Nocturne Bliss
- Odsłon 433
- Głosy 54
- Części 27
Dla dorosłychW trakcie4h 5m
Ostatnia publikacja śr., kwi 9, 2025
The first time you tasted sin, it didn't burn-it bloomed,
like a flower fed on blood, kissed by the moon.
They warned you of monsters with fangs and claws-
but the real ones wore silk ties and broke all the laws.
They knelt between your thighs, a prayer upon their tongue,
and it didn't matter-your moans out-sang the ones they'd strung.
The abyss? Oh, they said it would bite-
but no one told you the dark would feel this right.
He wasn't your ruin. He was your rise.
A crown forged of madness, worn between lies.
You followed his voice-velvet and venom,
a symphony sharp enough to split the heavens.
He watched you unravel-thread by golden thread,
guiding your hand while angels fled.
"Here , my pearl," he whispered, "Feel how the blade sings.
See what beauty destruction brings."
Can you hear it now? That music in your veins?
The rhythm of reverence laced with chains.
No, you were never afraid of the night-
only of how it felt to set the world alight.
Not love. Not fate. Not some divine sign.
Just ruin dressed in silk and wine.
A melody carved in breath and bruise-
a devotion only the nefarious choose.
--
This isn't a book about heroes. It's about those who were never allowed to be innocent.
This can be read as a standalone . While it can be read alone, it is has some easter eggs for past readers after the ruinous delights of Nefarious Bliss and Seraphic Bliss.
What follows is not a story of good or evil, but of obsession, seduction, and the madness that blooms when desire becomes devotion.
Welcome to Nocturne Bliss.
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A Harvest of Hollow Idols
In a nation drunk on nostalgia for a greatness that never was, a cunning Patriarch, believing himself chosen by God, makes a devil's bargain: to forge a new world, he must first create its god. He stitches his heir together from the rotten parts of history, nepotism, flattery, and inherited privilege and unleashes this hollow idol upon the land. To serve this new regime, he offers women a gilded cage: renounce your mind, your alliances, your very self, and you will be crowned a "Crown-Consort", a jeweled accessory to power, worshipped for your obedience. Those who sense the rot the artists, the healers, the thinkers vanish into the night, guided by a secret network that leads them to a new world. They choose freedom over gilding. But those who remain, the "Loyal-Jewels," clutch their privileges tightly. They betray their sisters for a ribbon of approval, enforce the new scriptures that declare silence a virtue, and marvel at the splendor of their shrinking world. They believe their devotion will protect them. They are wrong. For a society that devours its own soul soon hungers for other meat. As the Patriarch's heir ascends, propped up by the fervor of his followers, the laws twist into grotesque new shapes. The sermons grow violent, the spectacles bloody. The Loyal-Jewels, in their sapphire gowns and emerald chains, find the walls of their cage are not made of gold, but of knives, and they are trapped inside with the monster they helped to create. It is the confession of the most celebrated Loyal-Jewel of them all, who now writes from the ruins, telling the tale of how they harvested a world of hollow idols and found nothing inside but dust and hunger.Zakończone
Caged By Him
"WHY CAN'T YOU GET IT INSIDE YOUR HEAD?" He trapped my trembling body between his arms and slammed his fist into the wall. I flinch at the sound as I feel tears forming in my eyes. "I'M SICK AND TIRED OF YOUR CRYING. JUST ACCEPT THE FACT THAT YOU'RE NEVER LEAVING. THIS IS YOUR LIFE NOW, WITH ME" He spits, anger consuming his voice as I push myself further against the wall. Shutting my eyes closed and turning my face to the side as I do. Moments later, I feel his rough hand on my waist and his finger grazing my cheek. "Look at me, love." His hand grips onto my jaw, his thumb playing across my lower lip. He turns my face to meet his as I lower my gaze to the floor. He lowers himself to my level and I feel his breath fanning my cheek causing my breathing to become unsteady. "I love you so much, darling. But you need to learn. You need to learn that you won't be going anywhere. You're mine." With that being said, his other hand slides down to my waist "Your entire body, your mind, your soul. All mine." All I could do was tremble at his touch. How can someone so beautiful be so heartless? ~~~~~~~~~~ All a 19 year old Aurora Shaw wanted to do was work to make a living and volunteer at the orphanage. Unfortunately for her, ruthless and cunning 26 year old Mafia leader and billionaire Tristan Black had other plans for her. He's been waiting for the perfect moment to kidnap her and finally make her his queen after 2 years of watching and stalking her every move. He'd kill anyone who gets in the way of getting what he wants. What will happen when he ruins everything she wanted and forces her to marry him? Will she escape and resist him? Or will she submit and accept her fate?Zakończone
Fix me with your obsession //BTS Ff
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𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 | 18+
❝𝐀𝐝𝐯𝐚𝐢𝐭 𝐬𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐚 & 𝐌𝐢𝐤𝐬𝐡𝐚 𝐒𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐚❞ I should not feel anything for someone who is my enemy, someone who has caused me so much pain that the very thought of him should fill me with nothing but rage and bitterness. Yet, against all logic, I feel it-I feel the heat rising beneath my skin . The mere idea of his touch sends shivers down my spine, igniting sensations that I desperately want to ignore. This isn't right. I shouldn't crave the presence of someone I despise, but my body betrays me, responding to him in ways that my mind fiercely rejects. He stands so close that his breath fans across my face, warm and intimate, stirring emotions that I refuse to acknowledge. A slight movement is all it would take for our lips to meet, for this unbearable tension to shatter into something far more dangerous. His hands are braced on either side of my head, trapping me, yet he doesn't need to touch me to make me feel trapped. His body hovers just out of reach, yet I can sense him, every inch of him, as if the air itself is an extension of his presence. I shouldn't desire this man. I shouldn't want to close the gap, to feel the press of his body against mine. I should be repulsed, disgusted by how my thoughts betray my hatred. But my body doesn't listen to reason , it yearns for what it shouldn't, driven by instincts I can't control. I despise him-my enemy- My rival-but the line between hatred and desire is blurring, and I'm terrified of which side I might fall on. {𝖠 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖽𝖺𝗅𝗈𝗇𝖾 } | | Mature content 18+| |Zakończone
To Hell
She was supposed to get better. He was supposed to disappear. They were all supposed to forget. But nothing stays buried forever. Especially not the kind of secrets that leave teeth marks. In a city built on silence and sin, five broken strangers are dragged back into the orbit of a man they thought was dead. Each carries their own trauma, their own rage, their own crimes. Each one marked. Each one watched. Each one chosen. There's the therapist who weaponizes grief. The girl who survived and became the monster. The boy who turned pain into poetry-and then into war. The cult leader who doesn't believe in forgiveness. And the one with blood on her tongue and no name left to pray with. A list has surfaced. And their names are on it. Crossed out. Carved in. Waiting. This isn't a love story. It's a reckoning. A spiral into obsession, violence, memory, and manipulation. Read it only if you can handle: Therapy sessions that turn abusive. Confessions that turn deadly. Love that turns into a knife. You've been warned.Zakończone
Never is a Mirror
I used to think the worst thing a place could do was keep you. Never taught me different. It lets you choose-and then makes sure the choice chooses you back. By daylight I work the door at Afterglow, a club of glass and iron and music that keeps its own kind of time. By night I count breaths, watch the mirrors, and pretend the soft diamond of salt over my heart is just an old scar. I don't say the word for what I can do under my breath. I don't look too long at the water. I don't answer when the ticking starts. Once, there was an island that ran on names, ledgers, and the right song at the wrong hour. There was a boy who arrived like a reflection and loved me the way a snare loves a sparrow-beautifully, relentlessly. There were rules disguised as jokes, games that tasted like devotion, and a crown that was really a lie if you listened closely enough. Mercy wore resin. Truth tasted like iron. And every wish I whispered came back with teeth. Now the past keeps surfacing-through windows, through music, through the mouths of strangers who don't know what they're asking. I wanted quiet. A pause. Something that didn't bleed me. Instead I got choices, and the kind of love that uses your yes as a lever. If I go back, it won't be because I'm brave. If I stay, it won't be because I'm safe. Either way, the mirror is already looking.
A walking myth
THIS BOOK NEEDS A LOT OF UPDATING TW-Mentions of assault do not go into detail) Bound by service to a lord she never chose, Esmerella spent her childhood as a mage forced into espionage-hated by many, feared by all. One ordinary trip to a bar changes everything. She is seduced... or taken, by a man unlike any she has ever known. But he is no ordinary man. He is a god, a myth who once walked the earth, a master of shadows and spirits, driven by grief and a desire for revenge over his late wife's death. And Aznarella? She is the perfect instrument of that vengeance-and far more than an ordinary mage. A story of power, fear, and destiny, this dark fantasy follows a girl who becomes a myth in her own right. ""Lucianthar Nehzarael" - The Keeper of Spirits, Warden of the Veil, Shepherd of the Departed. Her lips parted. Lucian... his name echoed here, stretched into something older, heavier. Lucianthar Nehzarael. The passage went on: He who bears this name was said to guard the passage between life and death, guiding wandering souls into the after-realms. Both feared and revered, the Keeper was neither cruel nor kind, but bound by law older than flame. Where mortals wept at graves, he listened. Where kings sought immortality, he denied. His dominion was not over flesh, but essence itself. Her hands trembled as she read on. In the days when the Forgotten Gods still answered prayers, their voices rarely touched mortal ears directly. Instead, they spoke through their heralds - the Seraphic, whom men called Angels. These were not winged creatures of song and mercy, but embodiments of law and power. Each carried a fragment of their God's essence, able to bend nature, heal wounds, or summon storms at a word."
18+// Bradva (WIP)
I though I had found what I craved my whole life after so many failed attempts with big egos and small dicks. Love, gentle one with kisses that didn't bruise and touches that felt safe. But he wasn't who I thought he was. What a fucking mistake. What started as charm twisted into obsession, and suddenly I began to fear every shadow, every knock, every whisper. Every smile hides a secret, every touch carries a threat, and trusting him might be the biggest mistake of my life. This is no fucking fairy tale with happy endings. This is what happens when reality meets fantasy. His love is venomous. It's a poison and I don't know if I'll survive it. SIDE NOTE: English is not my first language. Please, excuse me for some minor grammatical mistakes.
In a nation drunk on nostalgia for a greatness that never was, a cunning Patriarch, believing himself chosen by God, makes a devil's bargain: to forge a new world, he must first create its god. He stitches his heir together from the rotten parts of history, nepotism, flattery, and inherited privilege and unleashes this hollow idol upon the land. To serve this new regime, he offers women a gilded cage: renounce your mind, your alliances, your very self, and you will be crowned a "Crown-Consort", a jeweled accessory to power, worshipped for your obedience. Those who sense the rot the artists, the healers, the thinkers vanish into the night, guided by a secret network that leads them to a new world. They choose freedom over gilding. But those who remain, the "Loyal-Jewels," clutch their privileges tightly. They betray their sisters for a ribbon of approval, enforce the new scriptures that declare silence a virtue, and marvel at the splendor of their shrinking world. They believe their devotion will protect them. They are wrong. For a society that devours its own soul soon hungers for other meat. As the Patriarch's heir ascends, propped up by the fervor of his followers, the laws twist into grotesque new shapes. The sermons grow violent, the spectacles bloody. The Loyal-Jewels, in their sapphire gowns and emerald chains, find the walls of their cage are not made of gold, but of knives, and they are trapped inside with the monster they helped to create. It is the confession of the most celebrated Loyal-Jewel of them all, who now writes from the ruins, telling the tale of how they harvested a world of hollow idols and found nothing inside but dust and hunger.
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