable bloodthirst of yours. It's not becoming of a Ever. Also, don’t get too ahead of yourself. You still have to lead us all. There's a lot only you can set right.”
“Since when has your behavior been becoming of an Ever, dear brother?” Rafal could only grin wider, eyes alit. “You're just trying to foist off responsibilities onto me," he accused, his tone turning sardonic and grim. “That trick won't work anymore."
Rhian laughed, ill at ease as his stomach began to roil once again.
⸻
Rafal's eyes roved over his eager audience as the students flocked to their seats in befuddlement. This was it. The moment of truth. And if all went well, his monumental announcement would ideally lead to a Theater rife with chaos, tearful distress, and crises, all serving his own boundless personal amusement.
Rhian beamed falsely, and let out a short, strained laugh. Even while Good, Rafal’s indelible Never sensibilities still seemed to spring out of the ether. Rhian doubted they’d ever be free of them. And yet, he found that he’d miss this characteristic sharpness of his brother’s, if it were to fully disappear.
Rafal wouldn’t be Rafal without it.
The students peered up at the brothers. Curiously, Rafal stood on Good's side of the Theater while Rhian languished on Evil's.
The room tensed, and whispers died as Rafal lifted a hand with all the authority of a time-tested necromancer.
A sea of heads below turned to face him.
The entire School had been called together for a momentous assembly.
One for the ages.
For the storybooks.
The whole room sucked in a collective breath—when Rafal had said what he said.
When he had admitted that he was Good.
But what did that mean for—everyone’s eyes flicked frantically, feverishly to Rhian. Did that mean?
No, it couldn’t be, they told themselves. They had ample material to deny the truth with, to fuel their deeply-rooted denial. Decades of it. Tales recorded by the Storian itself. It was just too hard to believe.
Or was it?
Not after they’d all seen him be Good for years and years. Not after he'd led the Evers to victory after victory for a century.
Except, there had been the Trial. And the Circus.
Could it—could it be?
Was he Evil? Did he pull the wool over their eyes? All this time?
And did that mean—was what the Evil School Master said true?
And if that was true, did that make the Evil School Master Good? And the Good Evil, exactly like he'd said.
He didn't seem to have any reason to lie.
And if he hadn’t lied, they were indebted to him.
He had saved them all. And the Woods.
But did that mean the inverse was true?
That he’d saved the Woods… from his brother.
⸻
Amidst the stirring, hysterical crowd, James sat unmoved. “Imagine, after all that, being Evil and second to your brother. The poor chap,” he murmured sympathetically. “Least I can profit off his loss.” James thrust out a pale hand to collect his prize. He’d won the betting pool. Praise the Storian for Rhian’s power after all!
“Alright, alright already!” Aladdin yapped and threw his arms up in surrender. Who cared about Rafal's sore brother? He was a total priss! Grumpishly, Aladdin got to work, fishing through his pockets.
“Stuff it.” James beamed waggishly, about to retort with Once a pirate, always a pirate.
Aladdin wound up and slung a hefty pouch of coins at the pirate.
It whapped James in the face.
Kyma startled and shifted her attention to the boys, those oafs. “Shh,” she admonished them viciously, then noticed James’ pouch, his hard-won prize.
Like a righteous zealot, Kyma snatched his winnings away from him. “Proper Evers don't gamble for their own personal gain, James. Though I will let you use what you need to restore the Jolly Roger, we are going to channel this money into a Good Deed, and donate it to a worthwhile cause: saving Neverland’s banarans.”
Half-heartedly, James opened his mouth to protest when his mind flashed to the fluffy, white creatures that had once been hunted and skinned for the heinous Pan. Nevermind.
“Luckily, you aren't in Rhian’s position. You don’t need redemption. Isn't that right, James?” Kyma blandished sweetly.
"HEY!” Aladdin wailed. “How's that fair!"
Kyma jutted out her chin.“It’s not a matter of fair or not. It's a matter of right versus wrong.”
Aladdin stuck up for James. “Who says that's a rule?" he squabbled.
Kyma put a finger to her lips wordlessly, casting her gaze back onto the School Masters on stage.
"Every Ever that's ever lived, Laddie. That's who,” James answered for her.
Kyma smiled, pleased.
The Evers clustered around them hemmed Aladdin in rather claustrophobically. They followed Kyma’s lead, shushing him devotedly, so they could listen, in case the School Masters spoke once more.
Aladdin was sure he'd be trampled underfoot if he so much as let out a peep during the rest of the assembly, so he plopped down into his seat and sulked instead.
Vanquished by his choice of princess, James sighed and curled an arm around Kyma’s shoulders. “I knew it the whole time,” he lied suavely.
Kyma rolled her eyes good-naturedly, and batted his arm away.
"Well, I knew it since I felt Rhian's magic in me and came to the conclusion. And found out that you're an incorruptible saint,” James added.
Kyma leaned into his chest. "Better."
"Better than Laddie?" he prompted hopefully.
Kyma sighed, feigning exasperation. "Don't try me, James. But yes."
Boys. They were so fragile and needed such reassurance every mulish second of their existence. One had to guard, and reaffirm, and care for their bruised egos, or they'd fall apart before long.
⸻
Meanwhile, Rhian's ego wasn't faring too well in the face of the multitudes before him.
A maelstrom of thoughts and doubts and revelations swirled above the crowd.
Subject to the heat of his former students’ stares, Rhian's hands shook tremulously, and he waited for the backlash, squeezing his eyes shut and bracing himself, trying to hold back tears. What to do, what to do? He'd never felt so exposed in his life.
Blood roared in his ears, infernal heat from deep within flaring and rising to the surface of his flushed skin.
Not the dragonfire, not the dragonfire, Rhian prayed with every fiber of his being.
A cool, glacial breeze grazed his hair.
Rafal laid a gelid hand on the back of Rhian’s neck to soothe him.
Rhian hadn’t realized that Rafal had glided over to attend to him after getting his fill of the so-called entertainment.
Rafal wouldn’t let them attack him. Instilled with trust, Rhian opened his eyes.
The outcry never came.
Rafal had sensed the impending swell, a potentially inexorable, unforgiving outburst, but what greeted the two brothers was far from the ire he too had been anticipating.
Instead, a cheer erupted from the Nevers' half of the crowd, a cry of pure, ebullient joy by the no-longer oppressed.
The hoity-toity, golden School Master was fallible! What a day!
The Nevers were exceedingly pleased as they still believed Rafal would be biased toward them. And they weren’t entirely wrong—Evers still irritated the formerly Evil School Master.
Once, they'd feared him, their School Master, but now they let out raucous cheers of triumph as they broke from their ranks. They revered him, the conqueror of Good, the new Master of Good, or so they thought.
Rafal chose to let them believe what they wanted, for the time being.
And so, they exulted in their victory. Celebrated him, their newly restored School Master. Theirs was the One.
At last! At last! At long last they'd get the endings they'd deserve. Live and die in glorious infamy with the spoils of the eternal war for Evil!
And naturally, if the winning School Master was on their side, they were bound to win. Their School Master was the One! He'd won the war! For them! For them all. And what pride they took in him. Or, at least, so went their logic. Flawed logic. Indeed.
Naturally, the rest of the Woods would be shaken if they hadn’t already figured out the truth. But the state of the Woods and the balance and the brothers would all be cleared up, given time.
He and Rhian would have to set the record straight with the Kingdom Council, possibly with a second, formal reparations summit, Rafal mused. He’d seize the opportunity to showcase the School’s newfound unity and his infinitely greater power. A fine political strategy.
It was never too early to keep watch for new enemies. You never knew who you could trust. And he'd gained a lifetime of paranoia since the war, yet it was a reasonable precaution, to pay close attention to his instincts surrounding others. The price of balance, the stress that would accompany the role, this burden he was laden with, it would all be worthwhile, if the Woods and Rhian would forevermore be safe and his.
Looking at his brother gratefully, then looking out at the crowd, Rhian appreciated the attention, the lauding, the adoration, the applause.
Though, he doubted the audience truly loved him, but at the least, he'd be safe because everyone feared Rafal enough to appease him and not deride Rhian for his wrongs.
He'd repent anyway, he decided right then and there. It was the least he could do after dragging Rafal through Hell and back.
But, they'd lived. They'd both lived, he thought to himself in disbelief. The Storian had granted them an ending, and he didn't intend to squander it. Not a chance. Not in this lifetime, not with a second chance, at life, at loving his brother, the students, and the Woods as he should.
He wrung his hands and hoped the Evers wouldn't riot when they found out he wasn’t their School Master, once they realized Rafal was Master of both Schools. Though they likely already knew—there wasn't any indication that anything was wrong. If anything, the Evers seemed… entirely accepting.
Later, Rafal filled in the gap in Rhian's knowledge and explained that all the students had known, to an extent. They’d had an emergent inkling as to the truth of the brothers’ souls. They'd seen Rafal revive Rufius and prove his soul Good firsthand.
Several students had exhaled in utter relief when they realized Rhian had been stripped of his status and immortality.
They no longer needed—or wanted—him, it seemed. Yet, it was probably fair penance given all that he’d done to Rafal. Perhaps, one day, he’d rise back into favor.
For now, he just glanced over at the One, and watched him lead.
⸻
Note:
Yes, this is finally a moderately happier, canon-divergent fic. It's a little melancholic, but not a complete tragedy. I suppose my hope is that this will fill even one person's void.
I ended one of the sections on “ahead.” Did anyone catch that? I had the opportunity and wanted to use it, partly because it felt right, and because I wanted to try to be “clever” and mimic Fall.
I think this fic idea came about a couple days after I first read Fall, so it's been sitting in my drafts for a long while.
Also, in its earlier stages, this one practically wrote itself. It just burst free from the dam weirdly enough and sloshed forth onto the page. Maybe, it had been simmering and developing in my brain since Fall’s ending only to overflow—since I wrote it in practically one late night, made minor edits over time, and added several scenes as they came to me in short spurts of inspiration.
Thank you for being a reader! I’m open to constructive criticism, and feel free to comment any of your thoughts, feelings, reactions, questions, concerns, etc. Don’t hold back—I’m willing to answer any unresolved questions you may have!
If you happen to catch any errors or inconsistencies, kindly let me know! Furthermore, if anything seems out of character, I’d love to know your opinion.
Lastly, I’m curious: what was your favorite line(s), scene, or part?
⸻
Songs I associate with this fic:
"Metamorphosis" - David Clavijo
Fits the beginning, kind of crescive tone, I’d like to think.
"To Be Human" - MARINA
I recommend listening to a sped-up version.
“If You’re Meant to Come Back” - Justin Jesso
I associate this one with the prequels and the brothers’ dynamic in general.
#school for good and evil#rise of the school for good and evil#fall of the school for good and evil#rafal#rafal mistral#rhian#rhian mistral#james hook#aladdin#kyma#kyma of maidenvale#sge#sfgae#the school for good and evil#tsfgae#rotsge#rotsfgae#fotsge#fotsfgae#my post#my fics#my writing#the one and his brother#toahb
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Hello people I am here once again with something I wrote. I've been thinking lots about my asexuality and coming to terms with it, and I don't think I really understood how much it would mean to have an asexual character to look to project onto (enter Jon Sims guys). I'm rambling now but I basically used him as way to explore my feelings about asexuality that I've struggled to put into words for the longest times.
I know some of my friend will probably read this and you guys are my metaphorical Martin here
anyway enough of me and more of that thing I wrote
Jon wasn’t even sure he knew what love was. The very idea was alienating, for the world had leaned down and whispered into his ear, the very world that had created him. And it told him, to be human was to love. To be human was to create. To create love and life with your own body.
But he could never. No- perhaps he could, if he sacrificed enough of himself, tore every part of himself to shreds, burned himself at the stake, cleaned that sour taste from his mouth and rid himself of the terror and numbness that coursed through his heart, all for the one who would
show him the wonders of ‘love’
But he had lived enough life to know that ‘one’ was never coming. He had lived enough life to know it was a lie he told himself, all through his youth and into his adulthood, and one he no doubt would continue to tell himself, no matter how much he tried to doubt it.
For to be broken one must be able to be fixed.
And what was he if not broken?
At times he felt as if he was running for his life, outrunning fate. For it was everywhere, in the yellowed pages of books, on the captivating neon screens, in the strangers who passed by him in the street, in those he called friend, in jest and games, in cathartic and emotionally driven art, in soulful song. For it was in his very existence.
There were times when his lungs would scream for air and all he could taste was rotten blood on his tongue. There were times where he stood numb as those around him amused themselves in a jest he could not share, where they used it as a connection between one another, a connection he could not share, where those he wished a connection with used it as a form of emotional closeness. And that numbness that overtook his body and the walls he built to protect his heart and soul pushed them away, even when he desired, wanted, needed to be close to them.
For he was told he could not run forever.
For he was told it would catch up with him eventually.
For he was told he would grit his teeth and bare it.
For he was told it was to be human.
And it terrified him.
He did not want any part of it.
Not even to perceive. Or feel anything of the like.
He was drowning. And drowning fast.
For he was told he could not escape it forever.
And he believed it. Believe them who sold him a lie, like one sells time to a clock or inspiration to the muse.
So when the man who had changed his entire world came into focus, who he loved beyond measure and reason, he told himself he was not in love.
For he was broken, incapable of such love.
That is why when that man had told him he didn't care, that he could live and love and dream and share the most intimate and tender moments of his life with Jon, all without it. Told him that there was no fixing him. That he was never truly broken. Told him that he was not the green eyed monster he had built himself up to be. Told him that his crown of loneliness and life of isolation he had resigned to was false.
It had changed him.
That man had told him they could lie for a million years together in the soft earth, slowly being overtaken by the weeds and wildflowers, and he would never mention a word, and never would his hands wander over his skin. He told him they would remain like that, hand in hand, discrete and content.
And that is how their story goes.
They lived a thousand days and breathed a million breaths, all without a mention of it.
They laid in that field for millennia, so long that they’d become the flowers, so long that the foxes had known their taste.
Jon hadn’t known the meaning of ‘home’ either. But maybe he was home with that man, no- that man was his home.
#TJ writes stuff#tma#feel kind of bad tagging this with tma#the magnus archives#asexual#aspec#aroace#aromantic#arospec#acespec#queer#lgbt+#vent#vent post#tw vent#cw vent#a vent of some kind#happy vent#queer vent#writing#writers on tumblr#can you guys tell the last part was like pulled from Hoziers in a week#because that song encapsulates all my emotions in a way i cant even describe
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Things, people and topics I have or have had a hyperfixation on with little to no explanation, an ongoing list:
Boku no hero academia - The characters and how they interact. I could not care less about canon.
Harry Potter - Fuck JK.
DC - I started watching Arrow without knowing it was a multiverse nor that it was DC. Fell fast and fell hard.
Batfam - Do not confuse with DC. Again, I could not care less about canon.
Jason Todd and Tim Drake.
Criminal minds - I have watched the 15 seasons. Five times and counting. In several languages, for shits and giggles.
Spencer Reid.
BTS - this hyperfixation ended around 2019 but I still know the fan chant by heart.
Stray Kids - my freaking MOM got me into SKZ. Now I have a tattoo of a compass and would sell an organ (mine or otherwise) to meet Bang Chan.
Korean convenience store TikTok compilations
Cleaning TikTok compilations
Fridge/pantry restock TikTok compilations
Desk/stationery organization TikTok compilations
Percy Jackson - I read books 1-10 and I'm too scared to read the rest because if I start then they'll end and I don't want it to end.
The Maze Runner - Intense but short lived hyperfixation. The movies still sting.
The Hunger Games - It's been an on-and-off hyperfixation since the books first came out. I've read them 5 times in Spanish and English. Every time feels like the first.
Snakes.
Swords and knives.
Gravity Falls.
The Folk of the Air - I would sell my soul to both Cardan and Jude and would give literally anything to read it for the first time again.
Sanrio.
Spy x Family.
Spiderman - Specifically Tom Holland's Peter Parker and itsv's Miles Morales.
Danganronpa.
Yuri!!! On Ice - where the hell is Ice Adolescence Mappa. Where are my emotional support gays.
Genshin Impact - not anymore and the mere thought of playing again makes me shiver. I was really really close to developing a gambling problem with the gacha.
The Promised Neverland.
Stiles Stilinski - not Teen Wolf, not Dylan O'Brien. Stiles.
Six: The Musical and Heathers: The Musical - Putting them together because it's not the musicals or the stories themselves, rather three or four songs I listen to on repeat for hours every couple of months and then forget exist.
Big Hero 6.
Fullmetal alchemist.
This list is not over.
#adhd#autism#hyperfixation#AuDHD#yes I've hyperfixated on all of these things#no I don't know how or why either#Rambles
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16, 36, 45 for the book meme :)
16, Favourite Trilogy: His Dark Materials is probably the one I've reread the most by now. The vibes are just impeccable, Lyra riding on the Iorek under the Northern Lights have stayed seared in my mind since I read it as 12 years old, and The Amber Spyglass is the first book I remember making me cry. It's so special to me.
36, Your Absolute Most Favourite from any book you've ever read: I already answered Lyra and Jane Eyre in another ask, so since I know we vibe on the same frequency on this, I'm gonna add Sansa Stark to that list. The tiiiime I have spent over the years on defending her from all the haters, lol.
45, What books would you sell your soul to get a movie or tv adaptation of: I had to have a good long think about this, since I feel like everything is snatched up so quick for film and tv adaptations these days, but then I actually ended up having a lot of books on that list.
I would really love to see Tamora Pierce's books adapted, I was very sad to hear that the endeavour to do just that was put on the shelf again after it seemed pretty promising that the Tortall-verse was going to get an adaptation.
Anne McCaffrey's Dragonrider series, because dragoooooooons, and not just that, timetravelling dragoooons!
Doctor Death by Lene Kaaberbøl, it's a Danish book (but translated!), about an aspiring female pathologist in late 19th century France investigating a spate of murders. It's about werewolves, or is it? I think it would make for an excellent fucking movie actually with Penny Dreadful vibes (although not quite as balls to the walls).
And, hey, I'd really love to see Left Hand of Darkness by Ursula K. Le Guin, though I'm sure it would be an absolute nightmare to adapt given how interior the book actually is.
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Book Review 29 - Roadside Picnic by Arkady and Boris Strugatsky
I very theoretically read a few of the Strugatsky Brothers’ short stories for a Soviet Lit class in school years ago, but this is actually the first one of their books I can say I actually read and, like, meaningfully paid attention to. I was likewise vaguely aware that this was a very influential book, but only in a kind of fuzzy ‘the STALKER games are based on it, right?’ sort of way.
All to say, I went in basically blind and was actually pretty pleasantly surprised. Both by the quality of the book and by the realization of how much more influential it has been than I had previously realized. The afterwards by one of the authors for the new edition with the tell-all rant about the publication process was also just fascinating in an entirely different way.
The story takes place in a world where at a certain point aliens made contact with earth – not with any sort of communication or even physical presence, but through some sort of process that left zones around the world warped and strange, full of physics-defying miracles and ten thousand different ways to die horribly or end up slowly mutated and wasting away. The story is set around a small town in probably-Canada that was one of the ground zeroes, and about Red, one of the freelance ‘stalkers’ who make a fortune evading the government quarantine and securing some of those physics-defying-miracles to sell to the highest bidder before the official scientists can slowly make their way to them.
Red does not have what you would call a happy life.
The story’s split into three sections, with significant time jumps between each one. Which I did rather like the effect of, seeing how the town changes from a half-abandoned ruin everyone thinks is a month away from demolition to a scientific boomtown and the long-term effects of exposure become more and more well known but don’t stop the rush to exploit the potential riches of the alien detritus one bit. It also allows for a better look at Red’s slow downward slide in both material circumstance and morality.
Red himself is interesting? He’s a very rough, brutish sort of man, the kind who jumps to threats of violence pretty easily when it comes to disputes where he thinks he’s in the right, who doesn’t have the temperament to hold down any sort of steady, boring job, and knows it, and who has a little bit of a complex about all those things. He tries to look out for his friends and comrades, and provide for his family, and that’s about the highest morality he aspires to. Hardly the most original archetype, but it’s very well-realized. No matter how viscerally unlikable he gets at points when you’re spending so long in the close confines of his head.
Speaking of complexes and guilt – one of his overriding motivations for the back 2/3 of the book is trying to provide for and cure his daughter who, almost certainly due to the weird alien radiation he’s saturated with, was born incredibly mutated (in a ‘has fur and is incapable of human speech’ sort of way). Which, again, kind of blunt instrument characterization but the book did do an excellent job getting across the constant low-level soul eating guilt and resentment that basically soaked through him about her and how that motivates just about every major choice he makes in the final act of the story.
And since I’m talking about characterization – look, I get that most of this is just the close POV to a guy whose a complete boor, but my god did the portrayal of women in this just make me roll my eyes. And I like to think I’ve usually got fairly thick skin for this sort of thing – but hard to ignore the fact that the literal only two women with recurring roles and more than a handful of lines are a) the loving, long-suffering but supportive wife who we basically only ever see in domestic scenes and b) the dissolute hot-but-dumb slutty daughter of the stalker equivalent of the local oligarch, y’know? And Red’s internal monologue and how they’re described did not exactly obscure the issue.
Tone-wise – I mean, look, this book is really not helping the stereotype about Russian novels. Which is not at all a problem for me personally, but there is as far as I can tell exactly one uncomplicated heroic devotee of truth and the common good. He dies at the end of part one, and the guilt over it is another load-bearing chunk of Red’s various complexes. It is overwhelmingly a book of flawed, broken, small-minded and selfish people, most of whom aren’t too found of each other. The very ending, with the wish for a better world quite literally hidden away behind a barrier that requires a human sacrifice to traverse, kind of emphasizes that.
The long timeskips and fairly compressed narration means that there’s only really a vague sketch of the wider world – of the corporations and conspiracies who buy what the stalkers sell, of the miracles that exploiting them has allowed, and of how things have improved and/or gone to shit generally – but it’s a really well done sketch. Then again, the ability to have the protagonist be a bit player in wider structures and to gesture at outside agencies with their own schemes that just don’t matter to the plot seems to have been a much more common skill among sci fi writers a couple generations ago. Still, the sort of retrofutristic noir world, powered by alien wonders that some technicians can use but absolutely no one can understand, is well done and appealing.
Speaking of – so this really is a cosmic horror story, and honestly a better one than most modern inheritors of Lovecraft. The universe is wondrous and deadly and strange, it will kill you or mutate you beyond recognition or make you richer than you’ve ever dreamed, but most of all it does not care. Everything from the title on down is used to reinforce that, and the trouble humanity has coming to terms with the idea that to the aliens who have so profoundly changed civilization, we’re literally irrelevant. The descriptions of the environment and the precautions taken to navigate it are – well, I don’t know if they’re just the oldest example of a preexisting body of tropes or the book actually came up with them, but if it’s the latter then I suddenly understand a lot of what influenced some of my favourite works of sci fi horror.
Not part of the story per se, but the copy my library had included both a forward by Le Guin (mostly a reprint of the review she wrote when it was first translated to English in the...70s, I think?) and an author afterwards written in the 2000s about the book’s publication history. Which were both just absolutely fascinating.
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