nightmare7777

[gutsby]

Easy to Please

Pairing: Sleazy Landlord!Joel x Reader

Summary: Months pass, and you can’t make rent—again. You find another way to pay your sleazy landlord. Again.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Oral (m!receiving). Dubcon à la power imbalance / sex for money. Infidelity. Pervy!Joel. Talks of abuse. Omitting one tag to avoid spoiling the ending—please read at your own risk.

Note: This fic was loosely inspired by my three favorite songs about female adultery—‘Thinkin’ Bout Cheatin’ by Mae Estes, ‘Lyin’ Eyes’ by The Eagles, and ‘Cheatin’ Songs’ by Midland. No, I don’t support infidelity. Yes, it makes for fun fiction.

Word count: 3.1k

You hate the face he makes when he cums.

You hate the way he tastes when he’s done.

You hate the grit and the heft of the man, every lone hair that sprouts silver from his chest, and the way he pats the open space beside him in bed after you roll away.

‘Never seen a girl so goddamn allergic to cuddling!’

What makes his observation worse is that you know you’re hating it more and more with every passing day.

Today you have seven Benjamins, two Grants, and a Jackson tucked into your purse. You walk with a sluggish gait, knowing you’re $310 short of making this month’s rent and last. But you go on anyway. It’s not like Joel can’t see you from where he’s seated on the porch.

The pleasantries you exchange are short. By now, you have only to breeze past him in his lawn chair and say, ‘I can’t stay long,’ and he knows the rest. He grabs his six-pack, then his Pall Malls, and asks after you all the same.

“How’s the wrist?” he says.

You sprained it over the weekend. You aren’t sure how he heard. At any rate, you ignore the question and set your bag down on the counter before going to the fridge. You deflect with a question of your own—what the hell happened to the lemonade? He had a full jug last week.

“Got thirsty,” Joel answers, shrugging.

You’re always thirsty, you tell him, and you eye the case of Heineken that he’s placed by your purse. You don’t need to see his face to feel the smile starting to form.

“Don’t I know it,” he says. Insinuating.

You’d hit him over the head if you’d been able to reach. He’s still smiling when your shoulder checks his—closer to his elbow, from the feel of it—and when you leave the kitchen, he leaves too. He trails behind you with an ease that says this is the sixth time this has happened since August, and you’re hardly a week out from Halloween.

It’s not just rent you need to pay; it’s other things. Transmission in your truck’s gone to shit. Phone’s been on the fritz since you dropped it in the tub. Talking heads on TV say the country’s on track to get hit with another recession, and from the way your boss has been slashing your hours in half, you think they may be right. The crack in your bathroom window was tiny last week. Today it’s gone, because your husband put his fist through the thing on Sunday. You patched the hole with duct tape.

Joel’s covering the cost for the pane to be replaced, but that’s because he has to. He’s your landlord—proud owner of the Delta Commons trailer park since ‘97—and that’s what landlords do. Everything else is yours to pay.

You’re a part-time student, part-time waitress, and a full-time caretaker for your ailing spouse, or so you call him. Joel knows Stetson’s not sick, just perennially unemployed and drunk. You pay for most things, and it’s rarely enough to cover your rent. Stetson doesn’t care.

And that’s where Joel comes in.

No pun intended, but in his mind, there’s really no nicer way to say it: you fuck his brains out to make up for the shortfall in rent. You blow him before work to make sure your husband and you will have enough to eat that week. You bite the warm, freckled skin between his shoulder and his neck while you ride him, because you know that gesture will get you a little extra cash when you leave. You smile after swallowing him, and Joel knows that it tastes like shit. You’ve gotten good at faking it lately.

What he hopes isn’t totally fabricated is the way you call him big. Strong. Handsome. So stupidly well-endowed that you have to wince for the first few seconds when you sit on it, and go slow when he takes you from behind

“O-ow!” you whine presently.

His dick isn’t even in you yet. You just stubbed your toe on the edge of his dresser on your way to the bathroom.

“You alright?”

“Fuck me!”

I will, he thinks.

“Want me to get an ice—”

“Let go-OW! FUCK!”

Joel barely even touched your wrist and you were flinching away with a brand new pain. You rub it, almost defensively, then pin him with an icy glare. Nice going.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles.

Now he’ll be lucky if he can swing a half-hearted handy from the one that isn’t hurt. That’s how mad you look.

You turn your body away, and for a second, Joel assumes that his fate has been sealed: you’ll bumble over to the rug by his bed, toss a pillow on the floor, and assume what he already knows to be your least favorite position. You’ll kneel, and talk of migraines and your long, grueling day and in the end find an excuse not to use your mouth. That’ll be okay. But with the debts you owe him now, it also won’t be enough, and Joel will have to ask you back again. He hates sounding needy, but baby, deal’s a deal.

Luckily you don’t give him the chance to use that line. Much to his surprise, you get on the bed. You lie down. You seem to take a little more care settling in this time, but you take off your clothes. It’s a lime green tank top and some ratty jean skirt, but it’s enough to tempt him.

And not just tempt, but oblige him to accept, unblinking. He crawls over the bed to get to you, and he finds that his spit’s filling his mouth a little quicker. His hands are starting to shake as they slide over the duvet, and the tree trunks he once called his legs are runny, like eggs.

He has to remind himself, bluntly, of your last name, the shiny ring on your hand, your husband’s name, your—

“Age—what’d you say your age was again?” Joel asks.

You look confused for a second, but you tell him.

“Twenty-one.”

Way too fucking young to have gotten hitched three years ago. But then he remembers this is Leakey, Texas, and your family hasn’t strayed more than ten miles from the center of town in four generations. You told him that.

“I thought you said twenty,” Joel says, a little uneasy.

“I did. Up until this past Sunday I was.”

“Oh.”

A beat.

“Happy birthday.”

You blink.

“You gonna take your pants off or what?”

And he does. Maybe embarrassed at first, but then the jeans come off, and his boxers go next, and without so much as a word or a breath, his worries are sliding away like water off his back. Like his clothes now peeling off.

Like your smile growing thin at the sight of him half-stripped on the bed in front of you. Joel doesn’t flatter himself to think he’s even half as handsome as he was in his youth, but he knows he has his draws. What endears him to you today is, unfortunately, his wallet. But that doesn’t mean you can’t be convinced to like him more.

More than Stetson, he thinks without humor.

Dumb son of a bitch can’t tell his ass from his elbow and yet he’s won himself you, living it up these last three y—

“Oh.”

He sounds like an owl now. His clothes are off, and you’re rubbing him, pumping him gently in your hand, which you were so kind to make wet with your saliva. It even sounds better than his, the way it squelches with every flick. Joel can only say so much in strangled breaths.

He tries anyway:

“Feel like a dream, sweet pea.”

Sweet pea.

Your pace quickens. Joel swears he can see the corners of your lips twitch, but then he thinks you’re just wincing. You move down to the floor beside the bed. Kneel almost politely while you nestle yourself between his parted legs

Your mouth is warm. It’s always warm. Joel wouldn’t expect a girl’s tongue to greet his dick like ice, but yours is always heated to a thousand degrees, it feels like. He enjoys the sting. Your lips envelop his big, leaking tip, and he swears he can stay like this forever—in you.

On you, too. He’s got his palm resting flat on your head, and he doesn’t mean to, but he pushes. He bunches your hair in a fist and drags your face to make you swallow.

Mean old man, you must be saying in your head when he stuffs your mouth full. Makes your eyes prick with tears.

Sweet girl. My sweet pea, he thinks, affectionately, and continues to rub your scalp. He holds your teary gaze.

And then you’re moving up. Down. Coating his length with shiny spit and tiny whimpers as your lips move gently back and forth, again and again. Joel’s grip tightens in your hair, and he begs for more. More.

“More,” he orders, jaw clenched, “Fit a little more’a me.”

From where you’re kneeling below, you look put off.

Then you pull off, and you wipe your wet chin.

“Chokin’ me,” you grumble, “‘S’too big.”

Normally, Joel loves to hear that.

Now, however, he’s sliding his touch to your chin and tilting your head up to him. Thumbing at the spit dribbling out on either side of your mouth and subsequently coaxing your lips further apart.

He slides back in, and you don’t fight it. You like it. Holding his gaze in a soft, docile look while your lips stretch deliciously around his shaft, you must love it. Every inch and every twinge of pleasure from the brush of his cock going in and out must be your favorite thing.

Joel hopes it is, anyway. He holds your face now, and your throat convulses involuntarily. You’re so pretty.

“Such a good, sweet girl, ain’t ya?” he presses, watching the coarse grey hairs at the base of him tickle your face.

You respond well to praise. You preen under those words, and try to nod. But his cock is so deep down your throat you end up choking again. Joel watches all of it smiling.

Petting your head and not pushing again. Grinning.

“Love my cock nice and stuffed in that pretty throat?”

You blink instead of nodding, but it’s more than enough.

“Love me deep?”

And the head of him sinks somewhere he’s never been. Your eyes are like two wide pools, and your lips leak everywhere—your chin, your cheeks, your neck.

Joel’s smearing it all with his palm and smiling so wide that he thinks he might pull a muscle. He pants heavily.

“Just what you’re made for. Just what you need.”

You look like you might agree. He keeps going.

“My fuckin’ mouth. My pretty, pretty mouth.”

He holds your face. He thinks he might cum.

“Ain’t a damn thing Stetson can do for this mouth, huh?”

And then he doesn’t. Joel barely blinks, and you’re already bucking your head out of his hold, mouth skittering away while the spit spills out. You’re practically drenched down to the chest when your face rears back. Your eyes are alight and no longer smiling when you grit:

“Don’t.”

Joel should’ve known better.

He’s hit a raw nerve, and now he really wishes he hadn’t.

It doesn’t stop there—but it doesn’t get better, either. Things progress in much the same way as they always have but with none of the need, or the warmth, of before. You climb back up and straddle him quick. Not meeting his eye, you just sit down, and slide down, and don’t wince at all. You don’t tell him that he’s big, and he doesn’t get the chance to even groan at the first influx of pleasure before you’re riding him. Bouncing and grinding your hips against his with all the passion of someone perusing the newspaper. You don’t whimper or moan.

Of course, Joel enjoys the feeling. He also wants someone to punch him in the throat for what he’s done.

“Hey, hon—” he starts, voice strained, “Hon, I’m sorr—”

“Shut up,” you snap.

Your movements hardly falter, and now your hand is seizing the headboard. You’re clenching him tight inside your wet, drooling cunt, and it’s obvious you’re trying to make him cum as quickly as possible. You swallow hard.

Joel isn’t sure what to do. On the one hand, his body is being flooded with pleasure, and on the other, he fears you may never do this with him again. Quickly fixing on the latter, he cups your face in one hand. It’s still wet.

His fingers smear the spit, and somehow you look even prettier. You keep grinding your body in desperate little fits above him, and really, you feel fucking amazing, but Joel is too focused on other thoughts. He squeezes you.

“Baby—” he tries again, but you shush him just as fast.

Your hips are moving viciously now. No matter how sore your legs might have been from a long day toiling away—just a couple hours before your shift at your next job, if Joel’s remembering correctly—you’re working him well. Doing him in. Fucking his brains out, but you aren’t his.

His fingers smear the spit even more. Never will be his.

“Sweet pea—”

“Don’t fucking call me that!”

Now he can’t deny that his climax is close. But this isn’t how he wanted it to end—with you so incensed you can hardly look him in the eye. His hand rubs more, helpless.

And just when he’s seconds away from painting your insides white, losing it all to the pleasure, he sees it.

His wet, sticky touch has uncovered a residue.

Joel pulls his fingers away in a blink, and simultaneously, your eyes are fluttering closed. You’re focused now on climax; because of that, you don’t see what he sees.

What he’s stunned to find on his fingers: makeup.

Lots and lots of thick, heavy makeup on your cheeks. Concealer, he thinks he’s heard it called once or twice.

No matter the name, he quickly comes to see what it’s for. Just as you’re hitting your peak, squeezing the headboard behind him, and coming undone with a shockwave trembling all through your body, Joel pales.

The makeup that you applied so heavy tonight hides bruises. Black and blue and awful hues of greenish-purple too, your whole face, he sees, is engulfed.

He doesn’t speak. He won’t ask.

He won’t cum tonight, either.

He’ll finish something else.

You leave Joel’s trailer angry. You don’t say goodbye. The screen door screams shut behind you when you leave, and silently, you wonder why he didn’t cum. For once, you wish he had—and hadn’t said half of what he did.

Six hours pass like molasses, and by the end of it all—the close of your second shift—Stetson’s name still echoes in your head. The way Joel said it. It hums along the walls of your skull while you walk, and as you draw closer to home, you remember that strange and infuriating tone.

Then you remember your own less than two months ago:

Don’t talk to my husband. Don’t talk about my husband.

They were two simple rules, and Joel broke them both.

He must’ve defied the first when paying a visit to make repairs that week, and that’s when Stetson mentioned your hand: how you ‘slipped’ in the bath. Tripped and conveniently sprained your wrist the same night he almost tore your arm out of the socket for looking at a waiter a tad too long at dinner. You’d bet any sum of money Joel didn’t get to hear that part from Stetson when he came over to see about the window, though.

No, your twenty-first came and went without so much as a word about your wrist. Your arm. Your face—used to getting caked with concealer every third week or so.

You wince as you open the door. You walk slowly.

At first, you’re met with silence, and you sigh with relief. Then you hear it, and shortly drop your purse to the floor.

You all but fall down yourself at the sight: your husband doubled over across from you, in the kitchen. His head in his hands. You don’t need to see the face to know that it’s bleeding. Profusely. You tread ever slower into the room, thinking somehow, some way he’s going to blame this on you. And when he straightens a little and shows off the full, gruesome extent of his injuries, you blanch to think that it might be. His body’s been beaten to a pulp.

Your pulse hammers in your head so loud you can’t hear him groan. You see him, but you don’t really believe it.

And when Stetson reaches for you, you stagger back.

Your hands skim the counter, but your brain barely registers it. Your husband’s calling to you now, ‘Quit standin’ there lookin’ stupid, do somethin’, huh?!’ He’s screaming, and you’re not hearing it. Barely feeling like a sentient person at all but just a doll stumbling backward on two wooden legs. As you walk, your palm stays stuck to the laminate underneath it, and suddenly, you feel it.

An envelope.

In this state, you aren’t sure why you grab it, but you do.

You take the lone white paper, and you turn to leave. Your hands shake as you hold the thing, and your legs are hardly any better, but they carry you, miraculously, from the kitchen to the threshold of the back door. Then out. Stetson’s not just yelling but bellowing, loud, every last obscenity known to man as he holds his bloodied side and limps in his perilous, pathetic way. Fortunately, you’re gone just in time to miss the bottle he hurls.

Outside, you walk. And walk. And in the still of the night you’re obliged to find your way through a miscellany of trailers and trucks and old, creaking vans by moonlight, and the throbbing in your head begins to slow. You don’t rush to get far, and you don’t have your keys even if you wanted to drive off. You keep walking. Watching nothing.

When your eyes drift to the envelope in your hand, you barely see that either. You’re just blinking as you look, and breathing as you wait for the sight to make sense.

Inside, you find seven Benjamins, two Grants, and a Jackson staring back. Next to them are a few dozen others—enough to cover August, September, October, and several months before that, if you had to guess.

You hope you’ll get the opportunity to thank Joel, and maybe tell him that you don’t really hate him, someday.

[innerfare]

You’re Sick - Part 1

Summary: How do they act when you come down with a bad fever?

Characters: Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Ace, Sabo, Law, Kid

Genre: Fluff

CW: None // SFW

——— 

Luffy: 

Don’t expect him to look the other way when you blow snot all over the place. He’ll laugh and even poke a little fun at you. One thing he won’t do is fuss over you. Sure, he’ll bring you something to eat, and he’ll tell you to get under the blanket if you’re so cold, but he won’t be a mother hen clucking. And it’s comforting, actually. If there’s one thing you can count on from Luffy, it’s for him to remain calm, and he does just that when you come down with a fever, showing up for you without smothering you. 

Zoro: 

He’s not very good at the nurturing gig. The main thing is that he doesn’t want you to think that he thinks you can’t handle yourself. But… well, he worries. He’s never seen you this way, and the fear of loss is never out of reach for him. He takes to hovering by the door with his arms folded over his chest, even lowering his head to rest his eyes but never once sitting down. It’s not even a conscious thing, him staying on his feet the entire time you’re sick; his instinct is just to protect you, and this is the way he knows. 

Sanji: 

Soup. Of course he’s going to make soup. And then he’s going to make more soup, so much soup that the entire crew will be eating soup for at least the next week. Sanji doesn’t know what else to do with himself. He has to keep himself busy, though, has to keep his hands moving, or else he’ll find himself in a dark place. Luckily, he knows he can place his faith in Chopper to nurse you back to health. In the meantime, though, he’s going to keep making soup because he knows the power of a good meal. 

Ace: 

He brushes it off so easily you would think he wasn’t worried- if you didn’t know him, that is. What hits him the hardest when you’re bedridden, though, is how much you take care of him, followed by a fear that he won’t reciprocate well enough and you’ll be cross with him. He never would have imagined his fear of abandonment would rear it’s ugly head at such a time, but there he is, sitting on the end of the bed feeling like his most precious treasure is about to slip through his fingers. He wants to run from it, but he manages to grab your hand and give you a smile, teasing you about your messy hair. 

Sabo: 

He babies you- the man who rarely picks up the transponder snail and usually hangs up in the middle of the call when he does, the man who can’t be damned to remember most people’s names, the man who seems so utterly blasé most of the time. He drags a damp cloth across your forehead, he takes your temperature every hour, he reads and rereads the label on the medicine you were given by the doctor to be sure you get the right dose at the right time and don’t show any of the adverse side effects listed. 

Law: 

You expect him to be gruff with you. After all, your boyfriend hasn’t struck you as a doctor famous for his bedside manner. That’s not to say he’s mean, he’s just not very sappy. But when you come down with a fever, you notice a line in his brow you’ve never seen before and quickly realize the depths of his worry. Law is more gentle with you than he’s ever been, even going so far as to quietly spoon feed you. And he holds you the entire time, any risks to his own health be damned. 

Kid: 

If you didn’t know him so well, you’d think he was mad at you, or at least trying to disturb your sleep because he doesn’t want you to rest. But he snapped at you to sleep in his bed, not your own, and when he comes into his cabin every fifteen minutes, you recognize his extra loud footsteps and irate muttering about you coughing all over his sheets as concern. Eventually, he sits in a chair by the bed with a hunk of metal in his hands that he fidgets with while he watches over you, barking at Killer to bring you something hot. 

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

[delulustateofmind]

JJK Men x Reader: Taking care of the kids!

Characters: Satoru, Suguru, and Choso.

Your sweet husbands are taking care of the kids for you while you're at some wedding the invite clearly saying "No Kids". That's fine...your husband can handle it right?

Satoru

Satoru was sure he could handle it. After all, how hard could it be to watch over his little guy for a few hours while you attended a wedding? But what he didn’t account for was his soon-to-be one-year-old's teething phase turning his sweet baby into a tiny, drooling menace.

With his son strapped snugly in a baby harness against his chest, Satoru was convinced they’d get through the day without a hitch. He had his lecture planned, a mission lined up with the kids, and, of course, his little one’s nap schedule firmly memorized. You had emphasized that routine was essential, and he, being the ever-attentive husband, was sure he’d nailed it.

But as he strolled into the school, proudly chatting with his colleagues about how “easy” fatherhood was, his little boy had other plans. Every few seconds, tiny, sticky hands would reach up, eagerly grasping for Satoru’s fingers for a nibble. Drool was dripping steadily from his son’s mouth, leaving a little trail on Satoru’s shirt, but he didn’t mind. With his heart full and his confidence sky-high, he figured everything was under control.

When his little mochi whimpered and grabbed at his fingers for the hundredth time, Satoru finally glanced down, pressing a light kiss to his son’s wild, snow-white hair. “Easy day, right, buddy?” he cooed, still blissfully unaware of what was to come.

It was not an easy day. Satoru’s confidence shattered the instant a huge wail erupted from his little one, echoing down the hallway and catching the attention of every passing student. Big, red cheeks puffed up on his son’s face, tiny fists reaching up toward Satoru with desperation, his drooly little mouth quivering.

"Maybe he’s hungry?" Satoru murmured, patting his son's back, hoping to soothe him. "Or tired already? Ah, come on, little mochi, we were supposed to have this handled." But the cries only grew louder, and a creeping realization hit him—he’d left the diaper bag at home. And the toys.

“Oh, crap…” He muttered, running a hand through his hair in a rare moment of panic. Three hours of sleep had definitely taken its toll, and he was starting to feel the weight of every “no problem” promise he’d made to you that morning.

With no pacifier, no extra clothes, and his son's unhappy shrieks growing louder, Satoru swallowed his pride and started bouncing a little, whispering desperately, “C’mon, buddy, give your dad a break… Just till Momma gets back…”

Nanami found him standing helplessly in the hallway, looking like he'd been caught in the middle of a disaster zone. Without missing a beat, Nanami took in the sight—the wailing, red-cheeked baby clawing at Satoru’s face, and Satoru’s sheepish, desperate smile—and made an easy diagnosis.

"He's teething, probably," Nanami said in his typical stoic tone. "At that age, and judging by that wail, he's frustrated. Take it from someone who has three kids."

Satoru blinked at him, slightly stunned. What was Nanami, some kind of baby whisperer? How did he know all this?

As if reading his mind, Nanami continued, "Hold on. I have a baby bag in my car. We keep a spare unopened teething ring and some other essentials." His gaze swept over Satoru’s empty hands and slightly disheveled look. "Judging by the lack of your baby bag, I’m guessing you forgot some things."

Satoru’s face broke into a sheepish laugh, scratching the back of his neck. "Yeah… three hours of sleep will do that to a guy."

Without another word, Nanami turned, motioning for Satoru to follow. “Come on. We’ll get him sorted. And maybe—” he gave Satoru a pointed look, “—I’ll teach you a thing or two.”

Satoru chuckled, half-relieved, half-embarrassed as he followed. Maybe today will be a bit easier after all.

Suguru

Suguru had parenting down to an art. He practically embodied the role so well that anyone might mistake him for a mother, the way he handled each detail with care and precision. Fortunately, the twins were off at school, leaving him with his youngest—his curious little boy who’d just turned two. As they made their way to the training grounds, Suguru watched his son toddling beside him, attached by one of those child leash backpacks. You’d joked it was a control thing when he brought it home, and honestly, he couldn’t deny it. His peace of mind was priceless.

When they arrived, the first years immediately gravitated toward the little one, their hearts melting at his wide-eyed gaze and tiny fingers pointing at everything in sight. Suguru could only chuckle softly, amused by the way his son looked at the world, taking it all in with endless wonder.

With a practiced calm, Suguru spread a soft blanket over the grass, laying out toys and a couple of sturdy board books for his little one. Settling down, he reached for the sunscreen, his voice gentle as he coaxed his son to sit still. "Come on, let’s put some sunscreen on you," he said softly, hands cradling his son's round cheeks as he carefully smoothed the cream into every nook and cranny of his chubby face.

Every so often, he’d throw a glare at the first years when he caught them stealing glances instead of focusing on their stretching. “Eyes on your forms,” he reminded, his voice just stern enough to bring them back to reality.

Suguru returned his focus to his little boy, who was already distracted by a toy, happily babbling.

"Pink!" His son shouted as he pointed at Yuji.

"That's so good. Yeah, his hair is pink." Suguru would speak soflty and slowly as he put on a little sun hat on his son.

Today was going to be a good day—quiet, simple, and fully excited to see his wife when he got home.

Choso

Choso was great with kids—everyone said so. But when it came to his own little one, especially now that she was sick, he felt completely out of his depth. His heart twisted painfully as he looked at his sweet four-year-old daughter, who’d woken him from a much-needed nap after a grueling late-night mission.

“I threw up, Papa…” she whimpered, her little face streaked with tears and a sniffle escaping her as she looked up at him.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Choso got to work. He changed her sheets, gathered up the laundry, and made sure she was comfortable as she crawled into his and your shared bed, nestling herself among the pillows. He placed a kiss on her forehead, murmuring a soft, “Rest here, baby. Papa will be right back.”

Heading downstairs, he mulled over what he’d need. Being half-curse, he’d never experienced sickness himself, which left him a little lost on how to help his little one. Juice seemed like a good idea, right? He also started a small pot of rice, recalling something he’d read online about gentle foods being good for sick children.

A quick call to Nanami confirmed he was on the right track. Suguru added a few more helpful tips, and by the time he went back upstairs, juice in one hand and a bowl of rice in the other, he felt a little more prepared.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he gently nudged his daughter awake. “Here, baby,” he said softly, brushing a hand through her hair. “I’ve got some juice and a little bit of rice for you. It’ll help you feel better.”

She blinked up at him, still sniffling, but managed a small, grateful smile, reaching for the juice first. Choso settled beside her, his hand resting on her back as he rubbed slow, comforting circles, silently wishing he could take all her discomfort away. He might be half-curse, but nothing could change how deeply he cared for his little girl.

[heian-era-housewife]

This fic is part of the Monster Mash collaborative event hosted by @nanamiscocksleeve ♡

Synopsis | Things get a little monstrous when you end up swapping bodies with the very curse you were sent to destroy.

Content | mdni 18+, f!reader x CurseMonster!Sukuna, slight dubcon, body swap, sex (piv), oral (f receiving), dp, biting, mention of blood, swearing, sukuna is ooc, you *literally* fuck yourself, it gets weird.

Word Count | 2.7 k

A/N | Idea credit to the ever-creative @noodle-is-unstable . Click HERE to see the SMAU that inspired this story and be sure to check out Noodle's other works!

"Come now, you mustn't stop trying!" The monster's voice rang out into the night.

Your lungs burned with each ragged breath as you drew in the cool evening air. You'd been sparring for what felt like hours. Aloft on a Tokyo highrise rooftop, you and the beast you'd been hunting for weeks had finally come to clash.

A wayward smile curled your lips. "Don't you worry, Sukuna. I'm just getting started."

"It seems he's looking for a vessel." Yaga had informed you when the monster curse first appeared.

"A vessel?"

"Someone he can posses. Someone with strength and powers to match, to maximize his abilities. That's why we're sending you." He counceled.

"Why me?" You asked, thinking of at least a dozen more qualified sorcerers. You weren't even special grade.

"Because you are the only one Ryomen Sukuna can't control."

It's true, your ability was unique. Rather than a cursed technique, you had what could only be described as "curse resistance". While you weren't the strongest fighter, cursed energy rolled off your back like droplets of water. And while not entirely immune, you could take a hit like no other. In the odd case of bodily posession, you were a stone fortress.

In the weeks since your dispatch, you'd spent your time tracking the four-armed monster. Learning his methods, his motives, the sound of his voice- and he was well aware. He left you red herrings, had you chasing down bootless errands, and generally toyed with you like his own personal plaything. But your game of cat-and-mouse was coming to a head and there was just one thing neither of you had counted on.

Fatal attraction.

Impervious to his flame, you walked toward him through the raging inferno like something out of an action thriller. The warmth of his curse lapping at your skin as you sauntered through. The air between you thick with heat and excitement.

"You're stronger than I imagined." He praised. "I'm impressed." A rare acknowledgement from the monster of all curses.

"And you're not nearly as hideous as they claim." You teased. "Almost a pity I have to kill you." A dreadful smile curled his lips as you dodged another glancing blow. He was fast and clever, spurred on by your fighting spirit and already privy to your curse resistance, or so you believed. Somehow, he seemed to be enjoying himself, and with every volley of witty banter you were finding yourself feeling the same.

"Such an odd technique you have." He called over the roar of flame and the whiff of mislaid punches. While he realised early on the only real way to take you out would be with his own bare hands, the flames acted as a blind for his pursuit of an ambush, the close proximity of the rooftop forcing you both into a violent waltz. "There's just one thing I haven't been able to work out." He continued.

"What's that?" You panted.

"How is it you're generating these feelings of arousal?"

You stopped, stunned. Did he say "arousal?"

In your moment of distraction, he managed to land a kick, swiping your legs from beneath you and sending you tumbling to the ground. Your back hit the roof with enough force to knock the air from your lungs. And there was the face of the monster, mere inches from yours. His intricate markings stretching handsomely over his wry smile. His sharp teeth bared in a predatory sneer. Two of his hands had you pinned at the wrists, stretched back above your head. The other two bore down on your hips as he knelt above you, caging you in. You froze, certain your luck had run out. All four eyes peered down at you, the smallest glimmer of sadness in his crimson gaze, perhaps at the thought of his fun being over. But in his furrowed brow still lingered a questioning look.

"Speak." He said simply.

Surely he hadn't been serious?

"Answer me, brat!" He urged, warm breath fanning your face.

"I don't 'generate' arousal." You almost laughed. Such a ridiculous situation you were in, pinned beneath the monster you'd been sent to kill, the one you'd started falling for, as he unwittingly confessed his mutual attraction.

Slowly, he lowered his body onto yours, careful not to crush you under his towering weight. Bringing his lips to your ear, he purred his next question.

"Then how do you explain this?"

With a roll of his hips you felt it, the warmth of not one but two massive bulges pressing hungrily between your thighs. Even clothed you could feel them twitch upon contact. Your eyes widened.

"S-Sukuna!" You gasped.

"Surely it's you who's doing this." His graveled voice just barely above a whisper. "No mortal being has ever made me feel such a way." His words sent heat rushing straight to your core, and creeping wantonly up your neck. When you spoke, your voice was thick with need.

"Sukuna, I don't have a cursed technique... I have curse resis-"

"Shhh." He hushed, breathing deeply against your neck. "You will make a most worthy vessel."

"Sukuna!" You urged, squirming slightly under his hold. "Listen, would you let that go? Besides, I'm resistant to curse-"

"All I need is a bit of your blood." He cooed as if to a lover. Your head was spinning. So desperate for his touch, and yet you needed stop him. Who knew if your resistance would hold up to his sheer force of will. It was taking all that you had just to try and think clearly. But the two of you were growing ever more desperate. Your hips bucking up in sheer agony against the firmness of his cocks, still pressing into you.

He rutted against you, half whimpering half growling as he dragged his teeth deep against your pulse. The heat, the longing for his sex, and whatever energy he was using all began to overwhelm you. Darkness flooded the corners of your vision as droplets of warm blood beaded on your neck where his sharp canines were carving their mark. A distant voice yelled out in a sultry mix of pleasure and pain. Your voice.

The weight of his cocks and his name in your throat were the last things you felt before going under.

When you awoke moments later it was to the taste of metal on your tongue, the smell of something provocatively sweet, and an ache like you'd never felt between your legs. Your eyes rolled in their sockets as you forced them back open, your vision was doubled, unfocused. But as you went to rub your eyes, you nearly fell over, shocked to discover that you now had four. Staring down at your trembling hands you realized those, too, had doubled.

"What is this?" Came a voice that was hauntingly familiar. Glancing down, you looked upon the woman pinned beneath you, blood running cold as your were met with your own steely gaze. "What the hell is this?!" She spat, writhing under your hulking form.

"S-Sukuna?" You ventured, your words deep and graveled. Your own cold eyes glaring up at you, and a scent so alluring you thought you may just lose yourself.

"Brat?" There was a moment of pause. A deep seated silence while reality settled in.

"Well..." You said in a voice far different from your own.

"Fuck." Sukuna finished.

"I told you it wasn't going to work!" You moaned, following the curse as he paced along the rooftop. Your stride now twice that of his, you had to be careful not to trip over your own feet.

"I wasn't listening, I was too distracted by that technique of yours!"

"It's not a technique!" You snapped. "You're attracted to me! I can't help it if I turn you on! And, by the way, the feeling is mutual. Annoyingly so!" You said, gesturing to the obvious and very painful predicament between your legs. "How do you even walk like this?"

"Carefully." Said Sukuna with a smirk.

"Be serious!"

"As I told you I've never dealt with anything like this before. I've never experienced anything so trivial as 'attraction'." He turned to look at you. "And for what it's worth, your situation isn't much better." He leered, reaching a hand down to the growing stain between his thighs.

There was that smell again. Your own pheromones were betraying you. Even the great mouth on your stomach had started to pant in shameless desire. Flecks of drool dripped down your front.

What a mess this had become. If the other sorcerers could see you now, they'd have your head for sure. Your mission had gone belly-up, you'd almost become a vessel for the monster you'd been entrusted to extinguish, and here you were drooling and pining over the very creature you were meant to kill while trapped inside his body. At least, in some small, strange way, you weren't entirely alone.

When you looked up from your stomach's lolling tongue, you saw Sukuna, almost feeble-looking in your comparatively small frame, sitting quietly on the darkened rooftop. Human, monster. Suddenly the difference didn't seem so vast...

"Look," you began,"I'm going out on a limb here, but if I had to guess I'd imagine this will wear off after a little while. On the rare occasion I have been affected by cursed energy, it always wears off within a few hours."

"And what do you propose we do until then? You don't expect us to just sit here?"

No, you didn't. Not that either of you had much choice in the matter. You weren't about to fight your own body, nor were you inclined to return to the streets as a four-armed beast with a bounty on your head. Bringing a hand to your neck you called back the feeling of Sukuna's lips against your skin, his sultry voice within your ear.

You couldn't believe what you were about to say.

"Th-there is one thing...we could do."

The air was cold against your skin, but Sukuna was colder, trembling, naked, on the rooftop after you'd helped him remove your clothes. Yours had been easy. A pair of loose-fitting pants was all that kept your dual lengths from springing back against your stomach. The great mouth sputtered.

"Woah..." You marveled- a moment of genuine fascination amidst the bizarre scene. Each shaft was long and heavily veined, one laying atop the other in equal length and proportion. They bounced under their own impressive weight, and each bore a handsome black ring toward its base.

"You done staring?" He asked, arms wrapped around himself as he shivered where he stood.

"Sorry." You chirped. Before he could protest, you scooped him effortlessly in your arms, laying him down atop the pile of discarded clothes, shielding him under your warmth. Slowly, just as he had done before, you lowered your hips, rutting them against his own, the lower of your two cocks gliding over the slick between his thighs.

In one large hand, you gathered his wrists, holding them once again above his head. In the others, you worshipped his body- your body - in exactly the way you knew how. Two large thumbs rubbed circles on your hips, while a thick and calloused finger found your clit with pinpoint precision pulling gasps and moans from a quickly fraying Sukuna. In spite of his efforts, each little sound sent a rush of heat straight to the pit of your stomach, and that gave you an idea.

You laughed something a bit maniacle before spreading his legs and lowering yourself just enough to lay your head down on his breasts.

It was hard to control, the strange anatomy seemed to have somewhat of a mind of its own. You grunted in concentration.

"What the hell are you doing, brat?" Sukuna craned his neck to look at you. You were focused- determined. And then...

"Ohh fuuuuck!" Sukuna said for the second time that night, only this time it was downright sinful. His moans were sweet music to your ears, your cocks twitching in tandem against Sukuna's silky thigh.

With a great deal of effort, you commanded the mouth on your stomach, using its tongue to lap at those sopping folds. Once it had a taste, the rest came naturally. The great maw working itself eagerly between Sukuna's thighs, nipping and sucking as if that were its very purpose. You nuzzled into those pillowy breasts, strong hands pawing at them with surprising tenderness. Sukuna was all but gone, twisting and writhing against the steady rythm of the massive tongue, now fucking up into him as it dipped in and out of his entrance, the taste so sweet your cocks were weeping at the sensation.

Before you knew it, you were flipping him onto his knees, two hands digging bruises into his hips, the others holding him tight against your chest. In truth, you weren't certain your body could handle a cock this size, but you'd be damned if you didn't try. Leaning into his ear, you offered him a hand, your words sending a ripple of chills over his skin. "You just bite down if you need to." You said in a lustful growl before sliding your thick fingers past his lips and over his tongue.

With a careful thrust, you slid your upper cock into his squelching cunt, white stars behind your eyes as you experienced, for the first time, the delicious grip of those velvety walls. You were hooked in an instant.

Desperate cries for "more! More! MORE!" spilled out around your fingers as Sukuna arched his back, keening with every thrust. He rutted back into your frenzied sex like a dog in heat, drooling cunt raining tears of pleasure on the rooftop below. He was milking you so well you nearly missed his desperate plea.

"B-both." He choked around your fingers.

"What?" You asked breathlessly, removing your hand from his mouth.

"BOTH!" He demanded, voice cracking in his need.

Obediently, you reeled your hips back, aligning yourself with each hole, but before you could plunge yourself deeply back inside, Sukuna reached a hand back, adjusting your cocks so they were both lined up with the same hole. Your chest grew tighter.

"Y-you sure?"

A stoic nod was his only reply, knuckles tightening over clenched fists before rutting back into you.

You were in heaven. Ragged groans being ripped from your chest as you railed your hips into your own throbbing pussy. Both cocks pressed together in painful ecstacy as you chased your unholy high. Fat tears rolled down Sukuna's cheeks and you did your best to wipe them away to the tune of his pleasured cries. Your own lashes were wet with sweat that poured from your wild pink hair.

Everything about this was wrong, and yet nothing had ever felt so right.

With a strangled cry, Sukuna's walls closed in on you in the same, unrelenting nature with which he fought- powerful and overwhelming. With the same biting rapture that pulled air from your lungs and stars from your eyes. Forget being a vessel. He came with such conviction you would've given him your soul, had he asked.

"Fuck!" He cried out, and with that you were a goner. His voice sending you spilling your cum in velvety ropes. Both cocks pulsing their load in violent waves that wrought your body and rattled your brain. Your vision swam as you pumped your body full of Sukuna's thick seed. And as you bit into the flesh of the tender nape before you, the world became an inky shade of black.

"Brat."

You blinked your eyes against the darkness.

"Hey! Brat!"

The monster's voice floated to you from the depths of your hazy mind. Slowly you turned to him. His naked form towering over you on shakey hands and knees, his panting breath fanning you in its musky warmth. Chest still heaving in the wake of his orgasm.

"You're stronger than I imagined." He praised. "I'm impressed."

"And you're not nearly as hideous as they claim." You teased once again. "Almost a pity I have to kill you."

"All this, and you still wish to kill me?" He gave you a dubious look.

"Come now, you mustn't stop trying." Your voice rang out into the night.

A wayward smile curled his lips. "Don't you worry, brat. I'm just getting started."

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[roguishcat]

A sound judgement

Thank you so much @pursuitseternal for your request and for giving me this prompt (Magistrate Astarion AU, where he was never turned)! This was an absolute delight to write, even if it took me a while to actually get done. Hope you enjoy it!

Excerpt:

And this was when Astarion remembered that he was, in fact, the law and you had no choice but to obey him. A small voice in the back of his mind chose to remind him how badly this could backfire. Astarion chose not to heed the warnings of said voice and immediately began plotting.

Word count: 5.1k

Pairing: Astarion x female Reader

Tags: some suggestive themes, Astarion being a menace to society, Astarion being a brat, fluff, tooth-rotting fluff

❤️Love it? Hate it? Tell me what you think! ❤️

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The afternoon sunlight brushed warmly against your cheek as you enjoyed a rare moment of peace. Instead of running around Baldur's Gate, fixing buildings, helping those in need, the Hero of the Gate for once decided to read a newspaper in a park. Something quite mundane for some, a rare luxury for you.

You were not slacking. But you have come to realise that in your bid to please everyone you would soon completely burn out. Which is why you didn’t feel a smidge of guilt when you found yourself going to Bloomridge park instead of the Upper City.

Not having to make any decisions and just simply be for an hour felt absolutely heavenly. Children played, the members of the book club gossiped, and couples whispered among themselves. This was exactly what you loved about this city. No matter how much havoc was wrought, Baldur's Gate healed rapidly and would soon be back to its former glory.

You cast your eyes over the articles in the newspaper. Nothing special, thank the gods. Just silly gossip and the like. You quickly looked through it and gave a happy sigh. No news was always good news in your books!

Yet, no matter how pleasant this little break was, you were well aware that your assistance was needed at ten odd locations today. It was time to get back to work.

Getting up, you looked at the newspaper in your hands and decided that perhaps someone would enjoy reading it. Afterall, there was hardly any reason for you to take the paper with you. And leaving it behind would probably save some poor apprentice a copper. Thus assured that you were doing no harm, you folded the newspaper up neatly and set it down on the park bench for another to enjoy.

Just as you were about to walk away, you heard someone clear their throat loudly.

"What do you think you are doing?"

It was one of the Fists. You didn't recognise him. Perhaps it was a new recruit, seeing as otherwise he would have known who you were.

"Excuse me?"

"You are littering," he stated, pointing to the newspaper with an accusatory finger.

Ah, so a simple misunderstanding.

"I am not littering,” you smiled pleasantly, in spite of feeling that it was rather strange of the Fist to worry about something as inconsequential as litter out of all things. “Just thought someone else might enjoy reading the paper now that I'm done with it."

The Fist did not look impressed by your explanation. In fact, if anything he seemed even more set in his belief that a heinous crime was being committed in broad daylight.

"I am arresting you for littering in a public garden," he seemed to think about it for a moment. "And for arguing with a city guard."

"I've hardly said any-"

"Resisting arrest, are we?" he drawled, making your mouth tighten as you bit back a snarky retort.

"No, I will come with you willingly," you grumbled.

Perhaps if you played along for a bit, you could talk to someone of a higher rank. Saying anything to an overly eager guard who was obstinately sticking to his accusations would just attract onlookers.

"Good. The judge is waiting for your arrival."

"What? What do you mean judge?" you frowned. What business did any judge have looking into misdemeanours and especially something like littering?

"His Honor Judge Ancunín is waiting for you. Don't dawdle. It's rude to keep him waiting."

Suddenly all of this made sense. You ground your teeth and followed the Fist. Of course it was Astarion! That ass!

"Oh, trust me. Him waiting for me will be the least of his worries once I see him."

You felt that you had every right to be annoyed at Astarion. No scratch that. You had every right to be livid and spitting fire! Because this was the fourth time that bastard got you arrested in a little more than a month! And every single bloody time if was for something dumb and trivial. You had no idea how Astarion managed to do it, how he knew exactly where you would be, and how he convinced those Fists that he was to be the judge handling your case.

That stupid, stupid ass!

He couldn’t just come by the tavern and talk to you like someone normal. No, he needed a show of power, especially with him being promoted to judge in high court! Because apparently this was how Astarion got his kicks nowadays. He needed for you to be near forcibly escorted to the courtroom and thrown at his feet. Preferably pleading for mercy and asking him if there was any way that you could make it up to him.

You scowled. The whole scenario just sounded like the plot of some cheap, third-rate smutty novel one would pick up at Sharess'. But if he thought that you would cower before him, that elf had another thing coming!

On the other side of the city, Astarion Ancunín was drumming his fingers against some book he was supposedly reading. Astarion was in a foul mood. It's been several months since the defeat of the Absolute. He and the merry band that defeated the cultists were celebrated just as you deserved for about a tenday, and then went back to your lives. Halsin was immediately off with his wagonfuls of brats, Gale returned to Waterdeep, Shadowheart went to live with her parents in the countryside, Wyll and Karlach waged war in Avernus whilst Lae’zel sought to overthrow Vlaakith. In short, everyone left the city except you and Astarion. Well, Jaheira and Minsc were probably about, but he didn’t care about them enough to check.

For a while, Astarion enjoyed the privileges that came with the title of Savior of Baldur's Gate. The fame had him moving up the ranks with impressive speed until he was promoted from magistrate to judge. No more minor cases! Oh no, he was in the big leagues now. And he was so, so bored.

Astarion could hardly believe that this dull, bureaucratic crap was all he did for years until he got tadpoled. And in the past, he enjoyed it well enough. But having experienced the thrill of adventure, the rush of adrenalin, the drama and the fun of travelling, he could not fathom sitting at a desk for the rest of his long, long life.

Which was when he realised that the only acceptable source of entertainment was you. Except getting to you was easier said than done. Everyone wanted your time and, being the annoyingly selfless creature that you were, it was near impossible to find any window of opportunity and see you for longer than a few minutes. And by the gods Astarion wanted to.

You two shared a couple passionate encounters when you were on the road and decided that you were better of as friends. Well, at least you decided that. Astarion was not quite on board with the whole platonic thing, but with death literally being around every corner, he begrudgingly agreed that a budding romance was the last thing you both needed at the time.

And this was how the two of you became friends. Except Astarion wanted more, so much more. And herein lay the problem. He never in the past had to woo anyone. His good looks and roguish charms were generally enough to have everyone chasing after him. An interested look and a smirk would often be enough for his potential lovers to drop their pants fast.

But this tactic, if one could really call it that, didn’t actually work on you. And he tried showing his interest. Astarion invited you on outings and to parties. Afterall, there were soiree aplenty where he his resplendent beauty would definitely be reason enough for you to want to sneak away and spend some quality time in some secluded alcove. Except yoh would actually have to turn up for that to happen.

Not deterred, Astarion tried sending you gifts and you sent him something equally pleasant back. Which he interpreted as 'thanks for the present, but not for the interest'. This had him gritting his teeth in annoyance but surprisingly not giving up.

Because he wanted, and craved and yearned. He wanted nothing more than sequester you in his rooms and not allow you to leave for weeks. Or until he felt that he fucked that whole ‘friendship’ idea out of your mind.

And this was when Astarion remembered that he was, in fact, the law and you had no choice but to obey him. A small voice in the back of his mind chose to remind him how badly this could backfire. Astarion chose not to heed the warnings of said voice and immediately began plotting.

So he abused his power in every way, had you arrested time and time again, dragged through the city and thrown into prison to await his judgement. You should have been flattered really that he went to all that trouble simply to arrange a meeting. Honestly, most wanted nothing more than to have a passing glance from him, when you had the entirety of his attention!

Except something seemed different this time. When you walked into the courtroom and levelled him with a look previously reserved for your enemies, Astarion wondered if perhaps his plan was not quite as foolproof as he had thought.

But it was too late to back out. He assumed a sort of casually reclining bored noble position and waited for the Fist to read out what you were being charged with.

It was a surprisingly long list. Perhaps Astarion should have chosen a less zealous guard.

As each wrongdoing was reported to him, Astarion couldn’t help but worry about the way your face darkened by the minute as your eyes shot daggers. He was quite sure that it would have been actual steel piercing his flesh by now if it weren’t for all those witnesses.  

“Enough,” he lifted his arm with an imperious look, making the Fist pause, only half-done with his report.

“Your Honor?”

“I see that this matter does indeed require my special attention. Yet, seeing as this is the Hero of the Gate,” he paused for dramatic effect noting with annoyance that this seemed to have the desired effect only on the scribe, the Fist and whatever staff were about rather than you, “I may be persuaded to lift the charges.”

“How generous of you…. Your Honor,” you said in a reverent tone that contradicted your face expression.

Astarion gulped, to his confusion feeling both concerned and aroused.

"Well,” he cleared his throat and shifted in his seat, “I am nothing but generous."

"Of course. And earnest too!" you nodded. “Why, I am sure that your impartial perspective will allow you to deliver an objective verdict-"

"You forget yourself!” Astarion cut you off abruptly. He rather enjoyed your insolence, but appearances had to be kept up. “Justice should be a harsh lesson. To make sure that no such offense occurs in the future. I ought to administer the punishment where you stand. Make an example of you."

"Well, what are you waiting for, your Honour?” You leaned forward slightly and lowered your voice. “Punish me as you see fit."

Astarion thanked every god he could think of at that moment that he was required to wear loose fitting robes. Because he was already half-mast and carrying on with this conversation would eventually make his problem rather obvious to all present. That would be the Fist, the mages, the scribe, and whoever else was milling about that he generally did not notice. Wholly unacceptable.

"Do follow me, no guards required, thank you."

"But- but your Honor!” the Fist stammered, clutching the report to his chest. “What if she tries to assault you!"

"Trust me, I am perfectly capable of handling this one."

He pretended not to notice you rolling your eyes, motioning for you to follow as he started for his office.

You made your way down the long, winding halls, quite sure that you would be lost if it wasn’t for Astarion. Every now and then the surface of the walls would ripple, and a clerk would emerge from the depths of a secret passage and shuffle past, head bowed and curling in on themselves, only to sink into the opposite wall. If you were to press your fingertips against the surface, you were sure that you would find solid stone.

The narrow hallway widened and you walked into what appeared to be the archive, shelves filled with scrolls, stone tablets and books. A veritable cornucopia of every kind of crime carefully recorded and catalogued over centuries. You scowled as you thought of how your supposedly atrocious crimes were among the entries.

You walked up two flights of stairs and finally reached the door to what seemed to be Astarion’s office. The elf opened the door and stood aside, letting you walk in first. You scoffed and pushed past him, making a show of flicking your hair in his face. Astarion drew back a little with a grin, anticipating you doing something so childish.

The door clicked closed behind you and immediately magic hummed to life.

"Arcane Lock? Really?" you arched an eyebrow.

 "Just so we don't get disturbed, dearest."

Your eyes followed Astarion as he walked around his desk and sat in the beautifully upholstered chair. Just like everything else in his office, it looked eye-wateringly expensive and imported.

"How may I help you on this fine day?" he motioned for you to take a seat on the other side of the desk.

"How may you-"

You cut yourself off and took a few deep breaths before you said something terse that would get thrown into prison. Again. You took a seat, noticing immediately that your chair looked much less comfortable. Trust Astarion to make his company squirm in their seats.

"Astarion, I think-"

"Your Honor," he corrected you with a smirk.

"Fine, whatever! Tell me, oh great Judge Ancunín, ignoring the abuse of power, the made up charges and you potentially bribing the city guard into arresting me, what are you actually hoping to get out of this, hm?"

Astarion took off his glasses and started polishing them with careful, unhurried movements. Outwardly he was the epitome of calm and grace, the one in charge. Inwardly, however, he didn’t have a clue what to do now that he had your full, undivided attention.

Because eloquence in the courtroom apparently did not translate into eloquence with you. Astarion was kind of hoping that you would just somehow fall into his arms and then the two of you would forget about the battle of wits in favour of something far more engaging. But apparently you wanted a real, honest answer. And that would be tricky seeing as he didn’t know how to put what he felt into words.

The silence stretched, tensions high, your patience almost at its end.

"Do you know what? Fine,” you spat, narrowing your eyes at him. “Don't answer that. It was stupid of me to think that you would treat me as a friend. I'm just going to pay a fine or whatever else I have to do and be out of your hair. You obviously have better things to do around here than talk to my lowly self."

"I never wanted to be your friend,” he interjected, looking uncharacteristically nervous.

"Well," you cleared your throat, annoyed at yourself for feeling hurt by his words. "You've made that plenty obvious."

Understanding that you misinterpreted his words, Astarion quickly grasped your sleeve as you prepared to rise.

"I- I am not sure exactly what I want,” he frowned, looking down at the polished wood of his desk.  “I have very little experience of wanting to be around others for the sake of enjoying their company. Getting acquainted with someone was always done with one purpose in mind, to climb the social ladder until I came out on top," he gave a little high-pitched laugh, running his fingers through his hair to brush it back.

"So when it comes to you, my dear, the last thing I want is to be your friend,” he took a deep breath, letting go of your sleeve to interlace his fingers to stop himself from fidgeting. “I have never wanted to be just friends with anyone less in my life.”

“And I don't know what you are to me,” he took a breath to summon the courage to carry on. “But when I look at you, I ache. We are good together. There is a potential for... something wonderful,” he did look up then, eyes locking with yours. “And I want to find out what that is, if you want that too."

You were stunned, momentarily speechless. Looking at him as if you were seeing him properly for the first time. Because it has been so long since you've seen that raw, earnest expression on his face. Body language filling in whatever blanks that were left behind by words.

"Oh hells, say something," he pleaded and put his hands on top of yours.

And then you were in his lap and your lips were on his, because you would be lying to yourself if you did anything but kiss him at that moment.

"You are still an ass," were the first words out of your mouth when you broke apart.

"Yes, dear," he kissed you jaw and then down your neck.

"I can't believe you had me arrested!"

"And I probably will again if you take days to answer my letters or otherwise ignore me," Astarion was already done with the ties of your outer clothing, discarding them by throwing them carelessly somewhere behind you.

"Do you know how embarrassing it was to be escorted to the courthouse? I bet newspapers will have a field day with this!"

"And any journalist who writes a word about this will be brought before me."

You tried to get his robes off him but were having trouble with the diamond encrusted broach holding the cravat in place.

"Argh, why do you insist on decorating yourself with all of these useless baubles!"

"Well, someone has to support the local businesses. You do your bit to see Baldur's Gate restored, I do mine."

"Oh, shut up," you laughed, finally getting a glimpse of his chest and running your hands down soft skin with a sigh.

"Feeling happier dear?"

You felt a breeze on your shoulders and then Astarion's hands cupped your breasts.

"No, I'm still annoyed at you."

"Well then I must double my efforts."

Clerks scuttled about the endless, winding halls, each wanting to impress their superiors.

A loud thump was heard, and a tremor reverberated throughout the building, making the panes of glass zing in protests.

A young human clerk gasped, "What in the hells is going on?"

"Judge Ancunín is questioning the Hero of Baldur's Gate," another replied with a yawn, seemingly not worried.

"This sounded bad, do you think he will need a hand?"

"What, ya mean since his own hands are full?"

The other clerks tittered, picking up scrolls and putting them back on the shelves.

"Oi, stop being mean to the newbie!" someone called from a distance.

"Or be even more of an ass and let him barge in, that would be even more entertaining," a tiefling chortled without looking up from his scroll.

"So, no one is in danger?" He said slowly, not really sure whether he was meant to ignore whatever was going on during an interrogation.

"Nope, in fact, I'm pretty sure that next couple of days are going to be easy," the tiefling took another scroll and added it to the pile in front of him.

Another tremor went through the building, making an ink pot fall off the desk.

"What do you think is going on there?" the young clerk whispered to the co-worker that seemed fairly friendly, unlike the rest.

"Aw crap, don't tell me that no one explained the birds and the bees to you yet?"

"Oh. Oh!" He gasped, a blush dusting his cheeks as realisation set in.

A halfling carrying thick tomes past his desk stage-whispered to no one in particular, "This one is not the sharpest quill, right?"

"Shit! Code Arsehole! Judge Buttershed is in our wing!"

An elf burst in, every head turning in his direction. The clerks stopped laughing, one hurrying down the hall towards Judge Ancunín’s office whilst the rest got to work with impressive speed.

"Why are you even covering for Judge Ancunín?"

The tiefling rolled his eyes at the newbie but graciously chose to reply.

"Because in spite of his eccentric ways and borderline obsession with the Hero of the Gate, he is the best we've had in years! Do you want to have to rewrite all your scrolls because your handwriting is neither here nor there?"

"Gods, do you remember the 'no use of magic above Level 1 in governmental buildings’?"

"Pft, that was nothing,” a handsome elf with long hair put up in a severe, tight chignon scoffed. “I heard they used to have gremishkas just to make sure no one used magic on site.”

"He's here!"

Most would not understand what the commotion was even about. To a casual observer, Judge Buttershed would appear fairly unremarkable. Just a short, portly man with a sweaty face and capricious expression whose spectacles were woefully unfashionable even a century ago. His whole demeanour screamed that he disliked everyone in this room immensely and could not wait to go back to his wing, where according to him things were still done the right way, and settle into his chair in his office.

"I heard that Ancunín was late for court yesterday. Again. Although, judging by the disorder I see here,” he boomed, a little spittle flying forth, “this is of little surprise. Therefore, I feel it is my duty to give him a stern talk."

"Considering his status, your Honour, is that wise?”

Judge Buttershed looked down his nose at the half-elf who dared contradict him.

“Who are you to tell me what I can and cannot do? I will make sure to fire you first once Ancunín is out of here,” he pointed a fat finger at the clerk.

Expecting to see fear and reverence in forest-green eyes and finding neither, he cursed under his breath and made his way down the hall, muttering to himself and shooting hard looks at whoever happened to cross his path.

Thus assured that he was doing the only thing that would save Baldur’s Gate judicial system from collapse, Buttershed burst through the doors, all righteous anger, ready to deliver his judgement. Only to find his rival and the Hero of the Gate sipping tea, engaged in amicable conversation.

“Oh? To what do I owe the honour Buttershed?” Astarion quirked a brow. “What was important enough for you to barge into my office without making an appointment with my secretary?”

“Don’t you dare talk to me that way, you- you- charlatan! You know full well that you have no business sullying these halls with your disgusting presence!”

“Astarion? Who is this? I will make sure to mention him the next time I pay a visit to Duke Ravengard,” your voice was pleasant enough but the look you levelled the intruder with spoke volumes. “In fact, I was going to call on Ulder tomorrow. Luckily, with us being old friends and all, I hardly need to bother to make an appointment!”

Judge Buttershed was defeated, and he knew it. Whilst he was prepared to take on Ancunín, feeling that he could successfully make a case and prove that the elf committed professional misconducts, the Supreme Marshall of the Flaming Fists was not someone to trifle with. Bidding his farewells to you only, he left the room in a flurry of silk and barely concealed complaints muttered under his breath.

“Now, my dear. That was most impressive,” Astarion purred, taking a sip of tea.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you shrugged, picking out a particularly scrumptious-looking biscuit and happily crunching on it. And then selecting one more, wondering if Astarion would mind terribly if you took the rest with you.

“I mean, you accuse yours truly, saying that I abuse my power. But are you any better?” he set his cup aside to place a kiss on the corner of your lips, your cheek and under your jaw. “It’s nice to know that the heroes are as bad as the rest of us.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Astarion,” you popped the biscuit into your mouth with a smile. “Now then, I must leave. Seeing as I missed most of my appointments for today and have to reschedule, don’t expect to see me for a while.”

His hands tightened round your middle, head resting in the crook of your neck.

“Must you leave?”

“For now. But I will make sure to come by in the next few days or so, okay? I miss you when I’m not around you,” you admitted, looking at him from underneath long lashes. “But there is so much to be done still… I feel selfish. For feeling so happy.”

Ah. And that was your most vexing quality that he exploited so readily when you first started travelling together. Your damnable selflessness. He loved you for it. He hated that you extended it to others.

Astarion sighed into your shoulder and withdrew. You felt the absence of his warmth so acutely that it took all your willpower to turn around and walk out of his door at that moment.

Astarion got you arrested on five more occasions before he finally summoned the courage to ask you to move in with him. Not for any particular reason. You were barely home as it was, so did it really matter which space you cluttered up with your armour and such? Which corner you tossed your boots in at the end of a long, tiring day?

Astarion, of course, being quite meticulous, made sure to organise your things for you. He began by colour-coding your undergarments drawer. To which he got a mixed response, considering he expected nothing but enthusiasm and gratitude.

A year into you living together, Astarion tossed a book onto your shared bed with a self-satisfied smirk.

“Dearest, I got you this. Considering you might not have enough reading material.”

“The ‘Court of Love’? Let me guess, you saw the title of this smutty little number and just couldn’t pass by?”

“Something like that. Would you indulge me by reading out a passage or two whilst I get ready to retire for the night?”

You narrowed your eyes. Something seemed off.

“What are you up to, Astarion?”

“My love! Your suspicions wound me!” Astarion crawled onto the bed and leaned against the bedframe.

You didn’t trust him for one second, but decided to play along for now, being a little curious yourself.

“The culprit was dragged in front of the magistrate. Her heavy breasts heaving with every laboured breath, nipples erect and pointing in his direction… Oh gods, this is terrible!” you chortled, making yourself comfortable and putting your head on Astarion’s bare chest.

“Isn’t it? Go on then, I want to hear what happens next,” he grinned, twirling a strand of your hair around his long fingers.

You giggled and turned the page.

“The magistrate rose in one swift movement, his eyes flashing and muscles flexing. He moved slowly, a predator circling his prey. Her eyes followed him, heart hammering as he breasts rose and fell with every breath, her nipples-  What is with this writer and nipples?” you rolled your eyes.

“Hot, isn’t it?”

Astarion was clearly having a whale of a time, though he seemed to be familiar with the text, his attention directed at you, as if wanting to make sure he caught every reaction, every expression.

“Are the nipples meant to be moving around so much? They could be out there directing foot traffic! I’m guessing that you picked this up at Sharess’?”

“Indeed, I did! And who are you to judge the quality of this book!” Astarion said with an air of a mother defending her child. “I’ll have you know, it was sold out in hours! I worked hard to get my hands on this copy!”

Then something clicked in your mind. You read the next two pages quickly.

“Magistrate Arunin and the Hero of the Coast? Astarion, is this based on us?” you looked at the cover at the book to check the name of the author. And sure enough, it was the Fist that arrested you for littering and then two more times after that.

“I’m going to kill him!” you growled, throwing the book on the floor. “And I don’t mean that in a cutesy way. I mean I will literally run my sword through him,” you pushed against Astarion’s chest. The elf gripped you tighter to stop you from leaving, as you were clearly intent on making good on your promise in spite of the late hour.

“Being a slave to the quill is truly a dangerous profession these days,” Astarion laughed, flipping you over and manoeuvring you so swiftly that you felt a little dizzy until he had you pinned against the bed.

“Now, whilst that murderous glint in your eyes is truly fetching, I think our energies would be better spent on each other rather than on some writer. Besides,” he went on, popping button after button open and pulling your shirt open slowly, fingers trailing along your skin, “I hear that he is planning on writing a sequel. And I find myself eager to read what depraved adventures the magistrate and the hero will get up to.”

Your words of outrage were quickly cut of by insistent lips as Astarion kissed you, tongue darting out through the smallest opening in his mouth to coax your own to open. And then there was no more talking, just groans and sighs, and gasps and moans.

As night bled into morning and you were fast asleep, Astarion congratulated himself on his usual practical sagacity, as once again his sound judgement resulted in an outcome most pleasant. Perhaps you were not keen on his brilliant plan at first, but you had no reasons to complain about his ways of going about getting what he wanted now.

And thus assured that he was always right, Astarion pulled you closer and closed his eyes, allowing himself to rest.

💖 Tag list 💖:

@ninty900, @ayselluna, @dajeong, @ravenswritingroom,

@misscrissfemmefatale,

@clazberryk, @anukulee,

@preciouslittlebhaalbae,

@sh3rl0ck, @mellowenthusiast2299,

@fleetstreet78, @starlight-rogue

[l-starsz]

smut

i’d been really struggling lately. i hated how my body looked and id only been wearing baggy clothes all the time and billie had noticed this. i often wore tight tops and baggy bottoms but id only been wearing baggy hoodies and baggy joggers recently.

i always tried to avoid seeing my body in the mirror because it just hurt me. on the rare occasion i did look in the mirror, i’d be there thinking about what i could try to change and what i hated. it was bad. billie picked up on this too.

for once, i was actually looking in the mirror though, moving to the side and looking at my stomach whilst holding my hoodie up before facing forwards again and staring. i groaned out of frustration and i didn’t notice as my girlfriend walked in. i only noticed as she walked up behind me, wrapping her arms around my waist and kissing my neck.

“you’re beautiful.” she whispered.

i shook my head and moved away from her, letting my hoodie fall back down before turning around and hiding my face in her neck. her hands ran up and down my back as i sniffled a little bit.

“my poor baby. you’re struggling huh?” her voice was gentle as she figured out how to help.

i nodded against her.

“well baby you’re so beautiful and perfect. i mean that. you’re gorgeous.”

i shook my head again which made her speak once more.

“can i show you how gorgeous you are. please let me show you. i’ll prove to you how much i mean it.”

“please.” i whispered, understanding what she meant straight away.

“you need me to show you? you look so gorgeous baby. come sit here.”

she sat on the edge of the bed, spreading her legs to make room for me in between them. i did as i was told and made myself comfy against her. her hands ran down my body all the way down to my thighs, resting there as she spoke again.

“i want you to watch yourself as i touch you baby, i want you to see how perfect you look when you cum. want you to see how beautiful you look to me. can you watch yourself in the mirror for me.”

i nodded and opened my legs, getting desperate for her to touch me.

“use your words and tell me.”

“yes. please baby.” i whined.

“good girl.” she whispered against my neck before she pulled down my joggers and underwear in one quick movement.

i saw my wetness practically dripping onto the bed as she ran her fingers from the bottom of my entrance up to my clit. i let out a shaky breath before she carefully pushed one finger into me. i let out quiet whimpers as i watched what was happening and how my body was reacting to her touch. when she slipped a second finger in, i threw my head back against her shoulder and moaned. she immediately noticed this and stopped her fingers.

“look in the mirror and tell me how beautiful you are. tell me you’re perfect.”

i whined and looked back at the mirror, keeping my mouth shut.

“tell me or i’ll stop. i’ll pull out and you won’t cum.”

“please no.. i- i’m perfect.” i spoke as quietly as possible.

“say it louder.” she smirked and carried on pumping her fingers inside of me, curling them in the perfect spot.

“i’m perfect.” my voice was shaky and whiney while i struggled to keep my eyes on the mirror.

“once more, a little louder.”

“i’m perfect! i need to cum please don’t stop.”

“that’s it angel. cum for me. let it all out.”

my moans got so much louder as i came hard on her fingers and dug my nails into her thighs, trying to keep my eyes on the mirror. my legs were shaking and my eyes were slowly fluttering shut.

“there you go baby. did so good for me. do you think you can go once more?”

i immediately nodded, needy for her touch still. i needed her so bad. she shuffled and moved from behind me, taking her shirt and jeans off before kneeling down on the floor in front of my pussy. i wasn’t lasting long if she was gonna eat me out. she opened my legs a little wider once i felt her tongue run through my folds, sucking on my clit before pulling away.

“please billie. i need you so bad. get me off again.”

she did the same thing once again, except this time she didn’t pull away. she sucked my clit then switched to licking, i needed more. i felt her fingers push back inside me while her tongue continued working on my clit.

she carried on doing this until i was clenching around her fingers and moaning as loud as i could. maybe even too loud. i could feel the pressure building up in my stomach. i was so close.

“billie can i-“ i whined.

“can you what? you need to ask properly.”

“can i cum. please bil.”

“look in the mirror and tell me you’re beautiful first.” she mumbled against me, sending vibrations straight to my core.

“i can’t billie i need to cum i can’t hold it.” i moaned out.

“well the quicker you say it the quicker you can cum for me.”

“i- i’m beau-tiful.” i whimpered, trying not to cum before she says i can.

“there you go. you are beautiful. my perfect girl. go on baby. cum for me.”

i collapsed back against the bed as she continued working her fingers and tongue. i came hard all over her mouth, which resulted in me squirting everywhere.

“right there. right there!!” i panted with my eyes squeezed shut and my hands over my face.

she eventually pulled away and i opened my eyes, seeing her wipe her mouth and smile at me.

“billie.. did i..?” she nodded before i could finish my sentence. i covered my face out of embarrassment.

“dont be embarrassed baby i liked it.” she smirked and gently pulled my hands off my face.

“so perfect for me pretty girl. you did really good for me. let me get you in the shower okay?”

i nodded and then felt her press a gentle kiss on my lips before she lifted me up into her arms, carrying me into the bathroom. she sat me down on the counter and turned the shower on, pulling the hoodie and bra off me then taking her bra and underwear off.

we both got in the shower together and she guided me under the hot water, which almost immediately relaxed my muscles. after she helped me get my hair completely wet, she put some shampoo on her hand and lathered it up before massaging it into my hair.

i closed my eyes at the relaxing feeling of her fingers on my scalp. she’s such a perfect girlfriend. i washed the shampoo out of my hair before she did her own. she conditioned it too whilst she was there and then moved on to help me with mine. we washed eachothers bodies and ended up holding eachother. i felt so happy in her arms and just being with her was the best. i was the happiest id ever been.

after a while, we got out of the shower and she wrapped me in a towel, leaving me where i was and going into the bedroom to get herself dressed in pyjamas. she soon enough came back with pyjama bottoms and one of her hoodies. i asked her to help me change which she gladly did, before leading my back to the bedroom and sitting me down on a chair while she changed the sheets.

i tried to help her but she wouldn’t let me, sensing how sleepy i was. she was quick to get me into bed and hold me in her arms, whispering sweet things into my ear as i fell asleep against her chest.

[sweetlyvibe]

𝗦𝗔𝗦𝗨𝗞𝗘 𝗨𝗖𝗛𝗜𝗛𝗔 𝗙𝗟𝗨𝗙𝗙 𝗔𝗟𝗣𝗛𝗔𝗕𝗘𝗧 ( 𝓐 - 𝓩 )

𝓐ffection :

Sasuke shows affection in subtle ways. He may not be overly expressive, but small gestures like a gentle touch on your back or a soft glance are his way of saying he cares deeply.

𝓑lushing :

Sasuke is usually stoic, but when you catch him off guard with a compliment or sweet gesture, you might see the faintest blush on his cheeks. It’s rare, but those moments make it special.

𝓒omfort :

Sasuke is a comforting presence, especially when you’re feeling down. He may not have the right words, but he’ll be there quietly, providing support and a reassuring presence that helps you feel safe.

𝓓ates :

Sasuke prefers low-key dates, like training together or going for a walk under the stars. He enjoys meaningful moments over flashy outings, and he appreciates spending time with you in a relaxed atmosphere.

𝓔xcitement :

While he’s not one to show overt excitement, Sasuke has a unique spark when it comes to the things he loves, like training or spending time with you. His eyes light up in those moments, showing a softer side to his personality.

𝓕lirting :

Sasuke’s flirting is subtle and often laced with sarcasm. He’ll tease you in a playful way, making you smile or laugh, and his dry humor adds a charming twist to his interactions with you.

𝓖ifts :

Sasuke doesn’t give gifts often, but when he does, they’re meaningful. He’ll surprise you with something that holds significance, like a rare item related to your interests or a piece of training gear he knows you need.

𝓗olding Hands :

Sasuke enjoys holding your hand, especially when you’re walking together. His grip is firm yet gentle, and it’s his way of keeping you close while showing he’s always there for you.

𝓘mpressions :

Sasuke isn’t one to do impressions, but he does have a sharp sense of humor. His dry comments about his teammates or situations can be hilarious, and he surprises you with his cleverness.

𝓙ealousy :

Sasuke can get a little possessive when it comes to you, though he tries to hide it. If someone flirts with you, he might throw a glare in their direction, silently asserting his place by your side.

𝓚isses :

Sasuke’s kisses are soft and slow, full of warmth and meaning. He savors each moment, making them feel special and significant. Whether it’s a peck on the forehead or a deeper kiss, it’s always genuine.

𝓛aughter :

Sasuke’s laughter is rare but incredibly rewarding. When you manage to make him laugh, it’s a beautiful sound that lights up his face and makes your heart flutter. You cherish those moments more than anything.

𝓜emories :

Sasuke holds onto the memories you create together, often referencing them in subtle ways. He’ll remind you of a funny moment or a significant day, showing how much he values your time together.

𝓝icknames :

Sasuke isn’t one for cutesy nicknames, but he might call you something unique to your relationship—like “Dobe” or “Teme” in a teasing way—showing that you hold a special place in his heart.

𝓞verprotective :

Sasuke is fiercely protective of you. He won’t let anyone mess with you, stepping in without hesitation if someone crosses the line. His protective nature comes from a place of deep care and love.

𝓟atience :

Sasuke has a surprising amount of patience, especially with you. He understands when you need time to process your feelings or when you’re struggling, standing by your side without rushing you.

𝓠uiet Moments :

Sasuke treasures quiet moments spent together. Whether it’s sitting in comfortable silence or watching the stars, he appreciates the intimacy of just being together without the need for constant conversation.

𝓡outine :

Sasuke enjoys building small routines with you, whether it’s training together in the mornings or making dinner together in the evenings. These rituals bring a sense of stability to your relationship.

𝓢upport :

Sasuke is your strongest supporter, always encouraging you to pursue your dreams. He may not express it loudly, but his actions show his unwavering belief in your abilities and potential.

𝓣easing :

Sasuke teases you in his own unique way, often with a dry wit. His sarcasm can catch you off guard, and it’s his playful side that makes you smile, knowing he enjoys your reactions.

𝓤nderstanding :

Sasuke is incredibly understanding, often reading your emotions without you having to say a word. He’s there when you need to talk or when you just need someone to be with you, offering a silent but powerful support.

𝓥ulnerability :

Though Sasuke is usually guarded, he opens up to you about his past and fears when he feels safe. His willingness to be vulnerable with you shows how much he trusts you and values your relationship.

𝓦armth :

Sasuke’s warmth shines through in his actions. Whether it’s a gentle touch or a comforting presence, he has a way of making you feel safe and loved, even if he doesn’t say much.

𝓧-factor :

Sasuke has an undeniable charm that draws people to him. It’s his quiet strength, intelligence, and the depth of his character that make him incredibly captivating, especially when he’s being himself around you.

𝓨earning :

When you’re apart, Sasuke feels a sense of longing for you. He might not express it directly, but you can see it in his eyes and the way he eagerly anticipates your return, making every reunion special.

𝓩eal :

While Sasuke is often serious, he shows a quiet zeal when it comes to protecting those he loves and pursuing his goals. His determination is inspiring, and he channels that same passion into your relationship, always striving to make it stronger.

[gabessquishytum]

(inspired by this post)

Fantasy setting, animal-bride style! Hob lives in a small village surrounded by woods, fucks around with the boys and girls cuz why not, life's too short not to find pleasure where you can, get's cursed by one of the parents to die if he doesn't get married and appreciate his spouse well. Thing is... Eveyone knows Hob likes to fuck around but doesn't really settle down, and no one is keen on getting widowed so soon after marriage, so Hob is pretty much doomed.

That is, until a woman comes through the village, finds him bummed and drinking in the village's inn, listens to his woes, and goes "Hob, my man! Good news! I found you a very interested lord! He's [coughs] 36, he's very spirited and independent, he holds a very important and rare status in his society! ...Is there a downside? WELL..."

Cuts to Dream, third child of Time and Night, part of a clan of magical creatures that can, among other things, turn from crane to human and back to crane. Thing is: while they have been numerous before, human expansions and incidents where they have been discovered, their numbers have dwindled, and Dream is one of the few who can still lay eggs and help in the effort of their kind not going extinct.

And so Hob goes with the woman to meet his soon-to-be husband. Needless to say, Dream is NOT happy with his sister meddling in his love-life, and is even more unhappy with her choice of mate for him ("A human? The very thing that is killing us off?") but Death has seen him turn away all the previous potential mates and their time is running out.

Cue montage of Hob trying to warm Dream to him (not wanting to settle down but wanting to die even less), learning from Death the courting customs of cranes, spending time together, both getting surprised the first time they actually realise they feel something for the other, Hob's delight when he first notes the subtle off-starts courting dances from Dream, their first two eggs (Orpheus and Robyn) of many and many to come...

Hob "crane husband" Gadling. I love it.

Death may have neglected to mention that Dream has a somewhat unfortunate romantic past - he's tried to be mated before with other magical creatures, and it turned out very badly indeed. So Dream hardly expects this marriage to this human to go well. He's expecting that he'll probably fly into a rage and peck Hob to death. Or something. But... he doesn't.

Hob may be a fuckboy but he's also a very good husband. He's got it pretty well figured out - he gives Dream the things that he wants. Pleasant conversation, alone time when he wants it, and gourmet food (for both his human and crane forms). Dream has to admit, Hob is good to him. His first performed courting dance is absolutely abysmal, but it's rather charming at the same time. Before long Dream finds that his own tail feathers are twitching with eagerness to return Hob’s advances.

And it turns out that Hob's many years of fucking around have paid off in the end, because he pleases Dream very well indeed when they make it to bed. Dream is very appreciative that Hob has practiced so much - although he doesn't intend to let Hob going roaming ever again. There are eggs to sit on! And Dream would also like to see his courting dance again... just for the comedy value, this time.

[ssentimentals]

joshua + halloween prompt

creature: siren

note: look at me, as always being late to the party :D open ending here cause i'm incapable of writing angst and i made sirens capable of transforming into humans for plot. enjoy!

'they change their appereance. it's a myth that sirens exist only in the deep deep oceans.'

joshua blinks, shaking himself out of the stupor. evening in unfamiliar tavern turned into a horror story night and at first he didn't even listen to what old woman was saying, but then he got pulled in by the story just like all other random travelers. her soothing voice paired with a horrifically gore story about siren who lured in all kinds of innocent men and women had everyone under some spell; joshua's head feels a bit dizzy like he's tipsy even when he only had a one glass of ale.

'they eat your soul,' woman finishes in a spooky whisper. 'and the worst part is that you'll give it to them willingly'.

shiver runs up and down joshua's spine and he bristles at the cold wind from open windows. he stares at the storyteller, who collects her small payment from kind strangers, counting her coins - joshua searches his pockets to give her some change as well. it was entertaining even if he feels a bit unsettled, like something is pulling at the pit of his stomach. he finds some coins to spare and opens his mouth to call for the old woman, when someone slides up at the seat next to him.

'hello, stranger.'

joshua traveled east and west, south and north, but he's never seen someone as beautiful as you. part of him wants to pinch himself to see if you're real and not a figment of his imagination; the aura you give off is too majestic and out of this world. he stares and stares, knows it's rude but he can't help it - your beauty pulls him in like a vice. 'hi,' he breathes out, gaining back his ability to speak.

you smile and lean closer, gesturing towards his glass of ale. 'is it good?' joshua nods. 'can i try it?'

'uh.' it's not like this is a weird request but he's never met bold women and during his travels he rarely met women at all; joshua fears his social skills are somewhere in the dirt now. 'yeah-yeah, sure.'

every move of yours is gracious and for joshua everything happens in slow motion: the way you lean in, how you take his glass in your hands, how you tip it and never close your eyes, maintaining eye contact with him as you take a sip. it sends big enough sparks to start a fire in his chest; joshua holds his breath while you put the glass back, licking your lips in the way that cannot be considered innocent at all.

'sweet.' you conclude, never once looking away from him.

ale is not sweet. ale is generally bitter and this one here is not even good, but joshua's mind fails to register that. in fact, his mind fails to register anything apart from your big eyes that draw him in, refuse to let him go. without thinking, he pushes his glass in your direction with: 'you can have it'.

joshua is usually smoother than this, that's the thing. usually it's him who has other girls blushing and stuttering over their words, eating up from his palm. he's handsome and he knows it, uses it sometimes for his advantage. but right now he's the one scrambling, trying desperately to come up with anything to make you stay. 'is there anything else you want? i can get you something to eat, what do you want?'

joshua knows the answer before it even leaves your lips: 'you.'

he feels it then. when you are this close - when did you even manage to get this close? - he can feel something. it's hard to pinpoint what exactly, but it is something. something that makes hair on his arms stand up and goosebumps awaken. something that dulls ringing alarms in his mind that scream at him to sharpen his attention, to maybe get away, to-

'don't fight it,' you whisper, rising your hand to gently caress side of his face. 'what a pretty boy you are. why are you fighting?'

joshua doesn't know. he's not very aware that he's fighting but even if he's been unconsciously fighting something, all the willpower leaves him, when your other hand snakes up his thigh. god, you are unreal. a goddess sent to him from above, a gift from-

'hell.' suddenly old woman's voice rings in his ears and he turns sharply, looking at the storyteller who now stands right next to him. 'go back to where you came from.'

pointed nails dig into his thigh painfully and joshua hisses at both this and how your grip on his face tightens. he doesn't see how your face confronts into a grimace but he catches dangerous glint in your eyes, when you turn to the other woman. 'leave,' you say but it sounds like an order. 'it's too late now.'

when older woman turns to joshua, he sees so much regret and despair in her eyes that it almost triggers panic in him. he almost sits up straighter, almost takes her hand. almost reaches out to ask what's wrong. almost, because before he can do any of that, you turn his head to your side, leaning so close that he can feel your breath on his face. 'come with me,' you whisper, looking right into his soul. 'i'll sing for you, my dear.' your hands find their way into his hair. 'i'll make you happy, i'll make you mine. don't you want to be mine, hm?'

your nails scratch just slightly but your grip on his hair tightens when you make him turn to the right, away from the old woman. joshua is hypnotized, lets you treat him like a ragdoll, almost moans when your tongue traces his jawline. god, yes. yes, yes, yes. he's saying it out loud and he has no idea, needing more of this, needing anything you can give him, willing to beg for it. he closes his eyes in a bliss and doesn't see how your smile turns predatory and how your eyes gleam with bright blue for a second before turning back to black. he doesn't see how you turn back to the old woman, whispering something to her in a language that no one knows. he doesn't see, he only feels and he feels like he's floating, when your lips are on his neck and jaw, when your nails dig painfully into his shoulders.

'pretty boy,' you whisper again and there's something raw in your voice, something he hasn't heard before. 'all mine, yes?'

'yes,' joshua confirms, following you as a puppy when you lead him from the bar.

his mind tingles with questions but when he thinks of them his head only starts hurting. you coo at him, all lovingly, walking in hurried steps closer to the shore. 'what did i tell you, hm? don't fight it.'

right, don't fight it. joshua nods dumbly, lets himself be whisked away. he looks into your beautiful eyes, when you start singing. he looks into your beautiful eyes, when you pull him into the water. he looks into your beautiful eyes, when your face and skin slowly start to change. he looks into your beautiful eyes, when water reaches his chin. he looks into your beautiful eyes, when your entire face distorts, turns white and blue. he looks into your beautiful eyes, when water enters his lungs. he looks into your beautiful eyes, when they turn blue. your beautiful eyes are the last thing he sees, when sea takes him under.

a/n: so. ugh i hate spooky stuff, i don't think that can even count as 'spooky' but oh well. this one is for @rwithkali and i know it's not what you meant but it is halloween, so sirens as monster creatures it is! - nini

my other seventeen works are here

my formula 1 works are here

[hiskillingjar]

Voyeurism (Lawrence)

if i’ve gotten anything from this round of kinktober, it’s a real appreciation for lawrence. they might have gone up to my second favourite (sorry ren). also read the piano teacher.

day 27: voyeurism first person, from law’s pov.

I usually saw teenagers come into the forest.

The impulse was understandable. It was an easy place to hide from the prying eyes of society, after all, an easy place to get lost in. Covered by the canopy of branches and leaves, where any rustling can be mistaken for the skittish nature of woodland creatures, people could get away with an awful lot.

I usually saw teenagers. Rarely did I ever see adults.

But that's what I see tonight. 

I was just leaving my alcove, my sanctuary of rot, when I saw a couple, a man and a woman (it was rarely anything else, in spite of what popular culture attempted to suggest), stomping through the brush, hand in hand.

Well, hand in wrist was a more approriate descriptor.

I kept still on my own, beaten path, pressing myself against a tree to hide even more, watching as the man dragged the woman deeper.

I don't believe that I witnessed a rape, despite the force of his grip. 

I knew what those tended to look like, thanks to all of the edgy websites I visited as a teenager. I knew what so often preceeded the deaths that I was actually looking for, especially when the victim (nameless on some of the seedier sites, the ‘reputable’ ones tended to list who the person was) was a pretty, young woman surrounded by men. 

Some people say those kinds of videos make you lose your sense of disgust and compassion for other people. And while I'm sure that was the case for many others, I don't think it was the case for me.

If anything, my outright disgust made me recognise those things more clearly when I saw them in real life.

And this wasn't disgusting.

The woman tried to pull from the man's tight grip, her legs trembling from the cold of the evening, but the coy murmurs of "no, come on, not here, let's go back to the care" indicated that she had opposition to fucking out in the open, and not to fucking in general.

"Not in the car," He said, pulling her deeper (close to where I kept my cages, it would be so inconvenient if they stumbled across them). "Your husband could find something there."

"So, I'll clean it," She replied, pulling back entirely. "I don't want to fuck in the forest. It’s not romantic. What if we do it in animal shit, or something?"

I barely held back a scoff, rolling my eyes with a barely audible huff instead.

It was probably quite naive of her to be concerned about dirt and filth (the natural things of this world, more natural than human beings, certainly), as opposed to any dangerous people who might be listening in on their conversation (like me, for example), but that's just what people were like, I found.

So many people prefered to think that they would be smart enough to avoid outright violence, that they would make the right decisions as opposed to anyone else who would be foolish enough to make the wrong ones, than understand the reality of pure, random acts of violence happening to anyone.

They were selfish, in that way.

"Why can't we go to a hotel?" She asked, holding herself tight. It was a cold night, she's right to. 

"I can't afford a hotel this short notice," He murmured with a roll of his eyes, taking a step closer towards her. "And...I don't want to wait to get there, anyway. I want to fuck you now."

"Richard," She looked away, but I could tell that she appreciated his dirty talk, that she didn’t get it at home from her husband anymore, that ‘Richard’ made her feel special, sexy, wanted.

He sank down to his knees in front of her and pushed up her pencil skirt, the material bunching up around her thighs, as he kissed the front of her pantyhose.

If she didn't want to be on the ground, he would be, just for her.

She curled both hands into his hair and he pulled down her tights and panties, revealing a thick bush of pubic hair that he nestled his face against, like he was returning home.

I'm not aroused by any of this, even if my cock is reacting, twitching in my dirty sweatpants.

That was just the nature of being human. Bodily reactions that I couldn't control and didn't care for.

But just because I wasn't aroused, didn't mean that I wasn't interested in what was happening.

Sex was interesting, occasionally even very interesting, though I had next to no interest in doing it myself.

Thinking about sex made me feel hollow, like something had been carved out of me, like someone took a shovel and dug out all my insides. I know there's nothing in there, but I'm still too nervous to open myself up and check. 

But watching it was something else entirely. 

It was almost like watching those old videos, like watching death, gore, car accidents, or surgical procedures. 

Red tongues grazing over wet, pink flesh, sopping holes being penetrated by fingers, tongues, hard cocks, over and over again. Kissing, touching, making love, fucking. 

All so visceral and unclean, and yet, people craved it so much that it could drive them crazy.

Maybe they craved connection, more than anything.

People who didn’t connect tended to go crazy, after all.

She was moaning and gasping, loud enough for anyone else to hear her (if someone else but me was peeping on them), bucking her hips against his face and his probing tongue roughly, like a marionette without any strings to keep her stable. His hand was climbing up her inner thighs, carressing soft flesh, feeling her touch, feeling her.

I idly licked my lips, another pulse of involuntary arousal rushing to my cock, moving a little closer against the tree concealing me from the pair of lovers.

"Richard," She said sharply, looking in my direction (but not seeing me, nobody ever sees me and that's the way I like it.)  "S-Stop it, I can hear something."

"Huh?" He breathed, pulling away from her wet cunt, his face glistening in the low light of the mood above him, and looking my way too. "Come on, it’s nothing. It was probably just a bunny rabbit or something."

It might have been, if I hadn't killed another one tonight.

"This place is creepy," She complained, but didn't stop him from returning to his task, nuzzling against her pubic hair again. "Feels like I'm being watched...mh."

"Don’t be so paranoid. Nobody’s watching you, but me.," He offered with a titter, before pressing his fingers inside of her and smoothing his tongue over her folds. "Mmmhh...but hey, maybe you like being watched. You’re wet enough that it feels that way."

I hoped they liked being watched.

For my sake, and for theirs.

[dollhouse-lied]

Creepypasta headcannons i have

Tw: sh mention, murder talk, sex talk (light)

Jeff the killer

He comes off extremely rude and he is, what you see is what you get with him

He is the definition of a pervert, almost obsessed with sex. Hes extremely non committal, but he has enough respect for his hookup to let them know that its not anything more than a hookup to him

He is very unkempt, rarely showering. Because of this he REEKS of axe body spray. Shower in a can.

His clothes all have some level of blood or dirt on them, he only washes clothes when they are borderline unwearable.

He will never admit it, but he has a soft spot for animals. However, if he comes across a hurt animal, he will “put it out of its misery” even if the animal could live.

His room has piles of random things hes stolen from his victims, including a box full of family photos. His reasoning is that he doesn't want the victims familys to have any keepsakes. The rest of the creepypastas think its weird.

He spends most his days laying in bed on his phone or playing video games with ben, waiting for night so he can go pick out and stalk his victims.

He puts great care into choosing his victims, mainly choosing the ones who look like they could put up a fight. He lives for the struggle, feeling that adrenaline rush and satisfaction for when he finally kills them

Eyeless jack

Hes a sweetheart to those he cares about, choosing to spend his time around people he knows. He comes off very stoic, but in reality he just doesn't know how to interact with people.

He has a large knowledge about medicine and how to treat wounds that has made his room very popular in the mansion. He offers his services for free, but he doesn't offer any numbing or anesthesia if you happen to need something like stitches.

He is very quiet, only speaking if he has something important to say.

He doesn't quite know how to keep a romantic relationship, but he tries his best. He is devoted to his partner, treating them like a god/godess.

His victims are all women, particularly pretty women. He enjoys breaking something delicate and fragile, cutting them open and displaying their pretty organs.

He likes to “play” with his victims, often splaying them out like an art piece with the organs he doesn't eat hidden around the house.

His room is oddly neat, with little bloodstains or dirt. He hates messes, obsessive over keeping a steril environment for his “patients”. He doesn't even eat in his room, fearing a spill.

Ticci toby

Toby is…. something alright.

He is the definition of bipolar, switching between happy and bubbly to homicidal and aggressive at the drop of a pin.

He is usually found up in a tree, watching the forest. He takes comfort in knowing that the world goes on when hes not there.

He is suicidal, but usually takes out his emotions by hacking up someone. Murder is his favorite coping mechanism, treating the victims dismemberment as a sort of “play therapy”

He doesn't have a favorite type of victim, but he does tend to kill more men than women, rarely choosing to kill children. They scream too much.

His partner, if he was stable enough to get one, would be treated well enough, receiving gifts and little signs of affection. He isnt the touchy feely type, as he cant really *feel* it. It might be nice for the partner, but toby isnt THAT considerate

He keeps his room clean, but it does get messy when hes having a down swing.

He is kind of a hoarder, having shelves full of various trinkets and rocks he likes.

He also has a book of pressed flowers, as he feels safest while in nature. The natural world is beautiful to him, keeping him sane.

Ben drowned

Ben is a little shit. Poltergeist is the best term to describe him, constantly tormenting the residents of the mansion by messing with their electronics.

He can fly, but it takes effort, something ben doesn't really like to put in. He walks most the time.

He can enter people's electronics at his whim, pissing off everyone with his antics

He loves going through peoples cameras and inserting himself into the photos while in the digital world, as well as deleting random apps

He loves anime, often putting the shows on 1.5x speed so he can watch quicker. Hes totally a weeb, having posters of attack on titan and jjk up in his room

Speaking of his room, its a disaster. He hasnt cleaned it in god knows how long and it stinks like ass covered up by the cherry incense he lights.

He isn't interested in romance, it has never occurred to him that someone may be interested in him.

Hes very self centered, doing most things soley for his benefit.

He doesn't really like killing, as it takes too much energy. He would rather play video games instead.

He doesn't have to eat, but he chooses to anyways. Why not when food tastes so good?

Sally

She might be only a child, but shes not stupid. She knows that she is looked at like a stupid child so she uses that to her advantage.

She is absolutely ADORED by slender, having tea parties with him whenever she can. She sees him as a father, calling him “dad” at times.

Her room is full of stuffed animals, as she finds comfort from having them to protect her while she sleeps.

She has frequent nightmares, often waking up shaking and crying. She runs to maskys room when this happens, as she knows he will protect her. They usually end up watching tv on the couch where sally falls asleep, causing tim to carry her to her room.

She doesn't like killing, as it reminds her too much of her past. Slender refuses to have her do anything but what she wants, so she gets to be at the mansion all day, going out with the proxys to the store if needed.

Masky

He is totally hooked on cigarettes, smoking almost a third of a pack a day. He knows its bad for him, but its one of the few things that brings him joy.

He has restless leg syndrome, constantly bouncing his leg while sitting. It pisses jeff off for some reason, but to be fair everything tim does pisses jeff off.

You will often find him sitting by a body of water as he finds the sound soothing. It acts as an escape from his horrible intrusive thoughts.

He really is slenders lap dog, despite how much it irks him. He cant help it, where else is he supposed to go? He has to help slender to keep himself safe.

He always is slightly cold, wearing two layers and gloves. It pisses him off because people (jeff) are always making comments about it

He sees toby as a kid, not really realizing how much it pisses toby off. Masky feels like a parent to him, but toby sees tim as nothing more than an adult trying to control him.

His room is full of various posters of his favorite bands, specifically deftones. He keeps it tidy, but theres always a slight mess that he claims he knows where everything is, but he constantly is losing something.

He likes killing, but its also just a job. He doesn't see his victims as people, but as an obstacle he has to eliminate. He prefers killing sex offenders, as he sees it as a good deed to the world, as well as because of sally. He can't imagine a child like sally getting assaulted, so he takes them out in the most painful way he can think of.

Hes not gay… but hes definitely not straight. He cant imagine having an exclusive partner, but an open relationship would be nice.

Hoodie

Hes quiet, but he listens. He knows all the drama in the mansion, despite not personally knowing most the people involved.

Most people forget he exists, which is exactly how he wants it. Hes not one to get in anyones way.

He loves sally, giving her gifts, flowers, anything she wants. Sally sees him only as tims friend, not really as a caretaker.

He constantly gets on maskys nerves by taking his things and using them, placing them back in a place he knows tim will look and know it was moved.

He has feelings for tim, but doesn't quite know how to express them, so he just plays little pranks and smacks his ass. Thats his idea of flirting. Tim doesn't find it funny.

He loves weed, and smoking a blunt in the woods is his ideal night. He always smells like weed, which is part of why sally doesnt really like him.

Hes a clean person, keeping his room comfortable and in order. He showers a little too infrequently, sometimes having greasy hair for a couple days too long.

He has a mild drinking problem, but he is aware of it and is trying to cut back, choosing to smoke instead.

Clockwork

BAD BITCH ALERT!!!

She's muscular, but mainly trains for strength instead of looks. She exercises obsessively, bordering on unhealthy amounts.

Shes a total gym bro, drinking protein shakes that she keeps in the mini fridge in her room specifically so no one steals her food.

She and nina are best friends despite being polar opposites. They work out together, nina usually tapping out long before clockwork does.

She is brash, not afraid to speak her mind or punch someone if needed.

She hates all men, but can tolerate masky, hoodie and toby. They treat her well enough, respecting her boundaries.

She loves killing men, joining tim when he kills child predators. She knows not all men are bad, but that doesn't really matter. A man is a man, and she doesn't like them.

She loves sally, but keeps her distance. She doesn't want to be seen caring for anyone, despite desperately craving love and attention.

She wishes she could trust enough to have a partner, but she lets her fear get in the way when she has a chance. She ruins he relationships on accident without really knowing why. Its just instinct to isolate herself.

Her room is clean, clothes organized by color and a mini kitchen in the corner. She often cooks for her best friend nina.

Nina the killer

Shes THE scene queen.

She feels stupid for ever idolizing jeff after realizing who he really is so she strives to prove she is better than him.

Slender loves her, admiring her drive and ability to preform well in missions

She is especially skilled in stalking, watching her victims for days before hand

She uses social media to find victims, catfishing men and women to meet her and then killing them in their own home.

Her favorite method is strangling, as she feels it proves how strong and capable she is. She is right.

Her natural hair is light brown, but she dyes it black and pink every 2 months.

She has freckles, but she covers them up.

She spends most her days stalking or on her phone, calling people shes catfishing for hours.

Clockwork tries to pull her out of her room but after 5pm it's impossible to get her out without a food bribery.

She definitely has borderline personality disorder, but she has a handle on it. Her favorite person right now is clockwork, and when she splits on her, clockwork takes it calmly and lets her cool off. Nina always apologizes and appreciates clockwork for her patience.

She does self harm, but usually bullies herself out of it because “thats cringe”

She wants a relationship, but refuses to acknowledge that shes a lesbian.

[osamucide]

Hello bartender!!! I hope im not bothering you in these hours. As my first time coming to this bar, can I please get a shot of Shibusawa? These are so rare to finddd :(..

FLAVOR PROFILE—riding and dynamic switch with Tatsuhiko Shibusawa

"Darling—mh—feels so good."

It's not just rare that Shibusawa finds someone that impresses him, surprises him—it never happens. Ever.

Or, he was convinced it was something that was destined to never happen; that was, until you got your hands on him. All over him.

"Tatsu," you whine softly, smirk playing on your lips. "Want all of you, please."

"Unh—yes," he sighs; you talk to him like you're so desperate for him when in reality, he's falling apart for you while you sit across his lap, pressing hot kisses to his neck, roving your fingers across his twitching abdomen up to his shaking shoulders, and stroking him slow, up, down.

He trembles as you lift; you kiss him, look into his eyes with an open mouth as you swirl his tip around your wetness and sink down with a heavy gasp.

He gasps too, unable to help the way his palms fly to your ass. You lick your fingers before combing them through his hair like silk, letting the braid above his ear fall loose.

"That's it, Tatsu," you mumble against his lips.

"Fuck, baby, you—you feel so good," his voice leaves him, cracked, as he throbs inside you; feels so good is the only thing left in that genius brain of his as you bounce on him, wet, quickly.

"Just relax," you say with your smile, but your fingers fly up to grip his chin, force him to look at you. "Let me take care of you, okay?"

"Unhg—yes, yes, yes."

[transmasccofee]

thinking yet again about Saiki‘s’s final choice in the series being “I’d rather live with my powers than die without them” bc that is seriously the single best ending of a disability narrative I’ve seen. Fuck.

[theghostofashton]

idk if i have the proper language to articulate this but the way people in fandom spaces use “white” as a means of leverage to make a point or win an argument is so incredibly frustrating. the constant positioning of white cishet men as opposed to women, when women can also be.... white, cis, and het? the framing of the most privileged man in the room in opposition to women, leaving out the fact that a white cishet woman is treated very differently to a queer woman of color. you can make an argument about sexism and misogyny without needing to bring race into it. if you do want to bring race into it, we need to have the conversation about how fandom also easily forgives and hand waves away white female characters who have been racist, while villainizing women of color who conflict with them. 

[gojorgeous]

"creature of myth."

pairing: vampire!gojo x fem!human!reader summary: when you receive an offer of marriage from a mysterious wealthy lord, it’s too good a deal for your family to turn down. but nothing could be so perfect... right? content: MDNI (18+  ONLY), dark content, nsfw, gets dubcon/noncon in some spots, yandere behavior from gojo, implied death/k*lling of a character (not reader or gojo), arranged marriage, victorian au, plot that ends with porn lmao, spooky dooky vibes, blood, blood sucking/eating, praise, biting, unprotected sex, creampie, virgin!reader, discussion of virginity, cherry popping, pain, pet names (princess/love), reader is highkey clueless about sex, discussion of masturbation, ideas of masturbation as “sinful”, very minor religious themes, fated “mates”, gojo is highkey insane, coercion and manipulation, like SO much neck kissing, ooc gojo??? (had to alter his character to match a victorian vampire lord LMAO). a/n: PLEASE READ THE CONTENT WARNINGS. THERE IS DARK CONTENT AHEAD. is this a gojo fic or a twilight fic?? Going back to my roots fr fr. straight down to the “SAY IT, SAY IT”. this fic is also way too long my apologies bbs. i hope you like a hefty side of plot with your porn. parts of this fic feel way too cheesy to me but sometimes i eat that up, yk?? this fic was inspired by this amazing work by @rice5x ! and, finally, thank you all for the support on my most recent fics. i'm just getting back into being active on this blog and it's been amazing reading each and every comment/reblog/ask. they genuinely fill me with so much joy. keep them coming hehe. anyway, i hope you enjoy and remember, ALL AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED. credits: dividers by @cafekitsune. banner art by @ndsoda on twitter. wc: 11.6k (sowwy)

You remember perfectly the way your mother’s jaw dropped when Satoru Gojo proposed to you. You’d never seen the man, and you still hadn’t. He’d asked to marry you via messenger, a simple letter delivered by hand with a list of all the things he’d be willing to pay for your hand. Offers of money, land, protection, connection- anything so long as he got you. You’d thought it was a joke. Your father nearly took a shovel to the head of the poor messenger, thinking the letter was some kind of cruel prank, some sort of targeted disrespect. You’d only started to believe when you really looked- saw the Gojo crest embroidered on the man’s suit, the fine leather of his boots. If it was a prank, somebody had spent a great deal of money and effort to pull it off. 

You’d asked for proof nonetheless, and you’d gotten it. Documents signed and sealed with a well-known waxen crest, gifts that could only have been purchased by a wealthy lord. The one thing you never got was the lord himself. He refused to see you, to come down from his mysterious castle on the hill. It didn’t surprise you. He rarely deemed town worthy of his presence. He had a reputation as a recluse, as a man who only ever liked to see and never be seen. What little glimpses people got of him were usually through the dark window of his carriage. Still, his appearance preceded him. White hair, light eyes… “haunting” said those who had the luck to see him. Those who went to work for the lord tended to return… changed— if they returned at all. 

You accepted, of course. How could you not? You were a peasant family with no status or wealth to your name. The promises Lord Gojo had made would make your parents into aristocrats all on their own. But that left you wondering… why did he want you? You offered him no benefit. If anything, you sullied his bloodline. The question scratched at the back of your mind. It came to you while you ate breakfast, while you washed your clothes, while you weeded in the garden. Some part of you told you that you needed the answer before you ever stepped foot in that castle. You needed that answer, but you’d never get it. 

Your wedding wasn’t even a wedding- just a piece of paper that had already been signed and witnessed, once again delivered by a familiar messenger. You signed at your dining room table and… that was that. You were married. 

Later that night the carriages arrive. Men flood your home, all dressed in blue velvet, the Gojo crest embroidered on their chests. They seem puzzled when you tell them you’ve packed all your belongings into a measly three bags. 

You say a quick goodbye to your parents, drawing them into stiff embraces. You love them, and they love you, but you can’t bear to see their faces as they send you away to a man who couldn’t even show his face for your wedding. 

The carriage ride is somehow longer than you’d thought it would be- apparently, the castle’s size makes it seem deceptively close. The trip is rocky and twisty and altogether unpleasant as you steadily make your way toward the castle gates. By the time you reach them you think you’ve probably dozed in and out of consciousness at least half a dozen times. 

The castle is even more intimidating up close. Spires that swirl into the clouds, sculptures that stare, doors that look more suited to being locked than opened. It’s… terrifying. 

When you finally roll to a stop, you move for the door. When you swing it open you get your fair share of strange looks from your attendants and remember that you should have waited for the footman. Your face heats as you climb out anyway, unwilling to subject yourself to the further humiliation of waiting for assistance. 

Your feet hit gravel and all you can do is stare- up, up, up, to where the castle’s peaks disappear into the fog. When your eye flashes to a window on the east side of the manor you think you see a swaying curtain. You tuck your arms around yourself and shiver, but it’s not from the cold. 

You nearly stumble over your feet on your first step inside. The entrance hall is larger than your former house, with ceilings that stretch so high you can hardly make out the figures on the frescoes that adorn it. Silver and blue drape everywhere, the Gojo family colors. You swallow when you see a chair that is most definitely worth more than your family’s annual income. 

The floors are marble and when your worn heels clack against it, you only feel reminded that you don’t belong here. That question pricks in your mind again as you pass portraits of every Gojo heir to have lived in the last three hundred years. Why me? Why me? Why me? 

Your footman deposits you in your room, a place more lavish than you’ve ever seen. You have a four poster bed with a canopy of blue velvet, a window that overlooks a sprawling estate, and more square footage than you’ve ever dreamed of. 

“Pull this if you need any sort of assistance, ma’am.” 

You turn to see your footman referencing a silver cord at your bedside. You assume it’s one of those contraptions that rings a bell in the servants’ quarters. You try to hide your amazement- you’ve never seen one in real life before. 

You clear your throat and give your most ladylike nod. “Thank you, um-” you pause, your brow furrowing. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I asked your name.” 

Your footman appears stunned to silence, like he’d never expected you to care about his existence, much less his name. He recovers quickly, though, and forces a small smile. “Thomas, ma’am.”

You smile and it’s genuine. “Thank you, Thomas.”He bows and makes a beeline for the door, but you have one more question. “Oh, um, Thomas-” He freezes, turning slowly on his heel to face you. 

“Yes, my lady?” 

You cringe at the title. The sound of it creeps across your skin, foreign and… wrong. Why me? Why me? Why me?

You clear your throat again. “Do you know, um, well-” You shift, trying to word your question properly. “Do you know when I might see the Lord?” 

There is a pause, a moment of tension and silence, and then an answer. “No, my lady.”

Thomas does not stick around for more questioning. The door clicks shut behind him and then you're left with only the sound of retreating footsteps. 

You’re stunned to say the least, mouth still halfway open, more questions on the tip of your tongue. Should you seek him out? Was that proper? Would he come to you? Would he meet you for dinner, perhaps? Surely he would come to your room tonight to… consummate. Would that be the first time you lay eyes on him? When he’s over you? 

You sigh. There’s nothing much to be done about it now. You find your way to the bed and sit down hesitantly. It feels like a crime to rumple such primped and polished cotton. You do it anyway- it’s going to happen sometime, right? You fall back against the mattress and don’t fail to notice how utterly comfortable it is. The silvery patterns on your canopy swirl and bend together. You’re tired. You didn’t sleep much last night, anxious for the morning… and it’s only mid-afternoon now. You had time for a nap, right? Your eyes are closing before you can convince yourself it’s a bad idea and then you’re swept away into a world of warm darkness. 

You wake with a start. Your first thought is that it’s dark now. Your room is pitch black except for the stream of moonlight passing through your stupidly large window. Your mouth feels dry and your skin is cold, like you’ve just woken from a nightmare. If you have, you don’t remember it. Perhaps that’s a blessing. 

You sit up, combing a finger through your hair and laughing pitifully when you realize that you left your shoes on as you slept. You hope Thomas didn’t walk in to find you in yet another unladylike position. A glance at the foot of the bed reveals he might have. Your bags have arrived- all three of them. You eye them with a combination of longing and contempt. They don't match this place. They’re worn and used- everything here is shiny and new. Still, they’re all you have, and all you have left of your life before. All you have left of home. 

You stretch your arms above your head, nearly groaning at the burn in your muscles. The carriage ride did your body no favors and you suspect you’ll be sore for many days to come. 

You rise, no longer content to lie in bed. You’ve had your rest and, from the state of darkness outside, you suspect your new husband might be joining you soon. The thought twists a certain tightness into your gut, but you push it aside. If that was the price you paid for all he gave your family… then you’d pay it gladly. 

You start with candles, finding a box of matches at your bedside. You light every candelabra you can find. The room, the castle, seems so perpetually… black- like it soaks up every ray of light it touches. Even when you’ve finished it doesn’t feel like enough. You make a note to ask Thomas for more in the morning. 

You find a meal, carefully prepared and preserved, on a table near your dresser. Judging by the fact that it’s still warm, you conclude that it can’t be much past mid-evening. You originally intend to pick at the food as you unpack, but one bite has your mouth watering. It is the most delicious thing to ever touch your lips, complete with dessert waiting on the side. You clean your plate before moving onto your bags. 

You lay your clothes out on the bed. A few dresses, riding pants, undergarments, an assortment of ribbons and bows. At one time these items had been the finest things you owned- now you owned a castle. 

You find an armoire that looks like a master sculptor carved its edges and grab a dress, intending to hang it. Instead, your dress hits the floor when you part the doors to find the hangers already full. Your lips part. Luxury dresses of silk and satin line the rack, fading into some that appear more casual outfits of cotton and linen. You stretch a hand out, curious and utterly… amazed. To think your new husband had gone to all the effort… Your hand brushes purple silk and- 

“Do you like them?” 

You screech, jumping to face the voice at your back. It takes a moment for your eyes to find him, leaning casually against one post of your bed. Your breath is stolen for a second time. Snow white hair, piercingly blue eyes, pale soft skin… you know who he is even without looking at his dress, at the air of authority he claims. He’s your husband… and he is the most devastatingly beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. 

He laughs, then, and it’s a warmer sound than you’d thought it would be- rich and full. A sound that seeps into your bones and settles in your soul. 

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, but the twinkle in his eyes makes you think that perhaps that’s a lie. 

Your heart pounds and your eyes flash to the door. It’s shut. You didn’t hear it open, nor did you hear it close behind him. You also didn’t hear footsteps, didn’t hear breaths, didn’t hear him. 

He follows your gaze and laughs again, though it sounds a bit… strained? 

“I have a habit of being unintentionally lightfooted. I apologize.” 

Your heart is still pounding but you find it in yourself to have some decorum. You snap your jaw shut and bow your head slightly in respect. “You must be Lord Gojo. Forgive me for my insolence.” 

There’s a beat, and then footsteps– ones you actually hear this time. You clench your jaw when he stops before you and then nearly gasp when he takes your hand and brings it to his lips. 

“Satoru, please,” he winks and you think you might stop breathing. “I am your husband after all.” 

You force yourself to nod, to swallow, to act normal. But how can you in the presence of a man that looks like… that? There’s something too unreal about him, too perfect. It’s almost… unsettling. 

“Of course… Satoru.” 

He straightens and shows you a close-lipped smile that digs a dimple into his left cheek. You have to look away to avoid stumbling over your own feet. 

“So, do you like them?” Your brows furrow- “The dresses,” he clarifies. 

“O-oh.” Your features relax into an easy smile. You turn back to your armoire, running a hand along another gown. You don’t think you’ve ever touched something so… finely made. “I like them very much. I don’t know how to thank you.” 

There’s a little chuckle as you turn to face him again and you have to steel yourself before you meet his eyes. He’s mesmerizing, too mesmerizing. You think you could probably lose yourself in those eyes forever… 

“No need to thank me. If they don’t fit, we’ll call for the seamstress in the morning.” 

You nod softly, still lost to the situation. There’s a beat of silence in which your husband does nothing but… look at you. His eyes roam freely and the hair on your arms stands under his gaze. He traces the lines of your nose and jaw and lingers on your pulse. Can he see just how fast your heart is pounding?

“Did you… get dinner?” It’s a stupid question, you know, but you don’t think you can bear another second of that look he’s giving you. “I fell asleep and found a plate. I hope I didn’t prevent a proper meal…” You trail off. Perhaps you shouldn’t have pointed out your own shortcoming? 

He gives you another smile and you swear he inches just a little closer. “You did no such thing. I’m… perfectly satisfied.” 

You nod, glad that he doesn’t seem upset at the very least. Your lips press together, unsure of what to do or say. You’ve never had a husband before. Wasn’t he supposed to just sort of… put you on the bed and… do it?

Your eyes flit to said bed and your husband must see because he hurries to continue. 

“Well, I’ll see you in the morning then, hm?” His eyes flit to your armoire and back again. “Wear the blue dress with the lace to breakfast, yeah? Been dying to see it on you.” He chuckles like he’s just told some sort of amusing joke.

Your brows furrow. That was… not the topic you’d been expecting. “You’re not…” You feel your cheeks heat and tighten your jaw. “Not staying the night?” 

His lashes lower a fraction and those eyes pierce you again. You don’t think you could move even if you wanted to, even with him prowling closer, each step eating up the space between you. He doesn’t stop until you’re nose to nose and you can feel his breath fanning over your cheeks. It’s cold somehow, chilling, and you shiver. He smirks. 

“Not tonight.” 

His head dips and for a moment you think he’s going to kiss you, but then he’s bypassing your mouth altogether and- his lips connect to your pulse. His mouth is cool, just like his breath, and you shiver uncontrollably under his touch. 

His touch is just a fleeting moment, just a wrinkle in time, and then he’s gone. His footsteps are quiet brushes on the hardwood and the creak of the door even seems tamed in his presence. 

“Goodnight,” is all he says, and then he’s gone. 

You climb into your bed an hour later wondering what in the world just happened. 

~  

You do wear the blue dress to breakfast and you can only gape in the mirror when you realize that it fits perfectly. It has you second-guessing yourself. Had you sent your measurements in advance and forgotten about it? No, you’d only sent a handful of pieces of information to the Lord prior to your marriage and you remembered all of them very clearly. Everything had gone through a messenger, everything had been clear and direct– you would have remembered sending your measurements– you didn’t. So had he just… guessed? 

That seemed impossible with how everything fit you like a glove, but it was the only explanation you had. The only one that made sense. 

When you join Satoru for breakfast it’s in a sitting room as lavishly decorated as the rest of the castle, but perhaps organized to be a bit more… liveable. He has no plate in front of him, only a tin cup that hides the contents of whatever he’s drinking. You assume coffee or juice. Perhaps he’s just not a breakfast person. 

“It fits!” he says. His hands clasp together in front of him and he smiles again, dimples and all. 

You nod and fight the heat that bubbles beneath your cheeks as you take your seat. “Yes, perfectly.”

A plate is set before you and a glance up reveals it’s Thomas serving your breakfast. You smile, hoping for some acknowledgement from him, for a small piece of comfort. Instead, you get his averted gaze and quick retreat. Your brows furrow, but before you can say anything, Satoru is back to speaking. 

“I hope Thomas treated you well yesterday?” 

You glance up, but Satoru’s eyes aren’t on you, they’re on your footman. His smile is bright, but it’s anything but friendly. You fight a shiver. 

You glance at Thomas. He’s perfectly still, perfectly straight, but you think you see a muscle clench in his jaw. You clear your throat. “Y-Yes. Thomas was very helpful.” When Satoru keeps staring the boy down you add, “-and very respectful.” 

That seems to satisfy. Satoru breaks his stare and some of the tension in the air instantly eases. He shoots you another dimpled smile, this one with a little more warmth. “Perfect.” 

There’s a beat and then he’s standing, draining whatever he has in his cup and then straightening his jacket. “Well, I have some work to do. I’ll see you for dinner?” He’s grinning again, like it’s so normal for a man to abandon his bride on their wedding night and then again the morning after. All you can do is nod. He chuckles. “See you then, princess.” And then he’s gone.

~

If this is to be your life you don't know how you will survive it. You spend the day milling about. Through the gardens, through the castle, through the stables. Thomas is never far behind, but any attempt at conversation is nipped in the bud by hit shortness. It’s like he fears coming too close. He’s never closer than a couple paces except when he has to bring you something, only to retreat again as soon as possible. The other servants barely pay you any mind apart from giving you a respectful greeting and then immediately averting their eyes. There is no work to be done, no guests to be had, no parties to plan… and no Satoru. You don’t see your husband once on tour around the grounds. You ask Thomas where his office is only for him to vaguely point out a window in the east tower. You don’t see so much as a ripple in the curtains. 

Dinner comes around at the pace of a snail. When it’s finally time to get dressed a lady’s maid whose name you don’t even catch arrives to help you lace your dress. As soon as your corset is deemed tight enough she’s back out the door with a curtsy. Thomas leads you to the dining room and your eyes roam the whole way. Even after having spent the whole day exploring, there are halls and corridors that you’ve yet to step foot in. 

The dining room is just as gorgeous as the rest of the place– filled with singular items that could feed entire families for years. Somehow, you think you’ve already grown accustomed to such things, since the only thing you truly care to look at is your husband. Satoru’s already seated, but he stands when you enter, looping around the table to pull a chair out for you. 

You give him your most genuine smile, accepting a kiss to your knuckles in greeting before you settle. “How was your day?” you ask as he takes his seat again. 

He chuckles. “Perfectly fine. And how was yours, princess?” Your nose crinkles. That’s the second time he’s called you that. Something about it feels wrong. You’re still getting used to being a lady. Princess feels even worse. 

“It was… good.”

You watch a perfect white brow arch in the candlelight. “Oh? Just good?” You don’t miss the way his eyes flicker to the corner– to Thomas. 

You hurry to elaborate. “Well, I just– I can’t help but feel as if there’s not much… use for me.” Servants flood in, some carrying wine, others carrying trays that hold more food than the both of you could ever possibly consume. 

That brow arches impossibly higher. “Use?” His lips crack into that smile again, but it’s tight this time. Too tight. “You have no use. You only enjoy yourself. Surely Thomas has told you that.” 

A plate of steaming food plops in front of you. Even its heavenly smell can’t quell the sudden dread in your gut. “Of course! Of course he did.” Your stomach twists and you decide that perhaps now is not the time to press the subject. “I’ll just… I’ll try riding tomorrow.” You hate riding, but it’s the first thing that comes to mind. 

Satoru’s smile thaws into something less menacing. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy that.” 

You nod eagerly. “I’m sure I will.” 

You grab your fork, eager for a new subject. From what you can tell, dinner is roast chicken and vegetables, though it’s the luxury version as everything seems to be. The spices are intoxicating and the green beans are even arranged in a pretty little pattern that makes them look too good to eat. You do anyway. The first bite nearly makes you moan, but you chew slowly, delicately, trying not to let your upbringing show.

It’s not until several bites later that you realize you’re the only one eating. A quick glance reveals your husband has no platter, no chicken or green beans. He’s only… watching you. You clear your throat, dabbing at your lips with a napkin. 

“You’re not… eating?”

That permanent smile grows a little wider and you can’t help but feel as if there’s something… menacing about it. “Ate before I came.” 

Your brows furrow. “Oh. Were you on the road?” 

You think you see something wild flash in his eyes. “No.” 

The rest of dinner passes slowly, almost painfully. Satoru doesn’t eat a bite, doesn’t even look enticed. You wonder how that’s possible when it smells like a spice bomb went off in the dining room. 

By the time you’ve cleared your plate you’ve discussed everything from the number of horses in the stables to kinds of crops grown on the estate. It’s comforting to know a little more about your new home, but it’s not enough. 

“Is there a library?” you ask. You’re on dessert now. It’s the best chocolate cake you’ve ever had and it takes everything in you to hold back a moan each time it touches your tongue. 

“Of course.” Your husband’s eyes flicker to Thomas again and you’re honestly starting to fear for the poor footman’s life. Everytime you ask a question it’s like Satoru is angry it hasn’t already been answered. “It’s yours to use as you please.” 

You smile lightly. “Perfect. Thank you.” 

He softens a bit at that. “Is there anything specific you wanted to read about?” 

You shrug. “The estate, I suppose. I should know my home’s history, no?”

His eyes get that wild look again, that sparkle that you know speaks to nothing good. “Oh, absolutely. I have some personal favorites to recommend. I’ll leave them aside for you?” 

You swallow and give him a shallow nod. “That would be perfect. Thank you.” 

He chuckles. “My pleasure.” 

When dessert is finally over, you stand slowly. Satoru’s not far behind you, saying he’ll walk you to your room. Your heart leaps at his words. Will he stay with you tonight? 

He offers you his arm in the hall and your mouth runs dry when you feel the corded muscle beneath his jacket. By the time you reach your room, you’re thinking of tugging him in behind you. His denial to stay with you last night was not only confusing, but… off putting. Nearly offensive. Did he not like how you looked? Did he think something was wrong with you? 

You muster all the courage you possess and force your lips apart. “Will you stay with me tonight?” 

His eyes spark again and you hold your breath. He presses closer. This is it, you think. His lips hover over yours, eyes glimmering in the candlelight. And then he dips his head, his mouth pressing to your pulse. 

“Not tonight,” he whispers– and then he’s gone. 

~

You wake suddenly. It’s the middle of the night, you gather. The light streaming through the window is weak enough to only be that of the moon. 

Your heart is pounding and your skin is slick with sweat despite the chill in your bones. A nightmare, you think. It must have been a nightmare. 

As you settle back into your sheets you swear you see a ripple in the darkness. You close your eyes. If your nightmare is real, you’d rather not see it coming.

~

The library is huge. It’s sprawling and smells of paper and leather and everytime Thomas lights a candle you flinch at the idea that one misplaced spark could end thousands of years of knowledge. 

The books Satoru left you are… perfect. Just what you were looking for. They’re all comprehensive volumes of the history of the estate, many of which reference each other. You’re stunned to see that several are written by very well-known authors of both the past and the present. You knew the Gojo family’s influence reached far, but not that far. You peruse the titles. The Gojos: A History, A History of the Gojo Crest, History of the Gojo Castle, Revisiting the Gojo Family: A Comprehensive History. Altogether you have well over a few thousand pages of information– but there’s one book that doesn’t fit with the rest. It’s relatively unassuming. A black cover with some sort of gold rune etched onto its front. When you flip to the title page it reads “Creatures of Myth and Where To Find Them”. Your brows furrow. You slide it to the side– must have gotten mixed in with the others, you think.

~

You ask Thomas to bring the books to your room. He does. Very respectfully. He sets them on your bedside table and then retreats like a kicked puppy with only a polite goodbye. You sigh. His behavior has only gotten stranger in the past few days. You think the servants’ coldness must have something to do with Satoru, but you can’t figure out why. Had he ordered them to stay away? Why would he? 

You decide it’s a question for another day and dive into your books. You spend hours, days, reading every chapter, page, and word. The pure amount of information is dizzying. Apparently this specific estate had been in the hands of the Gojo family since the eighth century (with several razings and consequential rebuilds). You also learn that Satoru was not only the most wealthy lord on the continent, but the most wealthy man. Even wealthier than the king apparently, though that fact was kept fairly under wraps to protect the crown’s ego. The estimates of your husband’s net worth made your head spin.

Satoru joins you for breakfast and dinner every day. You never see him eat a morsel. It’s… unsettling to say the least. It’s always just that tin cup, filled with something you could never quite see. You develop a pattern of waking in the night, too, with the overwhelming sense that something is watching you. Sometimes you could swear you feel the bed shift as you jerk awake. Each time you simply close your eyes and try your best to slow your heart, convinced your mind is playing tricks on you. 

Your days feel a little more productive with a book in your hands, but you’ve read them all three times over by the time a fortnight has passed. You find yourself packing them up to return to Thomas when a certain black cover catches your attention. You grab it from the pile and settle back into your seat. You’ve nothing better to do, right? 

You flip back the cover, revealing a familiar title. “Creatures of Myth and Where to Find Them”. You don’t recognize the author’s name. A quick scroll through the table of contents reveals nothing particularly interesting, but you pick a random chapter on ghouls and decide to start there. 

It’s fascinating. Nothing about the style is boring and the words fly by. Your silly little myth book is a page turner. By the time you notice the light has started dying you’ve read about ghosts, fairies, werewolves, and goblins– all of which have been a delightful little read. A glance at the clock reveals you have a half hour before dinner. One more chapter, you think. Your eyes skim the title. “Vampires [Vampyr]”. 

You skim the first paragraphs until your eyes settle on a line that catches your eye. 

“Contrary to popular belief, vampires are not always crazed blood-hungry monsters. Many live among humans quite comfortably and are able to avoid detection with a little well-placed effort.” 

You purse your lips. What a… terrifying thought. You skim a little further. 

“A vampire’s key characteristic is, of course, their desire and need to drink human blood as sustenance. However, a vampire can be spotted sooner if one is able to recognize their subtler traits. Vampires often have skin lacking any sort of flush. The lack of blood in their veins results in a sickly pallor, even after the most rigorous exercise. Their skin is also noticeably cold to the touch. At best, a vampire’s body will reach room temperature. Vampires can also be noted for their preternatural beauty. They will stand out as the most attractive person in any crowd. Finally, a vampire will have fangs. If one wishes to identify a vampire, one only needs a good look at their teeth”.

A chill settles over your skin. You flip ahead a few pages. 

“Vampires are unable to consume typical human food. Should they attempt to, their bodies will immediately reject any and all foreign substances.” 

Your stomach drops. You don’t want to think about why. You skip the rest of the paragraph. 

“Vampires possess several supernatural abilities that set them apart as a human’s predator rather than their equal. Vampires are known to move unnaturally fast and are notably light footed. If a vampire does not wish to be heard, they will not be. A vampire’s strength is inhuman, well over ten times that of the average man. They also have a penchant for darkness, an ability to hide away in the shadows that cannot be explained. Oftentimes they will seem to appear from thin air.”

You skip ahead again.

“Vampires have been known to take mates. Mates usually come in the form of another vampire, but in some cases a human has been chosen. Vampires are fiercely protective of their mates, bordering on obsession. Any person deemed a threat to their bond or their mate’s safety is usually disposed of quickly. Oftentimes, vampires make these decisions with haste, with little regard for whether or not the threat was real. A vampire will do everything in their power to please their mate, but have been known to forcibly restrain their mates in situations of unrequited feelings. Above all else, vampires wish to possess their mates. Two bonded vampires will sometimes spiral into gloriously destructive fits in their endless desire to protect and possess one another. A vampire bonded to a human will show an increasingly protective nature, often isolating their mate from others.”

Your heart pounds. A bead of sweat rolls down your back. You flip the pages, desperate– desperate for a piece of information that will save you from the thoughts spilling in your mind, from the thoughts you will do anything not to believe. You reach the “Where to Find Them” subsection and nearly gasp with relief. Surely, vampires do not pose as wealthy lords of Europe? 

“Vampires can be found everywhere. They do not exist in only one country or continent, but all over the world. Odds are that you have faced at least one vampire in your life, unknowingly or not. Some vampires choose to live solitary lives, surviving in the wilderness where human society will not attempt to tame their wild nature. Others choose to live among humans, some even existing in positions of very high authority.” 

No, no, no. This can’t be happening to you. It can’t be real. You’re dreaming, you’re having one of those nightmares again. You’re going to wake up any second. 

“One tale recounts a razing of the Gojo estate in the 12th century.” 

You’re panting, hyperventilating. This isn’t happening. 

“Soldiers of the enemy force recounted a singular man, the son and heir of the then Lord Gojo, taking out a minimum of 800 men. He was described as having his family’s characteristic white hair as well as blue eyes. Eyewitness accounts depict the Gojo heir as covered in blood and killing savagely and with inhuman strength.” 

No, no, no. 

“(See next page for only existing portrait)”

Your fingers tremble but you can’t stop them. There’s no way. It’s not possible. 

You flip the page and Satoru stares back at you. 

Knock! Knock! Knock!

You nearly scream. Your door rattles angrily, but you’re not sure you can answer it, not with the knowledge flooding your mind. The knocking continues. You run your hand over your face and smooth down your hair. You feel frazzled, dirty, despite not having moved from your chair all day. Another knock prompts you to set your book aside and stand. You do your best to compose yourself, to put on a straight face. You fail instantly when you pull back the door not to reveal your faithful attendant, not Thomas, but Satoru. 

You bite back a shriek and instead force a smile. You’re suddenly very aware of the blood pounding in you veins and of the fact that he most likely knows. 

“Hello,” he says, but his voice is lower than usually, more intense. 

You force a breath into your lungs. “Hello,” you answer, but it sounds more like a squeak than a greeting. 

Something flashes in his eyes, something familiar, something that is no longer interesting but rather terrifying. “Are you alright? You seem a little… flushed.” The concern on his face feels anything but genuine. 

“I’m fine,” you answer, but even you can tell that reply too quickly, too eagerly. You rush to cover it up. “Is it time for dinner? Where’s Thomas?” 

His lip twitches and you see a muscle in his jaw flex. “Thomas has… left us.” 

No. This wasn’t happening to you. There was no way this was happening to you. 

“He… what?” There’s an unmistakable wobble in your voice that only causes Satoru’s face to fall further. 

“It’s no matter. He’s gone. Now it’s just you and me, hm?” He chuckles and the sound rattles your bones. “In fact, I was thinking I’d cut down on the number of servants we have entirely…” 

You mind races with the memory of knowledge you wish you didn’t have. “Vampires are fiercely protective of their mates, bordering on obsession. Any person deemed a threat to their bond or their mate’s safety is usually disposed of quickly.”

You nearly stumble, but lean against the doorframe just in time. Your husband had disposed of a man, all because he brought you meals and books?

“What have you been up to today, princess?” The question breaks your trance just in time for you to see your husband’s eyes flicker behind you. 

You wet your lips. “Just some reading.” You plead that he doesn’t ask anything further. He does. 

“About the estate?” he asks. 

You nod and try to swallow the lump in your throat. “Yes.”

His smile returns and this time it’s not forced. “You got my books, then?” 

You try smiling back, but you’re fairly sure it looks more like a grimace. “Yes.”

“Anything interesting?” he presses.

This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening. Does he know? Does he know that you know? “Yes, of course. Lots.” 

He pauses and you see the debate and then the decision in his eyes. You think it’s the first time you’ve felt true terror when he meets your gaze again. “I think we should skip dinner tonight. It seems we have so much to discuss.”

You don’t even have the wherewithal to scream when he steps into you, forcing you back until he’s shutting your door behind him. He doesn’t stop there, though. He keeps pressing, keeps pushing until your knees hit the bed and you’re falling to the mattress. He crawls right after you.

“Who knew my little wife was such a reader? All those books in such a short time… You must be simply spilling with information.” 

You retreat across the mattress, squeaking when your back hits the headboard and his arms cage your waist. You’re trapped.

His hands find your hips and you’re all too aware of how cool his touch is. Even more so when he pulls you right into his lap.

“Satoru-” your voice is pitiful, breathless, and you’re ashamed to say it’s not just from the fear in your gut. He’s never been this close before, never touched you, held you like this. “Thomas-” 

“Don’t speak his name.” His face pulls into the first scowl you’ve ever seen and the sight is enough to root you to the spot. Never have you seen anything more frightening. A creature so beautiful, so perfectly angelic, filled with an insurmountable rage. It’s wrong. “He’s gone. He’ll never bother you again.” He’s closer now, his breath skating over your skin. It’s cool and now you know the reason why. 

You shake and tremble and you know– Thomas is dead. Your husband killed him– killed him for getting too close when all he did was stay at a distance. Satoru killed him. Killed him. 

He buries himself in your neck, his voice a near whine. “Thought I could put up with it, just so you’d have someone to take care of you…” He groans. “I was so wrong, princess. Couldn’t stand it. Couldn’t stand the way you smelled more like him than me…” 

You feel him melt against you then, relief washing over his body in a wave. “But he’s gone. And now it’s just you and me, hm? Just you and me…” He hums, like remembering that fact is all he’s ever needed.

He’s kissing your pulse again, now, and your heart is racing faster than ever. Your fingers curl into his shoulders. You should push him away, away, away. He’s a killer, of thousands no doubt. You’ve never felt at home here, never felt like you belonged. This is why. You’re not even the same species. He’s something else, something your hands were never meant to touch. 

Your mind screams at you to do go, to shove and kick at him and leave this place behind. Go, go, go your gut says… but you don’t. You can’t. It’s too… good. The feeling of his cool lips against your skin, of what you’re sure is his tongue prodding at your pulse… it’s intoxicating. He is intoxicating. How could anyone blame you for wanting more of someone, something, so divine? 

“Have you figured it out yet, love?” Your breath hitches and he chuckles, licking a long stripe up your neck, before he settles back at your pulse. Always your pulse. “I can feel those little gears turning. Tell me, what have they discovered?” 

He knows you know. But he’s going to make you say it. You swallow and feel his grip on you tighten. “You’re…” Your breaths come faster. You can’t. Not aloud. Aloud makes it too… real. 

“Yessss?” he prods. He’s licking at you again, all the way across your throat to find your other pulse-point. 

“You’re not…” Something sharps nicks at your skin and you bite your lip to hold back a whimper. 

“Go on, princess.” You think he’s just smelling you now, just burying his face as close to you as possible and taking you in. 

You close your eyes tightly, holding back tears. “Not human,” you breathe. A piece of you breaks with the admission.

He huffs a little laugh against your skin and pulls back to look you in the eye. “That’s good,” he purrs. “But I think you can be a little more specific, no?” His lips press to your chin, then the corner of your mouth, then down to your jaw… “Tell me.” 

Your lips wobble, muscles clenching tighter with each passing moment. You don’t want to say it, don’t want to speak it into existence, but you also don’t dare to disobey him. 

“You’re a…” You shake and tremble. He draws a line up your neck with the tip of his nose.

“Mhm?” 

You open your eyes, thinking this might be the last time you see. “Vampire.” 

He chuckles and you feel his teeth press to the skin of your neck. “That’s right, princess. So smart.” 

He smiles and you suddenly realize you’ve never seen his teeth before. Everytime he smiles at you it’s close-lipped and dimpled. But this… this is the smile of a predator– all white and pointy and fitted with a set of menacingly long fangs. You sob at the sight. 

“Shhhhh,” he coos. He has your chin in his hand, forcing you to truly look at him, to see him for what he is. “I won’t hurt you, love.” You want to believe him so badly it burns, but his laugh washes away any fire and turns it to ice. “Not unless you want me to.” He wiggles a brow like it’s just a little joke, like he’s not an actual fucking vampire that had his fangs over your neck just moments ago. 

“Satoru,” you beg. You’re not sure what you’re begging for. Release maybe? But, no, that’s not right. You don’t want him to let you go, not when you finally have him close after all this time. “Why did you pick me?” 

The question slips out. You hadn’t even been thinking about it, hadn’t even noticed it scratching at the walls of your mind, but it made its way out nonetheless.

His brow creases, but not in confusion. Moreso in… thoughtfulness. “Do you think about that a lot, princess?” 

You nod and you suddenly want him closer, want him to touch you everywhere, hold you like his life depends on it. You want him, no matter how horrible it might be. 

He nods and hums, kissing the tip of your nose lightly. “Well…” he says. His thumb swipes over your lips when he leans in to whisper in your ear. “At first I wanted you for this.” His head dips to your neck again and you feel the familiar brush of his lips against your throat. “You smell…” he chuckles. “Like heaven. Which is a place I’ll never get to on my own, so I had to bring my own little slice home, no?” He laughs again, a little louder this time, genuinely amused. “Went into town one day and caught your scent on the street. At first I thought I must be walking past the bakery, but, lo and behold, there was no baker in sight.” He’s still kissing at your pulse, worshiping it. “Went crazy, princess. Didn’t think I was going to be able to contain myself when I found you. Thought it might be quite the scene.” He huffs a laugh and you shiver, somehow both terrified and intoxicated. “But then I saw you–” he groans and something clenches deep at your center. “And I knew I needed more than just your blood. Needed you.” He’s rocking into you now, and your breath catches when you feel something firm against your backside. “Went to you in that little room you slept in every night. Watched you. Couldn’t stay away. Knew I had to have you.” You feel him smile against your skin. “After a week I couldn’t take it anymore. Sent you that letter, married you. Made you mine.” He groans again. “Then I met you and you were so pretty, princess. Already knew it, but hearin’ you talk to me, look at me.” Teeth graze your pulse. “Needed you more than ever. Almost took you right on the fucking floor in here while you were lookin’ at those dresses.” You whine when his hips roll into you again. “Oh, but I knew I couldn’t. You’re so fragile, love. Had to wait, had to make you feel safe, yeah? Spent all this time forcing myself to stay away, ‘fraid of what I might too if I was in your presence too long. Had to control myself. Had to make you realize you could trust me.” He panting, like he’s so pent up he can hardly sit still. “Do you trust me, princess?” 

Your brows scrunch. Say no, say no, say no a part of you screams. Run, run, run. You can’t. “Yes,” you breathe. 

You feel him smile again, feel the pleasure of submission. “Good girl.” 

You’re on your back. It happens so fast your eyes don’t even have time to gasp. You don’t see Satoru, but you feel him. Everywhere. His hands are roaming your body softly, sliding under buttons and laces and popping them off. Your dress loosens with every passing moment until Satoru reappears above you, diving straight for your neck again. “So good, princess. Let’s get you out of this dress, yeah?” 

You nod wordlessly, entranced. He finds your mouth as he rids you of your clothes. His tongue presses in and you flail against him, unsure of what to do, of how to handle the intrusion. The kiss is heavy, too heavy, but Satoru can’t seem to stop. He devours you as he gives up on laces and buttons and simply shreds your dress down the back. You tremble when the cold air hits your skin, when his cool fingers dust your collarbone. 

“I always forget how many damn layers they make you ladies wear,” he chuckles. His hands run beneath your shift, up across your bare thigh. You gasp at the touch. No one has even been so close to you before. You feel the threads of your corset snapping away, feel your breaths growing deeper. You tremble when he pulls your sleeve down past your shoulder and runs his mouth along the newly exposed skin. 

“Satoru,” you gasp, and your hand pulls at his flowing white shirt. 

He chuckles, pulling back just enough to see your face. “You wanna see me too?” You nod, lips parted and eyes glassy, and he laughs again. He lips dust over the corner of your mouth. “Alright.” 

His hands shift from you to himself, working at the laces on his chest. His movements are speedy, practiced, like he’s been lacing and unlacing shirts for hundreds of years. Your throat tightens when you realize that he has. 

You gasp when he reveals himself, when his shirt slides away to reveal an expanse of pale skin and carved muscle. You’ve never seen a man like this and seeing one this close up for the first time is nearly blinding. He’s art, you think- nothing less. 

“Touch me, princess,” he says. You can’t. You shouldn’t. He’s too beautiful, too perfect to be beneath your insignificant hands. “Need a little help?” he asks, and there’s a lilt in his voice that makes you sure he’s grinning. 

His hands find yours and bring them to his chest, running your palms over his collarbones, his pecs, down, down, down across his abs that you can feel each and every one… You whimper, watching your own fingers grope his skin. He pulls you lower, lower, lower, and you gasp when your fingertips brush the waistband of his pants. But then he’s laughing again and he’s throwing your arms over his shoulders and pulling you closer, kissing your neck like it pained him to be parted from your pulse for so long. 

“Not so fast,” he says, like he wasn’t the one nearly stuffing your hands down his pants. His hands are on your corset again. You can feel it dangling onto you by a thread, literally. All he needs is a couple more pulls and you’ll be bare. By the look he gives you, you can tell he’s 

thinking the same thing. “You touch me, now I touch you, yeah?” There’s a tug and a tear and then so much… cold. You’ve never realized how cold this castle is, not until you’re exposed to its elements fully. You’re naked. 

Satoru sits back on his knees and just watches. His gaze is searing, burning, despite the iciness of his being. It’s too much. Your hands move to cover yourself, to maintain some modicum of your dignity- 

“No.” Strong hands find your wrists and pry them apart. “Let me see you,” he says. His tongue darts out to lick his lips. 

Your jaw clenches and your frame shakes, but you do as he asks, letting your hands fall limply at your sides. There’s silence for many more moments and it seems to go on so long that you can only squeeze your eyes shut under his gaze. Surely he will turn you away now, get up and leave, tell you this was a mistake, tell you that you’re– 

“Beautiful,” he breathes. Your eyes snap open to find him already staring at you. “Beautiful,” he says again, and then he’s on you, lips at your pulse, hands on your skin. His touch is cool and you squeak at the chill that runs up your spine. You’re not sure it’s entirely from his temperature. 

His mouth seeks yours and he devours you. You feel as if he’s sucking your soul out through your lips. “Tell me you’ve never done this before,” he begs. “Tell me I’m the first to touch you.” 

You whine against his mouth, both aching for more and overwhelmed by what he’s already giving you. “Y-You’re the first,” you whisper. 

His groan is deep, primal. It rattles through your chest and you whimper when his hands dig into your waist hard enough to bruise. “Yes,” he breathes, and you shiver again. “Lie back, princess.” Your eyes widen, with anticipation or fear you’re not sure. Probably both. He chuckles. “Don’t worry. I’ll be gentle.” 

You pray he means that. “Just relax, love. Here, hold my hand.” His fingers find yours, twining them together. When you swallow, his eyes follow the bob of your throat. He leans back again and your body twitches when his free hand skims the skin of your thighs. His tongue darts out to wet his lips as he finds your knees and you gasp when he parts your legs, revealing you so completely to his gaze. The way he stares, like he’s committing you to memory, it’s nearly enough to make you snap your thighs shut, but a squeeze from his hand reminds you to relax, to trust. 

His palm skates up your thigh and settles near your hip, his fingertips inching closer to where you can feel an embarrassing throb. 

“Tell me, love. Have you ever touched yourself here?” His fingers dust low on your tummy- just low enough for you to catch his meaning, but not low enough to give you any relief. Your face heats and your teeth dig into the flesh of your cheek. You have, you have touched yourself there, but it’s the last thing you want to admit to your new husband. It’s shameful, it’s dirty, it’s- “Don’t think I’ll judge you, princess. Just wanna know.” 

You gulp down a breath. You should come clean. “Y-yes,” you stutter, and the sound of your voice so weak and helpless only makes you flush further. 

He chuckles and squeezes your hand again. “On the outside or the inside?” 

Your eyes widen. I-inside? You’d never considered that… “J-just the outside,” you answer. 

Your eyes grow even wider when his head rolls back and he moans straight up to the ceiling like your answer is heaven-sent. When he looks back to you his fangs are on full display. “Well, I think you and I are in for a little treat today, hm?” 

Your brow furrows and your lips part to ask him what he means– his fingers travel those last few inches down your tummy and find your clit. You squeak and jolt so violently that he presses a hand to your hip, holding you to the mattress. “Somebody’s sensitive,” he chuckles. He holds you still for a moment and then lets your hips go free. “Try to stay still. I promise it’ll feel good.”

You nod hopelessly, but this time you’re prepared for when he touches you again. Your muscles clench at the first touch, at the foreign sensation of a touch down there that wasn’t your own. But then it’s more. It’s languid, slow circles around a spot that you’ve never been able to pinpoint so well on your own. It’s heat building in your tummy that seeps through every vein and into every pore. It’s relaxation that you’ve never known, that has you melting into the mattress despite the chill of the touch. 

There’s a little huff of a laugh and then his voice. “Good girl. Feels nice, yeah?” You nod hesitantly and squeeze desperately at his hand, searching for an anchor. His head cocks to the side and you watch the smile slide across his lips. “It’s about to feel even nicer.” 

By the time you realize what he’s doing it’s far too late to stop him. His mouth closes around your cunt and you yelp, trying to wiggle away from the overwhelming sensation- but he’s got his freehand on your hip again and his grip is bruising, punishing, as he holds you in place. He licks a stripe through your folds and you find yourself jolting again, uselessly so against the pressure of his palm on your hip. “Stop that, princess.” Your heart drops at the admonishment until you feel his guiding touch. “Rock into me like this.” His hand rocks your hips into his mouth and the pressure of his tongue against your clit is so delicious that you whimper. “Good girl,” he says and your heart rises right back up. “Keep doing that, now.” You don’t dare defy him. You rock like he showed you, a little jerkily at first, and then you find a rhythm that has you seeing stars. “That’s it, love,” he says, and the sound is muffled against your cunt. “Here, put your hand in my hair.” He finds your wrist and guides you forward until your fingers are tangling in those snowy locks. They’re even softer than you’d imagined. “Good girl,” he whispers and suddenly he’s taking one last long lick and lifting his head to meet your eyes. “‘M gonna put my fingers in you now, princess.” Your chin wobbles. “It might hurt a little bit, but stay still, okay?” You can’t do anything but nod. 

His eyes return to your cunt and you can feel him prodding at your entrance, circling the hole as you clench in anticipation. “Relaaaaaax, love,” he says and you nod. A deep breath in through your nose and out through your mouth– 

You feel the exact moment he pushes into you and a whine of pain rips from your throat. Your walls clamp down like a vice, angry at the intrusion– but it’s already too late. There’s a beat of silence, of anticipation, and then he’s– laughing? 

Your brows furrow when you hear it, your head lifting to a sight that locks your limbs in shock. Satoru’s hand is lifted in front of his face, his pointer finger coated in– blood, you realize. Your blood. And he’s a fucking vampire. 

“Oh princess,” he coos, and the manic look in his eyes makes you tremble. “You really are perfect.” 

Things seem to slow as you watch him take his blood covered finger into his mouth. You’re sure you’ve never seen an expression more blissful, more lost to sensation. His eyes roll back and his body shivers, like he’s ascending to some higher plane. Maybe he is. 

When he pulls his finger from his mouth it’s completely licked clean. You hold your breath. He’s going to go for your neck now, right? He’s had a taste and now he’ll want more of it, all of it?

“Fuck,” is all he says. His mouth is back on your cunt so fast you don’t even see him move. 

Your mouth falls wide. It hurts, the way he is so desperately licking at you. You feel his finger again, pressing in, in, in, only to pull back and suddenly be joined by another. The stretch tears at you. You thrash and jolt, but Satoru doesn’t bother telling you to stop this time. His arm wraps over your hips, holding you in place. He seems immune to how hard your legs squeeze at his head or your hands pull at his hair. He’s lost. You can feel him licking, lapping, and prodding at you like you’re a fucking gold mine. He’s lost to desperation, to the need for more, more, more. Every so often he lifts his chin and you see his mouth smudged with a mixture of your wetness and your blood. He laps at his lips like an animal, dragging his thumb across his chin and sliding it into his mouth to make sure he gets every last drop. 

You’re not quite sure when the ravenous pain turns to a ravenous pleasure, when it turns from terrifying to downright delicious. You don’t notice your moans filling the air until Satoru joins you, groaning and whining into your cunt and telling you to keep going, to keep making those sounds. The hand you have buried in his hair doesn’t fight to push him away any longer, only to pull him into those now practiced rocks of your hips. His fingers thrust deep, curling into a spot that makes you feel so good and his mouth has found your clit again. He sucks your nerves lightly between his lips, tongue swirling in little circles. Your thighs start to shake. 

“Yes. Yes. Give it to me.” 

“S-Satoru–” you breathe. Warmth and tightness pool in your tummy, and you recognize it as your approaching orgasm, though you know this one will be far different than any you’ve ever managed to give yourself. Your body shakes and your breaths tremble and then– you fall over the edge, rocking your hips senselessly, losing all form of rhythm. Warmth tingles in your spine and seeps all the way down to your toes. You think you cry out, cry for your husband, cry for more, cry for less, but if you do you don’t hear it. All you hear is the pounding of your pulse, of pleasure throbbing in your veins until the world slowly seeps back in through the corners of your vision. 

Satoru is grinning. A speck of your blood clings to his chin and his fangs peek out from behind his lips. The sight makes your blood run a little colder. If any part of you doubted what he was before… well, there was no doubt any longer. 

There’s a shift between your legs, his hips slotting between them, and you’re suddenly snapped back to reality. From the look in his eyes, you’re not done. 

Frantic hands find his pants and he undoes each button with a quickness that is almost inhuman. You wonder if he could go even faster, if he’s holding back so as not to scare you. If he is, it isn’t working very well. Fear surges in your veins right alongside anticipation. 

“S-Satoru–”

“It’s alright, love.” His hand finds yours without his eyes ever looking up. His grip is just a little too firm, a little too cold. “Just stay still.” 

You whimper, but you don’t think he’s paying attention to that, and soon enough, neither are you. His pants slide down just past his hips, just enough. You gasp. 

You’ve never seen a man in the nude, never even dared to think about what it might look like, though it seemed you no longer had to guess. His hand wrapped around his shaft, giving one long and slow stroke that made his breath hiss through his fangs. The tip was flushed, angry, and leaking something that looked clear and sticky. You couldn’t help but notice it was a lot thicker than a finger, or even two. If his fingers had hurt…

He moves with that alarming quickness again, leaning down to hover over you, chests nearly pressed together. “Gonna take you now, princess. Gonna make you mine.” His eyes bore into yours, blue and shimmering with something wild. His hand presses into the mattress beside your head. “Stay still, now.”

It’s all the warning he gives you. You feel like you’re splitting– straight up the middle. You wail, hands flying out to claw at his back. It hurts. It hurts. 

“Satoru, p-please! It’s–” 

Lips catch yours– hungry, feral. The kiss is not gentle, not soothing. It shuts you up, it keeps you quiet, it keeps you still as you feel him sinking further, deeper into you. It’s too much, you try to say, but the poke of sharp teeth against your lips keeps you silent. Your hips jolt and wiggle trying desperately to escape the stretch but it’s no use. By the time he’s fully inside you, tears are streaking down your cheeks, fat and heavy. His lips break away and his eyes reappear. You shake when you see that none of the wildness has been tamed, that you’ve only just begun.

“Good girl,” he coos, and a cool finger traces a line across your jaw. “Took me so well.” You hold back a sob when his hips shift a little, testing, prodding. He must see the pinch of your eyes, the twist of your mouth, because he’s quick to comfort. “Just hold my hand, princess.” His hips rock in earnest this time and you whimper, squeezing down on his hand with all your might. You’re panting as he chuckles. “Breathe, love. Breathe. Soon you’ll be begging for more,” he laughs. It’s not long before he’s rocking into you sincerely, setting a pace that stretches you to the brink of breaking. At first it’s all you can do to grasp onto him, to bite your lips through the whimpers and hold his hand. And then it’s… more. It’s heat and warmth despite the coolness of his body on yours. It’s sensation and… pleasure. He laughs when the first moan slides past your lips, burying his face in your neck once again. You hear him at your ear, panting his hot breath across your skin. 

“Feel good, princess?” You nod, letting your hips rock against his as he showed you before. It feels good– it feels right. He chuckles, but there’s nothing light about the sound. “Wanna feel even better?” Something sharp pokes at the skin of your neck, hard enough to make you squeak, to make you freeze at what you know he wants. 

He pulls himself back, pressing his forehead to yours, searching your eyes with his. Something like a cruel smile dances on his mouth. “Just a taste, love. I promise it won’ hurt.” His tongue darts out and licks across your lips, his thrusts rocking just a bit faster. “You’ll feel s’ good an’ I’ll only take a little.” He laughs again and it sends a chill through your bones. “Promise.” He sounds breathless, like he’s struggling to restrain himself. The increase of his pace makes you whine and you squeeze his hand again. He buries himself back in your neck, panting. “Come on, love. Say yes. Say yes f’ me.” Your eyes glaze over. Your body justles with each new thrust. He’s desperate now, seeking a release that you don’t think is any kind you’re familiar with. “Yes, yes, yes,” he chants in your ear. You’re not sure when his words twist in your mind, when they settle on your tongue and push past your lips, but you know it feels so right when they do. 

“Yes,” you whisper. 

His fangs clamp around your pulse. You scream when the sting rips through you, violent and savage– but it only lasts a moment. Pain fades to… ecstasy. You feel his throat bobbing with each swallow, feel your blood seeping from your skin and onto his tongue. You’d thought it would feel slicing, draining, like the life was being sucked from you. It doesn’t. It feels wonderful. Heat spreads under your skin, emanating from your neck and down to your toes. It feels like breathing for the first time, like sugar being pumped into your veins. It feels like heaven. Your hand tangles in his hair, holding him close. You don’t want it to stop, not ever. You could die like this, have him suck every last drop of blood from your veins and thank him for it with your dying breath. 

He’s moaning now, hands curling into your hips while he fucks into you relentlessly. The pace is grueling and brutal. You know it should hurt but only feels perfect. Anything less would not be enough. Anything else would leave you wanting. You feel it building, feel that familiar twinge at your core. The ecstasy flooding through your veins has it coming faster, has you teetering on the edge in moments. 

“Satoru…” You hadn’t noticed how dizzy you felt until you tried to speak. You wonder why… “‘M gonna…” 

He fucks you harder, something menacing and deep rumbling in his chest. The sound makes you shiver, makes you whine, makes you come. 

Your body shakes and a cry rips from your throat, cunt clenching like a vice around him. Your eyes roll back, hands scraping trails down his back. Your thighs quake with the intensity, with the overwhelming senses of pleasure that erupt throughout your body. Every nerve is firing, every hair rising. It’s an unstoppable current, one that sweeps you away, helpless to its pull. 

His thrusts grow sloppy and untimed. His grip on your hips tightens, holding you in place while he makes you his. His teeth break from your neck and when you look up through blurry eyes you see his head thrown back, your blood streaming down his chin in thick little globs. You feel it when he cums, feel the thick ropes of it seeping into your womb, feel the way he keeps fucking you, pushing it deeper and deeper inside. He’s moaning, chanting your name like a prayer at the heavens. 

When the moment ends he slumps over you, eyes half lidded and tired. There’s a familiar grin on his lips, one that inspires both comfort and uneasiness in your gut. You can’t help but stare at him, at the blood that stains his chin and cheeks, that reddens his lips so beautifully. You want to reach out and touch him, touch his blood-soaked skin and see what it feels like, what it tastes like. What you taste like. 

His eyes slide to the side, finding your pulse again. You groan. Yes, you think. Please, yes. More. You don’t think you’ll ever get enough of that. Of his teeth in your flesh, of the euphoria flooding your veins. More, more, more, your mind chants. 

He chuckles lightly and shakes his head. “No, princess.” He raises a finger to trace the curve of your neck. “I took more than I should have…” His expression doesn’t tense with worry. His cheeks pull into a smile, those little dimples shining through. “But what can I say? You just taste so good.” Like he needs to emphasize his point, his tongue darts out to trace his lips, lapping up some of the remaining blood on his chin. “You taste like mine.”

You whine. More, more, more. It’s all you can think about. You lift an arm weakly. You want to pull him to your neck, to make him drink, to make him fill you with the heaven you had just moments ago. 

He catches your wrist and brings it to his lips, inhaling deeply. His lips split into another grin and you see his eyes spark again with the wildness you crave. 

“Not yet, princess.” he coos. “But soon.” His smile grows even wider, until those fangs are on full display, until you’re trembling again. “Forever,” he whispers.

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[homunculus-argument]

One worldbuilding thing that's always fun to do is take something you've encountered in the real world, and apply something similar with the same logic into your own. Like those sayings that have two halves, but people usually only know the first half and misunderstand the saying - like "birds of a feather flock together (until the cat comes)" or "great minds think alike (but fools rarely differ)." So I came up with a few for The Book I'm Not Writing:

Hungry dogs are loyal dogs (until someone else feeds them) - neglecting and mistreating your underlings may work as a short-term tactic for making them obey, but it's also a guarantees that they'll betray you at first chance.

The mouth of an idiot is as loose as the strings of their purse (so be there when gold may drop out) - just because nine out of ten things that someone says are completely useless doesn't mean you should dismiss them altogether. They might still know useful things, even if they can't tell it's useful.

Blood makes a foul dye (it stains, but it won't last) - here "foul" is often interpreted as "brutal" or "gruesome", when it's meant as "of low quality". Using violence as your way to establish dominance and maintain authority because it's easier than building networks of mutual trust and respect is as stupid and short-sighted as using blood to dye clothes because it's cheaper than proper pigment.

A fool will starve to death while waiting for grain to grow (but it is also a fool who'll slaughter an ewe an hour before it lambs) - Immediate problems require immediate solutions, but you'd better make sure that your drastic emergency solution is the right one.

A blind horse will go as you guide where a half-blind one dare not (both through the darkness and down a cliff) - an agent who doesn't know the purpose of their task will obey blindly, where one that knows some part of it might disobey out of distrust, but neither is as reliable as one that does see the big picture, can draw their own conclusions from the information they gather, and adjust their plans accordingly.