#i told them i was going to block them at the end of it and they said ok

[sturnmeovr]

♡‧₊˚ Babydaddy!Chris x Sweetheart!Reader – Emotional Support

Chris was a mess; it was three in the afternoon, and he was still in bed. Trapped under his thick comforter, hiding away from the sunlight that took over his bedroom. A groan leaves his lip whenever he hears light knocks coming from the other side of his room, “go away!” 

“C’mon kid,” Matt jiggles the knob, cracking the door slightly to poke his head in, “you gotta eat something — it’s been three days.” Nick abruptly kicks the bedroom door open with his foot, “you’re gonna eat these mini pizzas we cooked with love, just for you — or Matt is gonna hold you down while I shove them down your throat,” he spits out, stalking across the room and snatching the comfort off of Chris’ curled up figured. Chris fights his hardest to win the tug of war battle, but he loses, practically giving up, due to the lack of energy in his body. You’d think he’d be fully rested with all the 'sleep' he had gotten the last few days, never leaving his memory foam mattress unless his bladder told him he absolutely had to. Chris wasn’t sleeping his days away like his brothers assumed, a lot of the times he was up thinking about you and his unborn son. About how he ruined the only relationship he ever had with the girl who meant the most to him — the girl who was carrying his baby, the girl who he was certain he wanted to marry one day. 

The last conversation he had with you, he was telling you how sorry he was, how much he missed you, that he needed you home with him. Your only reply was that you needed more space, so that’s what Chris has been attempting to do. Only problem is — he can’t get you out of his fucking head. Chris often stays up all hours of the night, scrolling through your Instagram or the old snapchat conversations he had saved, looking at the old messages from when everything was normal and okay. He was absolutely gutted; he missed everything about you, and he wished he never took the bond you two shared for granted. 

“M’not hungry,” he croaks out, grabbing a pillow to throw over his head in an attempt to block the sunlight that blinds him. Matt lets out a lengthy sigh, “you have to eat something,” taking seat on the edge of Chris’ bed, and rubbing a hand down his back in a soothing manner. It killed him to see Chris in such a sad state, he was usually the life of the party, so it was odd seeing him moping around the house like he had been the last two weeks.

“Chris, seriously,” Nick chimes in, “it’s not the end of the world, kid.” Nick was a bit more insensitive to the situation than Matt because of how close he had gotten with you throughout yours and Chris’s relationship. You were like the little sister they'd never got, when Nick found out about Chris cheating on you, it broke his heart a little bit too. Nick didn’t pick sides, but he definitely showed you more support than he did his own brother. You were pregnant with his nephew for crying out loud. Chris was wrong and he knew that there was no excuse for his actions. Nobody wanted to see Chris in the state of mind he was in, but it wasn’t anyone else’s fault but his own. Nick definitely wasn’t the one to baby him, unlike Matt who loved playing the therapist role to both you and Chris. 

Chris dramatically throws his pillow back and glares at Nick, “it is the end of my world, Nick.” Nick rolls his eyes at Chris’ over-exaggerations, he knew you distancing yourself would last long since you were due in a couple weeks. Plus, you had been texting him the whole time you were gone, updating him on your plans and how you felt about the Chris situation. You were at a crossroads, but Nick knew you too well, he knew you'd crack once Chris applied enough pressure like you usually did.

The two brothers share a similar look, biting back smiles at Chris’ dramatics. Matt snatches the pillow away from him, “c'mon you’re getting up.” He tosses the pillow across the room, adding it to the pile of dirty laundry and Chris’ thick comforter. Another groan erupts from Chris’ chest, the mattress making it come out a bit muffled, “I’m not leaving from his bed until my baby momma tells me to.”

“Fine,” Matt huffs, crossing his arms over his chest, “I’ll FaceTime her so she can see how foul you look — seriously, man. I can smell your feet from the next room,” he tells him before tapping a few buttons on his phone. Chris lays there motionless, calling his brothers bluff. He didn’t think Matt would actually FaceTime you but when your voice sounds from the other side of the phone screen, “yes — Chris?” Concern weaved through your words like a tight braid, your tone makes Chris sit upright in one swift movement. As much as he wanted to cry out to you, confessing his true feelings and expressing how sorry he was, he didn’t want you to see him in the state he was in, he knew you'd feel bad. The last thing he wanted was you to be upset over his own fuck up. “What’s wrong with him?” your voice sounded worried. Chris would be lying if he said it didn’t make his heart warm, knowing you still cared made him feel like there was still hope to repair the relationship he damaged so badly. 

Matt opens his mouth to speak but Nick quick wittedly cuts him off, “let’s start with the fact that the kid hasn’t showered in days ‘cause he won’t leave his bed,” pinching the bridge of his nose in disgust. Chris knew his brother was just poking fun at him, only trying to lighten the mood by cracking jokes. A long sigh can be heard from your side of the phone, “well if he checked his phone then he’d know I’ve been texting him for over an hour.” As soon as the words leave your mouth, Chris' eyes widen and he's scrambling for his phone. He taps his finger against the screen a few times, only to reveal 6 unread messages and 2 missed calls for you. The last one reading - “I miss you 😑” 

Overjoyed with emotion, a bright smile forms, making his lips curve upwards. Chris stands up on his bed, tangling a hand thru his brown locks before snatching the phone from Matt, “you want to come over? I can pick you up, we can get dinner on the way,” he rambles on, desperately shooting out any suggestion, hoping and praying you'd take his offer. He didn’t want to miss the opportunity to see you. Your absence left him physically and mentally ill. 

“Yeah,” you squint at him, studying his expression. He looked thrilled and exhausted at the same time. Dark circles made their mark underneath his puffy, bloodshot eyes. His hair is messy and tangled like he hadn’t been using the apple scented conditioner you introduced to him while you were gone. Seeing him so unkept broke your heart, but not more than the revelation of him cheating. You shake your head, pushing the negative thoughts to the back of your mind before clearing your throat, “I need to talk to you.”

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶

The sight of an all-black, tinted out Audi parked in front of your best friend's house makes you take an uneasy breath — you knew exactly who it was. You sigh loudly, tugging your jacket on to protect you from the cool night air. Your best friend, noticing the hitch in your breath, chimes in from the open living room, “he’s here?” 

“Yea,” you breath out, your voice barely audible as you look over at her, “I’ll be back soon. Jus’ gonna get some food and talk for a little.” If it was up to your bestie, she’d lock you up and throw away the key for good, hiding you away from him at all costs. You can tell she’s stopping herself from saying what she really wants to, “be careful and make good choices,” she forces a toothless smile before turning her attention back to the tv. She didn’t want you to go back to Chris; she hated the emotional damage he forced on you, mainly because she was always the one to pick up the pieces once you were shattered and broken. She was a great form of emotional support for you, much like Matt was for Chris. Regardless of anyone else’s opinions on yours and Chris’s relationship, your due date was right around the corner, and you were vulnerable. You couldn’t fathom the idea of raising your newborn son without his father. Each time you thought about it the idea made you sick to your stomach. 

You make your way to his car, pulling the passenger door open to reveal your babydaddy. The familiar scent of his cologne sends a chill down your spine, it was comforting in a way. You sink down into the passenger seat, setting the purse he gifted you last week on the floorboard of his car. Chris was determined to win you back. He made sure he still came in clutch whenever you were craving random food combinations, he left presents and takeout food on your best friends' doorstep with cute notes attached to them - “not a gift to win you over, just a gift to show my appreciation” and “Chinese food because I know Bear won’t let you live without it. I miss you. I love you. I’m sorry.” It was sweet how attentive he still was, even if you weren’t one hundred percent present, he still showed he cared and that meant something to you, aside from his prior shitty decisions. 

“Hey,” he stretches, a gummy smile plastered on his face. You could tell he was happy to be within a close vicinity of you. You set your eyes on him, taking his appearance; he was freshly showered and doused in his signature, making it obvious he was trying to look his best for you. As weird as it sounds, you missed the smell of him so much that it was always like a new craving for you. He shoots you a playful look, already reading your mind because he knew you that well. “You look good today,” he coos, placing a hand on your thigh to give it a squeeze. His firm grip sends tingles thru your core, his touch was another big thing you had been craving while you two were apart. 

You swat his hand away while a dark shade of redness makes its way to your cheeks, making Chris throw his head back to bellow out a laugh, “too soon?” He knew he still had a certain effect on you which is why you never stay around him too long, you’d fold under pressure quick. As much as you wanted to let your smile break thru, there was no time for games. Furrowing your brows at him as you desperately try to hide your red cheeks, “this is serious, Chris — we don’t have time for jokes.” 

His smile falls into a slight frown, and he shifts in his seat, “I know that. Sorry, I jus’ miss you.” Chris reaches down into the compartment of his door, pulling out one of your current pregnancy cravings, “I got you gummy bears,” he presses his lips together in an awkward manner. It was weird to him, not being able to touch and kiss you like he used to – like he really wanted to. A mix of emotions swirl through your gut. You felt guilty for putting him through the emotional trauma of not having his nearly due girlfriend by his side, you knew he was worried if you’d come back to him, worried if Bear would come earlier or not. At the same time, it was validating that he cared enough to go through all these lengths just to get you back – camping outside of your best friend's house, showing up with presents and food cravings. The most important part was him actually leaving you alone when you told him you needed more space. It gave you a lot of time to think about your next move. Was Chris texting another girl worth throwing all the work you two put in?

“I miss you too, but that’s not the topic of discussion right now,” you mumble, looking down to your lap, smoothing a hand over your bumps as Bear kicks repeatedly as the sound of Chris' voice, like always. You weren’t there to make Chris feel worse about what he did, your absence was enough to make him sulk in his own sorrows. By the way his brothers had been texting you nonstop about Chris not even getting out of bed to do his bare minimum daily routine, you knew it was time to stop distancing yourself and actually work past the problem, whether it meant going back to him or not.

A faint smile forms at his lips when he hears you finally say you miss him, “you do, really?” One thing about this whole fucked up situation, Chris never failed to expression his emotions. It was a big change for him, but then again, he acted like a new man ever since he found out you were pregnant. 

“Of course I do, but that doesn’t —,” you fiddle with the sleeves of your jacket, your small voice getting interrupted by his raspy one, “it doesn’t excuse what I did.” You watch as he gnaws at his bottom lip out of nervousness, his wet hair making water stains on his white t-shirt, “nothing will — I know that, Y/N.” 

It was known Chris loved to call you his Sweetheart, so anything less was gut wrenching to you. He was more serious than you had ever seen him. Chris turns his body towards you, his hard gaze fixed on you as his own way of letting you know he meant everything he was about to say, “but I’m willing to do whatever it takes to prove to you that I can be a better man for you and Bear.” His words make their mark on you, making you nod in agreement to everything he was saying. Maybe it was his convincing demeanor or maybe it was because you missed his company. Or maybe it was because he was saying all the right words, telling you everything you wanted and needed to hear. You open your mouth to speak but quickly close it, not knowing what to say, so he does it for you, “I have a therapy consultation later this week,” he starts, clearing his throat before he reassures you once more, “I’m willing to do whatever it takes – however long it takes, seriously.”

You raise a brow at him, staying quiet as your thoughts run rampant through your head, picking at the skin on your fingers as you try to muster up a response. Therapy; he was willing to go through therapy if it meant keeping his relationship afloat and his family together. Chris can practically hear the gears turning in your head. He knew you were thinking carefully, going through all the possible outcomes, and weighing out the future, not only for your relationship but for your unborn son. Chris watches intently as you pick at your fingers, he had picked up on the nervous habit of yours a long time ago. He knew you too well. He wanted nothing more than to reach out and stop you from damaging yourself any further, but he knew it wasn’t the right time. Hot tears brim the waterlines of your eyes, you suck in a deep breath before looking at him, your mouth gaping open to speak but the words get stuck in the back of your throat once again.

You could see the pain in his eyes as he watches you struggle to speak, his voice lower than before, “I don’t want to miss anything.” He sniffles, a stray tear escaping his eye and rolling down his cheek, only to get whipped away by Chris’ large hand rather quickly. The sight of him crumbling in front of you made your heart ache, you knew what he was implying, he didn’t want to miss out on fatherhood or the chance at a picture-perfect family. You didn’t blame him; you wanted Bear to grow up in a two-parent household as badly as he did. Both you and Chris knew nothing other than being raised by two amazing parents, and that was a long-term goal for the two of you. A family, marriage, a few pets, and a big house on a large plot of land built specifically for your family; it was something you talked about and planned with him for the last eight months. The thought of letting go of all those dreams and goals you and Chris shared together made you queasy. 

He sucks in a breath, “fuck – sorry, I told myself I wasn’t gonna do this in front of you,” letting out a deep breath and pulling sleeves over his hands to collect the tears spilling from his eyes. You sink back in your seat, his outburst felt like he drove a stake right thru your heart, he had never been this open with you. Of course, he expressed how badly he wanted you back and how sorry he was, but he never broke down crying and pleading for you back. The therapy consultation just topped it off, he was willing to work through his faults for his family. You look over at Chris, his body hunched forward while his head is buried in his hands, his wet hair still making water marks on his white t-shirt. 

“I’ll come home,” your voice is shaky and your hands tremble. Chris picks up his head in one swift movement, fixing those icy blue arctics on you. He wipes his face, sniffling once more, “you will? Y’really mean it?” His words come out pushed together as he fights back his sobs. You nod to him, holding your index finger up, “under one condition.” 

Chris’ eyes are puffy, his face red from crying, “anything – anything you want – y'name it.” The urgency in his voice tells you he’s serious, “I’ll sleep on the couch, diaper duty forever – anything, sweetheart.” He lets his intrusive thoughts win by scooping your hand up, interlocking your fingers and bringing it up to his mouth to plant a light kiss to the back of it. The feather-like feeling of his lips leaves goosebumps on your arms and a pool forming between your thighs, you bite back the smile pulling at your lips before looking him in the eye seriously, “couples therapy.”

wc - 3163

♡‧₊˚ Cheys Note - Long awaited 🫣 I'm so sorry, I rewrote this twice and I still don't know if I like it or not 😩😩 I hope you guys enjoy, though!! Name reveal coming soon if you guys haven't figured it out already 😋😋🫶🏻 Lmk what you guys think, I apologized in advance to everyone I pissed off with this one lmfaoo. Love you guys <3

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[fandomnerd9602]

Overstepping

Stepsister!Wanda Maximoff x Reader

You didn’t mean to overstep but you had to.

Ever since your mom and her dad met, you knew you loved Wanda Maximoff.

Her brother Pietro went to stay with Wanda’s mom on the other end of the continent so Pietro, in the rare occasion you met him, told you to always protect her. Even now with you and her in college, you protected her with the same love and care that any step sibling would do

And so that brought you to just five minutes ago. You found yourself outside your shared apartment to find Wanda in the car of her current boyfriend. Said boyfriend was trying to feel her up and she wasn’t having any of it.

“I said no!” You could hear her say as you ran up to the driver’s door.

“Why not, Wanda?!” The jerk replied, “stop being such a nun and-“

He didn’t get to finish that sentence as you threw open his door and pulled him out, socking him across the face.

“She said no!” You shouted in his face before throwing the jerk to the pavement.

The guy tried to take a swing at you but you blocked and socked him square in the jaw again.

“(Y/N)! That’s enough!” Wanda shouted at you as she got out and marched to the apartment.

You followed her into the apartment and locked the door to ensure that the jerk couldn’t make a comeback.

“I can defend myself” Wanda tells you as she paces the living room.

“I know you can,” you answer back, “doesn’t mean you should have to do it alone”

“Why do you care?”

“Wanda, with Piet living on the other side of the country, someone’s gotta be the protective sibling here!”

“You never liked my boyfriend…well I guess ex-boyfriend now” Wanda retorts.

“The guy was a jerk”

“Yeah…” Wanda sits down on the sofa.

“Why did you go for him? You can do so much better” you take a seat next to her. Without even thinking she laid her head against your shoulder.

“Can I? Truly?”

“Yeah.” You chuckle, “I could treat you better than he ever could”

You bit your tongue. You didn’t mean for that to come out.

Wanda simply looked at you, her eyes now full of the adoration and love that you had gotten so used to seeing. “Yes. I know you will”

“W-Will?” You asked, trying to somehow comprehend the fact that a) you had these feelings buried so deep for so long and b) your stepsister was reciprocating them.

“(y/n)?”

“Y-yeah?”

She took your face in her hands, “you were the one that almost got away. I’m not letting you go”

And with that, Wanda kissed you tenderly. You held onto her, kissing her back.

You pulled back to look her in those beautiful emerald eyes of her to whisper a promise back, “i will never let you go”

This was gonna be quite the conundrum to explain to your mom and her dad.

Tags @lifespectator @supercorpdanbeau @multi-fandom-enjoyer @moonlit-imagines @moonlit-ficrecs @scarletquake-n7 @pinklawyerwinnerzonk @russianredassassin @revanshand @texaswolf23

[lolitastories]

Ripples

Rafe Cameron

Part 1. Part 3.

“People can be such assholes!” I groan, slamming the interrogation door behind me. “Get him back in a cell,” The novice officer nods and rushes past me.

“You’re bleeding,” I lean against his desk, giving him an annoyed look.

“Really?” I roll my eyes, placing my hand on my forehead again. I could feel blood coming from my eyebrow. “Jon be a good boy and tell the Sergeant I got something.” He turned in his chair, huffing out. He hated talking to the Sergeant and that's because for some reason he got on his bad side. He was a good officer but very nosy too.

“Don’t go bleeding on my desk!” I smile moving away and falling into his chair. I scavenge his drawers looking for the first aid kit. We had thankfully found the fisherman and arrested him with no problem. The problem came when he got pissed after spending almost 2 hours being questioned.

“Hey!” My fingers freeze as I sit up hearing a well known voice call out to me. “Julie just told me you finished with your interrogation.” I twisted my head, “I was worried so I decided to wait-” His expression changed and I flicked my head back avoiding eye contact.

“You waited since I left the country club?” Although he has done it before, it still warmed my heart.

“Yeah…”My hand awkwardly moved around the paperwork on the desk trying to act busy. “What happened to your face?” From the side of my eyes I felt him try and move closer but I was quick to slip out.

“I got work Rafe,” For a split second I turned to give him a smile and began to walk in the opposite direction. “I will talk-”

“No. There is no, I will talk to you later,” He sped up and blocked me from taking another step. I twist my body but his hand grips my chin and pulls me to look up to him. “Did that guy do this?” I don’t know why but the way his eyes were inspecting my wound or the way his thumb slightly caressed my chin, it was such a simple act but I melted. “My sweet girl,” My body felt like it was floating, like if he were to walk away I would follow like a lost puppy. His demeanor was so calm, so different from what many people in this island think Rafe could ever be.

“I’m okay Rafe,” It was a whisper but due to how close we were I knew he heard me. “Nothing that hasn’t happened before,” I grip his wrist and pull his hand away. I knew he was going to say something about it but thank god someone interrupted us.

“Detective,” We both turned our heads hearing the voice of the Sergeant behind me.”Nice to see you Mister Cameron,”

“How are you Sergeant?” They smile, shaking hands and I feel like a third wheel on the side. 

“Can’t complain,” He lets out a laugh. He turned his head towards me. “Other than a future bruise, you got something else?” I smile hearing the humor in his tone.

“He was telling us nothing at first until I showed him the video footage from the country club. He offered her a ride on his boat. He said she freaked and jumped out. But I know there is more that he is hiding”

“I know how persuasive you can be so I know that didn’t earn you that” He pointed at my wound.

“I might have slipped in his daughter in the conversation. I wanted to ask if you can do something about the warrants?” The fisherman had a prior charge involving his daughter. It ended with him not being able to see or even contact her until she is of age and can make the choice herself.

“You got it. And how about next time you play nice?”

“You got it Sergeant.” I simply nod. I take a turn to the side to allow him to move past me.

“Can I have a word?” My brows furrowed, what does Rafe have to talk to him about?

“Of course Mister Cameron,” I watch them walking away together.

“What the fuck?” I throw my hands up in confusion. Deep down I was feeling a little disappointed.

“What? Pouting because your boyfriend didn’t give you some kisses for that boo boo?” I laugh at Jon’s stupidity. Maybe there was some truth in his words but I was too prideful.

“What are you, 5?” I opened his bottom drawer where I had seen the first aid kit. “I wasn’t pouting.” I opened it up and pulled out an alcohol wipe.

“You choose to deny the pouting but not that he is your boyfriend?” My jaw dropped. 

“Noted.”

“Shut up.” I throw the wrapper at him, earning a laugh. “Stop laughing and get the fisherman into integration again,” We only have a certain time to keep them detained and I needed more answers.

“What?’ I drop the wipe at Jon’s sudden jump from his seat. “They signed his release 20 minutes ago.”

“Who did?”

“The officer said you told him.” When the fuck did I do that?

“I told that dumbass to put him in a cell, not to sign him off.” I slam my fist on his desk. I let out a heavy sigh and looked over to Jon. “Try and find out where he is and I will get the Sergeant to hurry with the warrant so we can have a reason to arrest him again.”

“You don’t think he would willingly agree to be questioned by you again?” I let out a fake laugh.

“Get to it. I don’t want to fire two people today.” He puts his hands up in defense before rushing away. I pick up the clean alcohol wipe and trash it before walking towards the room the Sergeant and Rafe walked too. As I walked closer I could hear faint words. I lean my ear against the door,

“Fuck the, innocent until proven guilty. Those people should be handcuffed while being in there. He shouldn’t have been able to hurt any woman let alone mine.” My eyes fell shut. A little smile played on my lips as a warm tingle formed in my chest.

“How can he sound so casual when all I have done is pushed him away?” I mean other than the kiss but that was less than 3 hours ago. I cleared my throat pushing the door open. “Sorry to interrupt Sergeant.”

“Your good detective, what happened?” I awkwardly forced my eyes to stay on something other than Rafe. I could always feel the amount of warmth when he was looking at me but at this moment It became more evident.

“The rookie released the fisherman and I need you to check on the warrant to see how soon we can get him back.” If things like this always fell back on my I would have worry line all over my face but the Sergeant was always good at keeping calm.

“Consider it done. Have you sent out for a search?” I nod as I release my hold on the door knob to let him through.

“Yes, when we find him I will be waiting outside for your call.”

“No.” I step back, seeing him pause. He turned around as I was halfway through the door frame. “Jon will take care of that. You will go home and take care of that wound.”

“But-”

“Take care of yourself. You will have your fun again when we get him back here and that could be hours so go home.”

“Yes sir.” He nods accepting my look of defeat. He has never sent me home for a simple cut or a bruise. My eyes open in realization. “What did you say to him,” There goes another door slammed as I walk towards Rafe. A grin was already playing on his lips. “What did you do Rafe?” Oh that blind affection I was feeling a moment ago was long gone.

“I didn’t do anything,” He shrugged. His tall figure moved closer, one hand cupping my face and the other removing my hair from it. “But he is right, you need to go home and rest.”

“Rafe I am not a little girl, this is my job and I have to be here. I don’t need you messing around with this.” It came out like a whine but I didn’t care.

“But you are my girl.” Okay, I am blind again. Fuck wondering how the hell he does this everytime. My arms falling like a ragdoll to my side. “You haven’t taken a day to yourself in months and you heard him, as soon as they catch him they will call you.” I let out a sigh of defeat. “You need to learn how to shut that pretty head of yours and not try to control everything.” I roll my eyes at the feeling of being scolded.

“I am not your girl Rafe,” I looked him up through my lashes.

“Yet.” He moves his body closer until I can feel his chest against mine. “Take all the time you want,” His hands slide down my neck, shoulders, until the circle around my waist. His warm breath moved to whisper in my ears. “I can wait.” I shake my head denying his words. My head didn’t want to believe he said that, no. What he did was demand me. Demand that I grip the front of his black shirt. Demand me to pull him closer until our lips touched once again. Demand that I stumble back with him until we bump into the table behind me. As he grabs my waist and places me on the table he demands that I wrap my legs around his waist and not to let him go.

“Baby,” He pulled away but didn’t he just ask me not to let him breathe? I pull him back into a more intense kiss. My fingers gripping the back of his neck as my tongue slides into his mouth earning a moan. My hip pushing against his and in seconds I could feel him. “Wait,” He pulls away once more. “As much as I want to fuck you right now-” He lets out a moan as my fingers slide past his waist line and into his pants. It was tight but I found a way to wrap my hand around him. “You are making it fucking difficult.” He groans. He grips my chin forcing me to look up.

“Want me to stop?” I bat my eyelashes and I begin to move my hand up and down with a tighter grip. He lets go falling forward. His hands grip the table on both sides, caging me. His forehead fell to rest on my shoulder and I could see how he was trying to control his breathing. “Shit,” I moaned, feeling him rub up against my core with his bulge. It sent a shiver down my spine but I couldn’t allow him the satisfaction, not when I loved the feeling of him coming undone with only my hand.

“No!, Faster,”My pace increased with every noise escaping his lips. My toes curled and the room around us became hotter. His thrust against my core became sloppier making my breath hitch when I felt my core tighten.

“Rafe?” I bit my lip holding back a moan.

“Keep going baby,” He whined. So soft, so good.” I swiped my thumb over his tip causing him to gasp and linger his thrusts with more force. “Don't-” He said dryly, shaking his head. “Don’t make this quick for me. Been waiting so long for just a touch,” I smile loving how he wasn’t afraid to show he needed me.

“Really?” I tease slowing down.

“Mh-hm” He nods eagerly, pulling his head up to find my eyes. As I admire how tightly he closes his eyes my mind moves to imagine how beautiful he was. I paused for a moment and took my time scaling my fingers up and down. Feeling every vein, curve, counting the inches, how thick he was to not fit in my hand. “Do what you want with me, I am here for you.” He lets out a sigh of relief when I continue pumping his dick. Now with more meaning and purpose. “Yes baby,”He stuttered out. His brow furrowed trying to hold back but I knew it couldn’t be for much longer. My fingers glazed effortlessly up and down with the help of his precum coating his dick.

“So good”He twitches at my words telling me he was done for. With a deep groan his lips parted. I sped up my hand the best I could in the confinement of his pants.

“I’ve been good,” He nods eagerly. He began to throw whimpers and curses as he came all

over my hand. Hot ropes of cum smearing through my fingers. I held back a satisfied laugh as I continue to work him through his orgasm, “You’re a dream, a fucking dream.” My hand slowly came to a stop once I knew he was done. I removed my hand and waited until he opened his eyes, a prominent tint of his cum right on my finger. I ran my tongue teasingly cleaning it up, catching how his breathing got caught up. “Baby you do that again and I will have to put a baby in you.”

[tsuyalovebot]

don't make me wait forever.

pairing: xia yi zhou / caleb x reader (love and deepspace)

cw: sfw. semi-prominent reader characterization (spoiled, occasional use of she/her pronouns, referred to as a "little sister" once). kisses. casual touches. throat holding (both by reader and by caleb). use of "older brother" to address caleb (not by reader). pipsqueak as a term of endearment. reader wears makeup. some spoilers from tender moments, memoria, and bond story. caleb typical warnings (manipulation if you squint).

wc: roughly 3-4k words. unnecessary word vomit.

author's note: a man who yearns is a man who EARNS. hi, it's me again! i had an idea and had to bring it to life. enjoy! ( ^ -. ^ )

Caleb wasn't lying when he said he spoiled you too much as children.

You didn't quite get it at first—he was nothing but sweet with the occasional menace during childhood, sure, but he didn't spoil you spoil you.

You were leaning into his chest, eyes closed while listening to the TV in the background as his large arm wraps itself around your waist. Tucking you against him, feeling his lips against the crown of your head.

"I baby you too much," he sighed, a mellow cheeriness beneath his words.

"And yet, you sound so happy over it," you grumbled. Sleep is so close yet so far, and you'd been squirming around in search of the closest boarding gate. His touch delicate as he pulled you onto his lap.

You snuggled closer on instinct. Picking up on the faint smell of sandalwood and something finer, richer. There was movement on your back, Caleb's palm stroking up and down, while the other held you by the back of your neck like an infant.

"I spoiled you, too."

You frowned, looked at him blearily. "Nuh-uh."

"Uh-huh." He pushed your head back onto his shoulder. "Go to sleep."

Sure, Caleb took extensive measures to ensure your comfortable upbringing with him. But you weren't spoiled.

Right?

But you go on your first date with someone that isn't him, and it kind of hits. Making an offhanded comment about how the water temperature was more cold than warm—you asked for room temp—doesn't result in your date immediately requesting another glass or them buying you bottled water from the convenience store across the restaurant.

Instead, you're told, "they probably forgot, it's fine" and the date continues. You watch the condensation form on your glass quietly. Every rational droplet is speaking to your acrid gut feeling—it's just water. It'll be room temperature eventually.

Later on, your date messages you. They asked if you got home safely, all the while you'd been drinking a glass of lukewarm water in Caleb's dining room. You pressed block once you heard his familiar, curious voice asking how the date went.

"It was meh." And you asked for another glass.

Another time, you'd been hanging out with old high school friends as a simple gathering. Though, you hadn't expected that it would lead to seemingly endless anecdotes in relation to you. Over fruit smoothies and café pastries, they'd all been exchanging stories once the conversation turns over to yourself in high school.

"Remember when she would always ask us to do stuff?" One girl laughed, cutting into her french toast.

Another cleared her throat, exaggerating her voice into a falsetto, "hey, can you get me a bun from the cafeteria? Oh, there's no more? Then, a banana milk and whatever pastry they have."

It earned a crackle of laughter along the table of five people. You, the object of discussion, smiling at the head of the table. Rather awkwardly, too, as you sipped on your drink.

"You forgot to add on the "you can do that at least, right?" at the end!"

"Oh, oh, the sulking too, if you don't do it!"

"She'd always complain about our fans, too."

"Oh my God, yeah. "Why does your fan battery run out so quickly? Did you not charge it?" Like, hello?"

One of the girls face you amidst the active exchange, grinning. Despite the recollection of your nature in the past, they weren't mad. Simply taking the entertainment value in it.

"Don't worry," and she said your name, placing a hand over yours on the table.

"You've got an older brother, right? It may have been annoying, but we're friends. You were like, our little sister."

A muscle in your jaw ticked. His face popped up in your face and you wanna punch him, despite him being nowhere near you at the time of this event. But, you laughed and nodded; acquiescing to her reassurance was easier this way.

It slipped out once more when you go out for movies with Tara. It's the same theater you and Caleb always frequented before. You already swiped your card for payment of movie food, and had besn walking to the screening room.

"Tara, can you check the bucket? Make sure it has enough butter on it?"

"Hm? Okay," she replied. While you scrolled on your phone, you heard the plastic lid of the bucket pop open.

"Seems good to me. You check."

When you move your attention over to the bucket, you're met with mediocre-looking buttered popcorn. The golden syrup of butter scattered over the pieces. You frowned. Since when were they so shy about buttering literal corn?

You stopped walking, brows furrowed. "It's so... pale. Let's go back and ask for more, I didn't pay for that."

"Huh? Oh, okay?" You didn't really register Tara's confused tone of voice until after you had a spat with the person at the popcorn station.

It was some moody teen probably working minimum wage. He was scowling while you talked about the butter portioning.

He sneered, "over some popcorn? Really? Were you that spoiled as a kid?"

It winded you. Tara was pulling at your arm, seeming to try and hold you back despite you being frozen. The manager came out once the commotion seems to stop, only because you were gobsmacked.

He'd been apologizing profusely to you and Tara upon recognizing you both as hunters; his eyes had landed on you with so much familiarity. He's probably been working here for a decade or so. Long enough to have previously seen you and Caleb at movie screenings.

Tara's at the butter dispenser of the self-service station—something they closed over half a decade ago apparently, but frantically opened for today, coincidentally—with you behind her when she finally spoke

She was a bit bewildered, but it was easy to pick up the lighthearted tone. "I didn't take you for the pampered type. That was the normal amount of butter on popcorn for most places."

You shook your head. "No, it wasn't. I was a regular here in the past. Every time we got a bucket of popcorn, they were always so generous with the salted butter."

"By yourself?"

"No, with my friend."

There'd been a pause between you two. She pressed the lid back into place and begun shaking it, the popcorn rattling. Then, she turned to you, like she knew something that you didn't.

"And you never once thought this friend scared the employees into putting extra butter for you back then?"

It always went back to him.

Whenever you'd go to a colleague's place and bore holes into the crooked cuts of the apple slices on a plate, you found yourself recalling Caleb's expert cuts. These ones weren't even red delicious apples.

You're a bit peeved when the food from the monthly catering service at the Association doesn't taste the same way that Caleb makes it, even though the food is the same kind and recipe.

Your next trip to Skyhaven is definitely highly anticipated. You're been exhausted and haggard for the past few days. It only amplifies as the day stretches on, grimacing when Caleb opens the door. He's surprised to see you, panting and sweaty in his white tanktop. Fresh from a workout, most likely. It makes you a bit, a tiny bit, mad.

"Pipsqueak? What's the occasion?"

"You," you hiss, releasing your hold on your suitcases. You kick off your shoes as you push your way into his place, pointing an accusing finger to his chest.

Caleb's confused. It's clear in the furrow of his brow and frantic blinking that his synapses are doing rapid fire checking of what today is, what he's said or done recently, what stores are on sale, and what snacks you need.

Despite being the one who said he himself spoiled you, he clearly has no idea how it's manifested in your life, and it pisses you off even more.

"I'm the occasion?" He squawks, confused. "It's too early for my birthday—"

"You and your stupid past self. I should have your head on a stake," you bark, slamming your fists onto his pecs, pushing him further into his own home.

He laughs a bit, still completely in the dark, but his voice gets a bit more pitchy.

He leans down, cranes his gargantuan ass down to your height. It's polite. You know this, he's done it countless times. But your gut speaks to you. You're going to throttle him.

"Huh? What did I do?"

"You piss me off!"

His face softens with concern. His hands come up, ghosting over yours. He murmurs your name—

Then you're gripping him by the neck. You get to drink in the way his eyes widen to saucers as your fingers delicately wrap around his throat, palms on either side. You don't squeeze, and instead, aggressively shake him. "Pipsqueak?"

"You spoiled me!" You shriek, voice shrill with accusation.

Frustration, the buildup from the past couple of weeks comes to full fruition in this very moment. It's only for a split second that you see realization dawn on Caleb's face before you continue yelling.

"I relied on others to get me snacks because of you, I complain over batteries because of you, now I want specific water temperatures, I can't stand pale popcorn because you demanded extra butter, I'm picky over food—"

"Hey—"

"Don't you hey me, mister!" You jut your finger up at his face, and he shuts his mouth instantly. "I'm like this, because of you!"

You don't miss the glitter of mirth in those stupidly ethereal eyes of his, and it's wholly unreal how your anger amplifies when you notice his twitching lips. He found this funny.

"You're laughing?" You whisper, low and indignant. You squeeze his throat, feel his breath pass under the skin. Adrenaline riveting and real in the low thrum of your heartbeat.

"I'm here, devastated over the effect of your stupid actions on my life, and you're laughing?"

"Devastated?" Caleb echoes. The idiot sounded delighted over this. Like he was finding a great deal of validation in your admission.

A grin quirks his lips into its signature, charming curve, and he's leaning down into you some more. One of his hands sliding over yours with a gentleness only he could emulate. Your resolve stutters, and he's quick to take advantage of that.

"Oh, please, pipsqueak." He chuckles. "That's not true and you know it."

His fingers gently slide between the gaps of yours, making room for himself and filling the emptiness. Effectively peeling them away from his throat, and doing the same to the other hand. You relent, letting your arms hang loosely at your sides.

Caleb's still smiling when he takes a step forward, crowding your space now. It doesn't register that he's cornered you until your back is flat to the closed door and you're surrounded by him and everything about him.

The very man who's fed you every granule, acquainted you with the taste of having the world at your every whim. A charged zap runs up the base of your spine when he lifts your chin.

"If you were really devastated, you'd have come here cryin' instead. You'd be on your knees, weepin' over how I've ruined you. Not yelling and screaming and accusing me," he coos, sickly sweet. His thumb rubbing below your lower lip.

"Are you done? Do you feel better after getting it all off your chest?"

His gaze feels abysmal. Two pools of an oceanic depth, spatial and intergalactic and beyond your comprehension. Hungry.

Something darker lurks there. That one look that flickers in and out of conversations whenever you're close to him, or when the topic tilts into something that you know you shouldn't be touching. Like he's satiated, but still craving more and more. You feel small under it every time.

"Even a kid knows how to manipulate their guardian into givin' them what they want."

The double meaning, one of comparing you to an immature brat, isn't lost on you. Heat crawls up your skin as your cheeks round with the scrunch of your nose. Ready to retaliate with equal venom, even if his words weren't inherently insulting.

But, before you even could, the expression on his face stops you in your tracks.

It's like looking at the colonel. Caleb cocks his head to the side, expression clinically cold. "When someone is speaking, we?"

He stares. He's waiting for a response, you realize.

You finish his sentence, pacified. "We listen."

"Good. Seems you still have the manners I taught you."

Your face heats up.

That stupidly patient smile on his lips was grating on your nerves, far more than any revelation of his ingrained presence in your every action, thought, word, and emotion.

His thumb is soon pressed flush to your lips. He isn't prying it open like he did before, instead rubbing the pad of his thumb along your lips, caressing the divot of your cupid's bow. He's playing with the glossy texture and film of your lippie, smearing it past the corner of your lips.

The first thing you want to do is push him away. Shove him, hard, and make space between the two of you so that your train of thought could return. Yet, the softness that decorates his grape-colored irises was making you hesitate. He's an annoying guy, someone who gets on your nerves, with featherlight caresses and an admiration so sincere.

Rouge stains the pad of his digit when he draws it back. He's curious, his gaze thoughtful as he examines the pigment. Then, you're watching as he lifts it to his mouth with a deliberate kiss. Lashes fluttering over his cheekbones.

When he drops his hand, the scarlet pigment is smeared over his lips like a brand.

You're burning alive. You reach up, immediately trying to wipe it from his lips. "You—"

"Weirdo? I know." Caleb catches your hand with ease, beaming with half-lidded eyes. "Buuut, you're just as weird as me for lettin' me do that, y'know."

He's making a point. You're going to gut him alive, you think to yourself. In stealing an indirect kiss from you, he's replicating every scenario you've ever bared yourself to him. How easy it is, to melt in one's earnest wonder and affection, unable to say no.

In an attempt to regain your composure, you scowl with all the feigned vitriol you could muster. "You're even weirder for condoning my every action."

He cocks his head, like he was reloading a couple memories from the past. The countless times he let you get away with things.

"It's... not that easy for me, pipsqueak."

"Yes, it is." You huff and free your hand from his grip. Settling your palms flat over his chest, fingers curling into the stretchy fabric. "Telling me no couldn't have been that hard."

"Yeah?" He teases. "You think it's that simple for me?"

"Grandma could handle me."

Caleb deadpans at your mention of her, his face relaxing into something like bemusement.

"If Gran or I took away your stuffed animal to clean it, you'd kick and scream and cry. If I denied you of your favorite food or a candy apple, you'd say you hate me."

You blink. That wasn't the response you were expecting. All of a sudden, you feel like someone's wiped your mind of everything you've ever known, and redefined your recollections of childhood. Embarrassment crawls up your face in burning streaks.

"Gran could handle you?" He repeats, shakes his head with a sad look.

There's a pained aspect to his current physiognomy, the furrow of his brow, the deepened set of his mouth. "That's because it's her. Of course, she wouldn't mind your cries. But I did."

He crouches, and for a moment, it was as if he was falling. The sunlight filtered in through the glass of the door behind your head, catching on the nutty brown strands of his hair. Cradling his head against the junction of your neck and shoulder, hiding away his face.

"I didn't want you to hate me." He admits, the words fanned over your throat. You inhale deeply, and his familiar scent invades your senses. You hope that stupid central organ wasn't too loud, or else he'd hear the beating of your pulse working double time.

Caleb's a constant in your life. He was a pillar, from youth 'til now, that never failed to offer you assistance regardless of the circumstances. You knew him to be reliable, persistent, generous. Perhaps it plays into the way he's coated your teeth in sugar, nipping at your enamel in a thick film that tastes of sweetness.

Yet seeing him like this, frustrated and amused and annoyed—it was unfounded.

"I didn't know much." The vulnerability was low yet blaring. "I just knew I didn't want you to hate me. I knew I loved seeing you happy. And if I denied you, you weren't happy."

It's too black and white. So childish and simplified. It's an easygoing description of his feelings toward you during early youth, one that could easily be swallowed up and consumed by the nasty nature of the world.

Yet, you card your fingers through his hair. Press your lips to his temple all the same, and listen to his utterances.

Your bottom lip is jutting out before you can stop yourself. And in spite of his own admissions, the uncomfortable nakedness that comes with it, you mumble a pointed, "you made me high maintenance."

"You're only figurin' that out now?" He snickers against your skin and the subsequent vibrations make you jump. "Pipsqueak, everyone's known you're high maintenance."

You protest, "that's not true."

"Yes," he says, amused. "It is."

Peeling away from your neck, Caleb's face is less grave now. Relief floods your senses and you cup his face, smoothing over the corners of his lip to wipe away the frowns. There's a weight behind you that isn't the door, his palm a welcome touch as his fingers splay over the small of your back.

His other hand resting on the side of your throat, fingers resting on your nape and thumb rubbing the ridge of your jaw. The motion is soothing, and you close your eyes to memorize its rhythm.

"Even if you're high maintenance, I'm the one who caused it. Allegedly."

You bristle and your eyes fly open, "allegedly? There's proof—"

"Ah-ah."

Caleb's brows are raised on his forehead as you pipe down, amused by how quick you were to correct your behavior.

"Much better. As I was saying."

Despite the extra firmness to his voice, his touch on you was nothing short of gentle. Like your body was carved from marble, reinforced by a fragile porcelain, he does that thing where he tilts your head with the hand on your neck. His thumb rubbing your earlobe.

But the most violating part had to be those intense, smoldering eyes that beheld you with utmost priority. How did you ever think he didn't care for you?

Caleb's tone of voice is chiding. "You're high maintenance because of me, and that makes you mine to maintain."

He's talking down to you. Treating you like one would to a child learning how to tie their shoelaces, his voice chiseled with the vines of condescension. Heartbeat speeding in your chest, distinguishing your heartbeat from your rampant thoughts became far more difficult.

The little smile that's on his lips seems manic. Far away, distant, as you slide your hands over his pecs. A shudder ripples over your skin.

"After all, it's my fault for making sure you're comfortable. It's my fault for prioritizing you above all else, as children and as adults." He starts, chillingly calm. He shakes his head to himself with a deep sigh, and tilts your head back against the door. Examining you with an unblinking, almost detached visage. Yet, his words were anything but, thick with emotion.

You breathe slow, torturous inhales and exhales, feeling Caleb's hand wrap itself around your throat. Alarms ring out in the back of your mind—loud, incessant, disturbing, yet you close your eyes and let him hold you there.

He won't hurt you. He never would, intentionally.

Quietly, like a forbidden fruit to not be consumed or heard, he mutters, "it's my fault for wantin' nothing but the best for you, because it's what you deserve. Nothing less."

Oh, you breathe out.

There's absolutely no pressure to the way he holds your neck. His palm wasn't against the column of your throat, instead, the pads of his thick digits were clasping the skin with a touch so invisible it almost felt nonexistent. When you swallow, the flexed skin presses itself up to his touch.

"Do you really want me to take it back?" Caleb asks, breaking the momentary silence and taking you out of your thoughts.

You blank out for a moment too long. "What?"

"You came over to let me know I've spoiled you beyond reversing repair, without wantin' me to change?"

Why did you come over? Why did you decide to come up to Skyhaven one day, literally days away from your regular times of visiting him? Over something like this? Literal outdated information that you've only recently discovered.

Why? You don't know, but you're rushing to speak, holding onto his top. "That's not what I—"

"It's not what you what?"

He tilts his head down toward you and every coherent thought exits your headspace instantly. God, his eyes. They're darker now. Frustration brimming in the burning fuchscia, the indigo of his irises all-consuming.

"I can stop pamperin' you starting today." He offers.

The surfacing ache in your chest is abrupt, disruptive.

"Starting today, I won't buy your favorite snacks. I won't ever pat your head again. I'll leave you to fend for yourself in every fast food line, and you can get your own stuff when we go shopping. You can even do your shopping alone. Is that what you want?"

No. No, it's not what you want, but how do you express that? An entity, so puissant and arresting, is crawling up your esophagus, scraping at the backs of your teeth, trying to pry your mouth open, and wail its truth into the minimal distance between you and Caleb. It's an ugly feeling, one stripping you down to your base needs.

Pain bleeds into his expression, his eyes only softening as a thought crosses his mind. "Are you gonna tell me you don't need me again?"

"Caleb, no," you manage.

"If not, then what's the problem? It's too late. If I've ruined you, you've destroyed me."

You destroyed him? When? You've never... When have you ever—?

Your chagrin spikes in time with your bewilderment. "I never did anything like that."

Caleb peered into your eyes. Your soul. Questioning, a bit disbelieving. Like he can't really believe your own blindness. An incredulous laugh slipping through his nose when he realizes you weren't lying.

He takes a step forward. You're fully sandwiched between him and the door now, and one of his arms come up to rest above you on the surface. "Caleb–"

"I can't go through the grocery store without thinking of what you want for dinner." He admits, the revelation so tender and tied with candor. Your words die on your tongue and dissolve.

"I can't do my laundry anymore unless it's with your brand of fabric softener, since it reminds me of you. Every time I try on a new jacket, I wonder how it would look good on you."

The information comes pouring out of him like a geyser. And his voice is full of nothing but love. You press your hands to his chest with more force, but he won't budge. Your ears are scalding and you're avoiding his gaze now, his face.

"You dedicated a journal to me. You came to every basketball game." Caleb laughs, breathless. A little in awe of you, so full of adoration. "You always visited Skyhaven when I moved out. You pretended to be my girlfriend. You didn't want me to get a girlfriend. You kissed me at my graduation."

He stutters over himself at the end, sighing deeply and it's making your stomach do flips. "God, you kissed me."

Really? You're burning. Did he have to bring that up?

He's pulling you out of your thoughts yet again, using his hold on your yielding neck to find your gaze once more. You could crumble into ashes right now. In fact, you hoped the floor underneath you would just swallow you whole and leave nothing behind for Caleb to dissect.

"You're think you're spoiled, pipsqueak?" Another laugh, and it's mixed with raspy agony and disbelief, shining in his stare. "I'm rotten."

In Caleb's home, you never really heard much commotion. Simply the low hum of the television in the background, the living room a few paces away. Yet, your heartbeat was the soundtrack to his life, and he's made it his favorite ringtone.

You could feel his own racing heart under your palm. He looks defeated now, conflicted. Oh, Caleb.

"You never wanted me to take it back." He says it to himself. Like he's trying to get himself to believe it.

"You just wanted reassurance that I'd never leave you, no matter how coddled you are."

The heart that's thudding rapidly against your ribcage was so fickle, so naïve. It might jump out of your throat at this rate—God, Caleb could probably feel your pulse like this.

Your mind's racing. There's only one way you could resolve this rift formed from these series of revelations and confessions. You weren't going to lose him again. He has no right to leave after this.

"You're so quiet now. Don't tell me you're thinkin' of runnin' away, pipsqueak." His voice is lighter, more in jest now. The first sign of distance, denial.

You clasp his wrist, and whisper, "I'll take responsibility."

"What?"

"I'll take responsibility. For ruining you. In exchange, take responsibility for me too." You declare, louder. You sound more sure.

He's blinking at you now. Then, his brows furrow and a bewildered laugh leaves him. Before he could reply, you push forward, not allowing him any time to recover.

"I'm in your hands now, aren't I? You said so yourself. You did this to me. I did this to you. I'm yours to deal with."

You wind your arms around his neck, hearing how his breaths stutter and feeling his hand leave your throat. You're on your tippy toes, pulling him down so you could settle back against the door, feeling his grip settle over your waist. It's a lovely sensation. One so right. It cements your resolve.

"The only ones who can handle us are each other. Nobody else."

You don't know what you're saying anymore.

But you know you like the rising determination, you like whatever this is. You like the hope that swims in his gaze. The fear that's within them, terrified of this being one of your pranks. It wasn't; you'll prove it to hom.

"You can't make all these promises and leave me alone," You speak in a hushed tone, finality thick in the waver of your voice. You're leaning in before you can stop yourself and whispering, "I won't let you."

You can't help but feel like whatever game you two are playing now, you've lost. He's won yet again. Yet it doesn't quite feel like a loss this time around, not when Caleb's face is smoothing out into one of relief. One of contentment as he closes the distance.

The breath that fans over your mouth is hot and his voice is full of yearning, "I never planned on it."

[strzxrin]

Leo and Rowan with a female reader who is a virgin and wants to lose her virginity, but the boys keep manipulating her, saying that other guys won't treat her as well as they do, and she ends up trusting her childhood friends for this, so the task is given to the boys 😏

. . . she says she trusts me with her life !

in which . . . they told you to trust them for the most important moment in your life.

cw. fem!reader, overstimulation, being called a ‘good girl’, corruption (taking your virginity), dual penetration

pairings . lèo jaccoud x fem!reader x rowan collins

demon x reader , angel x reader , roommates x reader , childhood best friends x reader

notes . this was yummy to write. but on an honest note, good luck to yalls pussies 😇😇 this took me much longer to write tho.. my bad gang. writer's block is ass

masterlist . character wiki

“i don’t understand why you’re so adamant about wanting to lose your virginity, ma chérie” lèo sighs, shaking his head as he watches you cross your arms and in a way, throwing a bit of a tantrum about this — at least in his eyes he thinks about that. he glances at rowan who is just as tired of this as he was.

“especially to some random bloke you matched on that stupid dating app,” rowan continued as you groaned and hid your face for a moment. “you shouldn’t take your virginity for granted. leave it for someone special in your life” like them.

“plus, you never know, that man could just use you for your body and you probably wouldn’t be having the time of your life with it” lèo scoffs as you finally put your hands away from your face. 

“it’s not my fault that there’s no one who wants to date me. i want to experience the dating scene and i want to try it out, to see what’s so good about sex. can’t a girl dream?” you huffed out defensively as the two of them just looked at each other and then at you once more.

to be fair, they were the ones that are the reason why you aren’t dating anyone. they can’t help it! you are theirs since the moment the three of you met all those years ago. the two of them can’t let you go, and they for sure aren’t going to let some random guy who isn’t worth your time steal you away from them.

“if you’re so desperate, then let us do it,” lèo suggested, which made both yours and rowan’s eyes bulge out from the sockets. “i know for sure we can make you feel better than anyone could possibly do.” you were at a loss for words because frankly you didn’t think that he would even suggest that.

“what? what are you talking about, you guys don’t like me that way do you?” you asked as the both of them stayed silent before lèo spoke up once more “regardless if we like you or not, you were going to practically sell yourself to another guy, someone who you don’t even know, and won’t even have a connection with. at the very least, if you’re so desperate to lose your virginity, do it with people you know,”

rowan slowly started to nod his head in agreement with lèo, agreeing with the demon about this whole ordeal. though, he won’t outrightly say it. but still, the other makes a very good point.

“but won’t it be awkward if it’s with you guys?” you weren’t necessarily pushing the idea away — not because you were desperate to get your virginity taken so you settled for the only people there is, but because well, you always had a crush on both of them. you just wanted to gain some experience before you could even make a move so that at the very least, they won’t get disappointed by your lack of experience.

“i’d rather go through the pain of awkwardness than to know that you slept with a stranger on the internet” rowan finally says as lèo smiled and nodded at his words. you stood there awkwardly before sighing, finally giving into their whims.

“fine, but i’m going to smack you both if the sex isn’t good.”

but why is it that when you said that, the two of them had a certain glint in their eyes and almost a joyous look to have you agree on fucking them? well, you were about to know the reason why.

it was lèo who made the first move, gently pulling you from your standing position and down onto his lap as he made you look at him. “do you even know how to kiss, ma chérie?” he teased as you found yourself feeling flustered at the question. “hey now, it’s not my fault i have zero dating experience!” you say as the other chuckles softly.

to be fair, even both of them are virgins. they’ve been stuck to your side like glue, and refused to even fuck anyone else just because they don’t want to cheat on you. however it just felt like something in their bloodline on how they knew how to do these things. at least for lèo that is. rowan reads about it, and well, lèo teaches him about it too.

still, the demon can’t really help but smile at your words, humming “then i’ll teach you” he whispers, tilting your chin upwards so that you could actually look at him. you knew that he was always gorgeous but seeing him this close made your head spin a little bit. “open your mouth.. mhm, just like that, good girl” he whispers and you find yourself feeling flushed by the way he spoke to you.

he leaned in close to you and kissed you softly. he took it slowly guiding you through the process before he glided his tongue to your bottom lip and you opened your mouth slightly to let him enter. that’s when you feel his hand held onto your waist to pull you closer and keep you steady. the kiss was breathtaking and heady, and you couldn’t stop yourself from making noises to which he drank it in all the same way.

the kiss lasts for a minute, or maybe two? you can’t seem to tell with how light headed you felt. you gently gripped his shoulders, wanting to pull away to breathe and lèo reluctantly obliged. “you doing alright?” he asks, his breath a little hard as you nodded “uh.. yeah.. just needed a moment to breathe”

rowan, who was watching all of this happening, looked with a dazed expression before coming closer. your back now pressed against his body as he hummed. “while you take your breather, let me continue to make you feel good, alright?” he whispers into your ear as he leaned and kissed your neck ever so gently. it was a little ticklish at the start, but the way his lips moved and nibble ever so gently it made it obvious he was testing the waters and teasing all at once.

“r-rowan..” you whimpered as he hummed in response, littering your neck with kisses as his hands moved downwards, his hands cupping your breasts gently. “ah-! i.. i never realised your hands were big,” you commented shyly. his hands were large enough to cup your breasts entirely, and you hear a soft chuckle from the demon. “he really does have big hands, doesn’t he, ma chérie” 

you felt a little embarrassed since you’re practically sandwiched in between both of them, but all those thoughts left when the angel nibbled a rather sensitive part which made you squirm and moan at the same time. “ah~ so that’s where your sweet spot is,” lèo cooed before the hand that was on your chin made you look up at him “let me continue where i left off,” he whispers and he goes back to kissing you.

it wasn’t long before your hand had gripped onto his shirt to stabilise yourself while you were getting attacked with kisses. you feel rowan’s hands slipping underneath your shirt and pulled down your bra slightly so that he could actually feel you in his hands. his fingers felt cold and your nipples started to form stiff peaks which made the angel muse softly “excited already, aren’t you, darling?” he purred in your ears.

the one hand that was on your waist started to get a little impatient which made lèo pull away from the kiss to take off your shirt. with just one hand, he unclasped your bra and marveled at the sight of your breasts “well aren’t you just a pretty girl, hm?” you flush at his words before you felt his lips now going over to your breasts. rowan chuckles softly and lets go of one breast to tilt your chin upwards so that he could lean down and kiss you.

the demon began by kissing gently before his tongue swirled around your nipple, latching on it to make some marks that left you squirming on his lap and moaning into rowan’s lips. he alternates between the two breasts, making sure they get equal love and one of his hands went down to your skirt, lifting it up just gently so that he could play with your inner thigh. he could feel the heat and he shuddered a bit.

“are you wet already, ma amour?” he chuckled, his fingers teased their way to your panties, circling around your wet spot as you gripped tighter on his shirt. “you’re so cute, don’t you know?” he began to rub in slow gentle circles around your clothed nub and you squirmed even more.

rowan pulled away from the kiss and hummed “you like what he’s doing to you, sweetheart?” he asks as you nodded shyly. you let out a gasp when you felt your panties moved to the side and warm fingers slowly stroking up and down your slit. “l-lèo!” you whimpered out as the other let out a hum and watched you as he licked your nipple. “tell him what you want, sweetheart. use your words like a big girl,” rowan whispers as you feel your mind spin even more.

“p-please..”

“please what?”

“please.. please put it in–!” you gasp as you feel lèo’s fingers slipping into your slit. “shh.. relax, ( name ).. you’re tight right now” you nodded, trying to calm yourself down, but it felt really good. the demon’s fingers were bigger than yours, so even with two, you already felt more stretched compared to whenever you masturbated. 

“you’re squeezing onto my fingers, does it feel that good, hm?” you nodded before you felt some fingers at your lips too. you looked to see rowan smiling. “you shouldn’t forget me either” you parted your mouth and without thinking, you started to suck which made him let out a groan. “looks like your pretty lips do know other tricks,” rowan muses.

you felt another finger slip into your cunt and you moaned around rowan’s fingers. “shh, it’s okay.. you can take it. i know you can, princess” and that was when lèo decided to use his thumb to rub your clit. you squirmed, the sensation was overwhelming you and the demon hummed. the both of them continued to take it slowly with you, and it wasn’t long until lèo finally found your g-spot. 

your eyes rolled back and you tightened up around him again which made him hum “so that’s where your g-spot is,” he coos softly. and without a doubt, he changed the pace. his fingers began to hit your g-spot with every thrust and you began to drool around rowan’s fingers. it wasn’t long until you reached your orgasm, and lèo lets you ride it through before he continued.

“waitwaitwait–!” your words were muffled by rowan’s fingers but it could still be heard of course “we need to stretch you out, princess..” lèo murmured. but really, he just wanted to see you be a sobbing mess before he pushes his dick into you. you listened to his words, nodding, but with every thrust, you feel your mind slowly dumbing out at the stimulation.

was it three times already? you can’t tell. all you hear is both of their belts being taken off. you come out of your haze with a shudder as you felt your pussy juices being used as lube for both of their cocks. “wha.. i thought..”

“we both, want to take your virginity, sweetheart.” rowan says. your cunt has been loosening up with every orgasm you have, and you felt both of their tips rubbing against your entrance. “so, we have to share it, like always” the angel purred and your eyes widened. “that’s.. that’s not going to fit” you tried to reason with them.

“shh.. it’s fine.. we’ll make it fit. you trust us, don’t you, princess?” 

you were swayed, but you nodded and you felt them both slowly entering your poor weeping cunt. you let out a little scream at the pain in the beginning but they both stopped to make sure you were alright. and when you were, they started to move in sync. you felt too full, it was too big and your mind felt numb.

“let go, sweetheart” rowan grunts softly. “let us take care of you.. just like we always had.”

[anjalikestodraw]

Sun drenched sofa days (2025)

inspired by and set directly after Love is a Witch - Chapter 6 by @beauttifullife

And as usual here is a tiny ficlet going along with the art. Enjoy :)

“So what do we want?” Rio mused aimlessly scrolling through the food delivery app.

They were lying on the couch Rio’s head resting comfortably on Agatha’s chest their legs entangled, Agatha’s hand absentmindedly running through Rio’s hair while watching a documentary.

“You choose.” Agatha responded not taking her eyes off the TV.

“No, I can’t decide.” Rio replied yawning.

She held her phone higher slightly blocking Agatha’s view of the TV screen.

“Help.” Rio demanded as Agatha tried to continue watching the programme past the other woman’s hand. “I am tired from my late night flight and I have no idea what I want.”

Finally peeling her eyes away from the programme, Agatha glanced at the phone and quickly scrolled to one of their usual delivery places jabbing her finger at the screen.

“This one’s always good. And you always say how much you love their dim sum stuff.” She explained her attention already back on the TV.

With a slow “Mhhh.” Rio brought the phone back down to her eye level and skimmed the menu.

“Or we can get tacos,” Agatha added clearly sensing Rio’s indecision. “I just thought you’d have had some good ones back home. Also the Chinese doesn’t deliver to yours, so…”

“Chinese it is.” Rio concluded after a moment.

She quickly picked her usual order from the menu adding some new dumplings she wanted to try and then scrolled to Agatha’s favourites.

“Your usual?” Rio asked slightly stretching her neck to try and look up at Agatha.

“Yeah,” Agatha replied her eyes still on the TV. Then with a sudden movement she looked down at Rio and added “Don’t order too much.”

“Never.” Rio replied smirking and sticking her tongue out before adding more items to the basket and checking for the estimated delivery time.

Agatha huffed knowing that they somehow always ended up with food for four. She returned her attention to the TV her hand automatically finding its way into Rio’s hair again.

Leaning into Agatha’s touch Rio thought how much she loved days like these. Weekends without plans, without pressing appointments or errands to run. Days filled with sunlight filtering through the big apartment windows but no need to be outside in the noise and hubbub of New York. Days spent tangled up with Agatha and them just being them. And she never had thought that this was what she would ever want but now that she had it she couldn’t imagine a life without it. Without her. Feeling Agatha’s fingers lightly scrape over her scalp Rio closed her eyes sighing gently.

She thought back to the stress of the day before, the frantic search for an earlier flight, the rush to the airport when she had finally managed to change her booking, and the half-hearted apologies to her extended family. The only person she had been sad to leave so early was her abuelita. But something in the old woman’s smile as she kissed Rio’s hand wishing her save travels told Rio that she knew how much Agatha meant to her, how different this situation was to any of her previous flings or short lived girlfriends. Her abuelita understood. And yes, coming back after a mere three days apart had seemed pathetic. But having this extra time with Agatha had absolutely been worth all the stress and extra money she had spent.

Letting out a contended sigh Rio inched closer into Agatha’s side, draping her leg over Agatha’s and lifting her head up just enough so she could fully see her lover’s face. Looking at the woman’s profile her gaze swept from her beautiful messy hair flowing in waves around her face, over her perfect nose and lips to her sharp blue eyes so intently watching the programme they had put on. And of course the sweater; her old worn out Texas Longhorn hoodie, which Agatha was still wearing.

“Riooo?” Agatha asked drawing out her name, while her eyes remained trained on the TV a faint smile playing around her lips.

“Nothing.” Rio replied still quite obviously staring at Agatha.

Agatha raised her eyebrows and stole a glance at her before looking back at the TV.

“I was just thinking…” Rio added smiling softly. “…how much I love this.”

“I love Chinese food, too.” Agatha replied a little too quickly still staring straight ahead.

But Rio knew better. She knew all too well that Agatha was only feigning ignorance and had fully understood Rio’s meaning. She knew this was simply how Agatha was, always masking her feelings with humour, deflecting, struggling to put into words what was going on in that beautiful head of hers. And Rio had gotten used to it, she even had started to love this little quirk of hers. She didn’t just love Agatha despite of who and how she was, she loved her because of it, with all her little bumps and edges. And even if she hadn’t been fully fluent in 'Agatha', the broad smile on her lover’s face was a dead giveaway. Biting her lip and shaking her head slightly Rio let out a low chuckle.

“Food will be here in forty.” She said tossing her phone onto the couch before resting her head back onto Agatha’s chest.

“Good.” Agatha replied pulling Rio closer to herself and planting a kiss on the top of her head.

Smiling at the gentle gesture Rio reached for Agatha’s hand entwining their fingers and shuffling into the other woman’s body. Having found a comfortable position she finally returned her attention back to the TV.

“I love this, too.” Agatha whispered after a while, her thumb tracing circles on Rio’s hand.

Feeling a familiar warmth spread in her chest Rio raised Agatha’s hand to her mouth kissing the back of it.

“I know.” Rio replied quietly and she could feel Agatha’s hand squeezing hers lightly.

“You know what I would love even more though?” Rio mused a sudden thought entering her mind. “When the delivery guy comes I think you should get the door - seeing as you are wearing your new favourite sweater.”

Lifting her head up again to see Agatha’s reaction Rio put on her signature smirk.

“Your favourite sweater.” Agatha corrected her, turning to face Rio her eyes narrowed.

“You are the one wearing it.” Rio pointed out with a shrug feigning innocence.

Taking in her lover’s frown Rio’s grin widened thinking of another tease. But before she could add anything else Agatha’s hand grabbed one of the sofa cushions and shoved it into Rio’s face.

“Hey!” Rio protested her voice muffled by the pillow as she fell backwards into the couch.

Propping herself back up she put one hand on either side of Agatha’s face locking her in.

“Not cool.” Rio said trying to look angry but her features betrayed her as she was smiling down at Agatha.

“I might still burn it.” Agatha teased with a wink.

“Oh... you wouldn’t dare.” Rio replied sticking her tongue in her cheek.

Agatha only raised an eyebrow in response a mischievous look on her face. With one smooth movement she grabbed Rio’s waist and tossed her to the side planting one knee on either side of Rio’s hips reversing their positions. Triumphantly she looked down at Rio with a cocky smile.

“You’re impossible.” Rio huffed but she couldn’t stifle a laugh.

Reaching up Rio grabbed the front of the orange hoodie gently pulling Agatha down.

“I still think you should get the door later.” Rio whispered one hand wandering into Agatha’s hair while her gaze flitted down to her lover’s lips.

“Over my dead body.” Agatha growled without any real bite to her voice before closing the distance between them. Her hands snaked behind Rio’s neck pulling her closer into a long passionate kiss forgetting all about the documentary still running on the TV, their food order, or for a fact, the world around them.

[messrsrarchives]

last sunday i was feeling very melancholic and had spent the night on call with my nan for hourssss talking about my transition. she stayed up with me for hours, we spoke about everything from my childhood signs, to my discovery, to my exploration and starting hormones etc etc, we spoke about everything.

but really it felt a bit like a funeral, that's how she described it. she said it felt like a eulogy of what it could have been because that entire phone call started with me saying i need to Stop. she got a random message from me asking if she'd be by my side if i detransitioned, so she called me and we spoke about so many things i hadn't told her before - all of the harrassments, the comments, the friendships that ended that i've pretended haven't for years. literally everything from the stabbing attempt last year to the friend that blocked me when i posted about my first day on T.

literally my entire life in this one phone call and she ended it with "just give it one more day". there's a small dent in the wall from my phone now because,,, what an infuriating reply, right? one more day. one more day??? no, i need to make a choice now? i'm so tired of waiting for things to make sense, i did that for years and then it Did and then it all fell to pieces because even One More Day is one more than they want me to have.

and then the next afternoon i set off to go to my seminar, and i'm walking along listening to a voice note i recorded over and over and over. one to be sent to my friends so that i don't have to type it. one that said it will take a while until i look like "myself" again, and i know this makes no sense to them and i'm glad it doesn't, but that they need to stop calling me robyn. a voice note, because it's easier to say my deadname than to see it written down. i don't know, it feels more official in letters. like maybe if i hear it enough it will blend in with every other sound. and i'm listening to this over and over in the hopes that i can build up the courage to send it.

and i step onto the bridge towards class, not looking where i'm going and i walk straightttt into someone and i'm all apologetic and i'm crying from the voice note and i'm a wreck but i walked into someone else who was typing on their phone

and there's a lil trans sticker on the back of it. and i've never seen this person before ever but they adjusted my tote bag on my shoulder because i was still apologising profusely and i said "i'm sorry" and they said "me too"

and i know we were talking about the crash. i know it's not what they meant because that's not what we were talking about but. idk. it's dumb and there's probably something poetic about us stepping onto the bridge at the same time and managing to bump right into each other but all i know is that they had a trans flag sticker on their phone and they smiled and they said "me too" and,,, idk. rambling.

but sometimes it really is just one more day. that's all you need sometimes. and sometimes you have to tell yourself that everyday, and that's okay. because other times you'll literally and physically bump into another trans person and they'll say "me too" for something entirely unrelated, but it makes you feel a little less alone regardless.

anyway, i'm saved in their phone as Robyn now and i think that's pretty cool actually, we're getting lunch together soon

[ashes-writing-corner]

Well I was not expecting to update this early but here we are! ^^ the soundtrack did wonders yall! Please enjoy, cause I worked really hard on this one ^^

Taglist: @exactlyelegantwizard, @xenoanamorph, @hoeia-strigoi, @arwenkenobi48, @xanth420, @serpentdeath, @landlockedmermaid77, @uncensored-aj, @mypackpride, @whisperingwillowe, @sasksdemorg, and @emimuart

If you'd like to be added to the taglist, please let me know via comment or dm ^^ without further ado!

Exile: A Nosferatu Fanfic

Chapter 6

I can see you staring, honey, like he's just your understudy. Like you'd get your knuckles bloody for me…

Never before had Ellen felt so cold. She didn’t think It was possible to be this cold. Furie sat faithfully by her, his senses all on high alert. They were surrounded by darkness, the trees towering above them menacingly, blocking the view of the already darkened sky. Not a star, or the moon, could be seen. Ellen looked around, feeling something was watching, following, waiting…

“It’s okay…we’ll find somewhere safe” she pet Furie’s head in an attempt to calm herself. But it was proving…difficult to say the least.

Ellen had no way of knowing where she was. There was no telling what lay in waiting in the inky blackness. Furie stopped, his ears perking and moving around like tiny satellites. He growled, making Ellen take pause.

“Furie? What is it?” she asked, but she could sense something was out there, and it wasn’t him. It wasn’t the Count.

No, the presence was one Ellen didn’t know. Had never felt or seen. Her heart slammed against her ribcage like a furious bird fighting for its freedom.. She looked out in the same direction as the wolfhound, who now stood on stiff leg with his neck fur raised on end. His head lowered and Furie snarled, showing off his glistening white fangs.

“Who’s out there?” Ellen demanded, “Show yourself…”.

A pause…

A heartbeat…two…three…

“Ellen? Sweetheart?”.

It couldn’t be…could it? It sounded like…Like Thomas? It sounded like him, felt like him. But he couldn’t possibly be…

Dead?

Ellen stopped staying by Furie, who peered into the darkness with rapt attention. His fangs were still bared, and a deep low growl came from his throat as he heard the voice. Ellen stepped forward, just a single step.

“Ellen? My love are you there?”

“Thomas?!” she called for him and took another step.

Furie nipped at her dress, as if trying to keep her from going too far. She looked at the hound, her eyes soft and relieved.

“It’s okay. It’s him. He’s here! He’s here for me!” Ellen told him.

The hound didn’t let go. He wouldn’t…

“Thomas! Come to me! Please…please I need-” she started but was cut off by Furie barking.

Out of the trees indeed did come what looked like an apparition. It looked like a shadow, the shadow of her Thomas. Ellen couldn’t see his features, it was too dark. But she knew his form, his shape.

“Thomas?” Ellen whimpered his name softly.

Slowly, other shadows began to appear. Shadows of people she knew. Thomas, Anna, Friedrich, their girls…her father…everyone…their voices all cut through the darkness, telling her to come, telling her it was safe, but she needed to come. They all resonated so loudly in her ears. They kept getting louder, and louder. Furie barked and snarled, snapping his jaws at the shadows that slowly drew in. Ellen covered her ears, her eyes burning with hot, frightened tears. One shade was easy to resist, to repel. But soon there were at least ten surrounding her, emerging from the darkness between the menacing trees.

Ellen shook her head. “No…No I won’t go! I won’t!” she yelled her hands burning despite the cold around her.

The heat seemed to spread from her hands, up her arms, and slowly to the rest of her. It was like a blast of sunlight after a long winter night. She screamed, the warmth intense as a silvery light shone through her and into the ground around her. Furie jumped away, barking in alarm as the light shone. The shadows dissipated for all of a moment, the forest around her turning bright for all of a second. Like a lighthouse beacon she shined, the light protecting her from the now multiplying shadows.

But darkness did what darkness did best: It snuffed out the light. The more shadows emerged, the dimmer the light she controlled became. Ellen had her power, she knew, but she didn’t know how to use it, or for how long she could use it without overdoing it. Even spirits had their limitations.

Ellen had no choice. The shadows, the Shades, threatened to swallow her and Furie whole. She needed him…

Her eyes clouded over, her mind slid against the Count’s, finding him again in that oh so familiar crossroads realm.

“Come to me…come…Come to Me…Distorted Angel…Groom of Night…Come to Me…”

Like the Shades, he too seemed to form from the shadows behind her, tall and as imposing as the forest around them. His moonlight eyes were hungry and angry. The two other hounds and a black horse emerged behind him. Ellen was left breathless, as never in that moment did he ever look so beautiful to her, bathed in the shadows he lorded himself over.

He hissed out a spell in Dacian, while his wolfhounds chased away the spirits. Their eyes and fangs glistened in the dark. Orlok’s long claws grew out and he ran, no, teleported in the shadows fearlessly. He was staglike in his speed, bringing the Shades to heal, snarling like the beast he was. Ellen never thought shadows could be fought, especially not by beings of shadow, but she had underestimated Orlok and his power.

He ruled these Shades.

The Shadows belonged to him…

“Apropoați-vă din nou de ea…luați din nou formele celor pe cari îi iubeste…si vă voi alunga pe toți în cele mai întunecate adâncimi!” She heard him roar in the darkness.

Ellen was left breathless again. Never had he looked so powerful. So…beautiful. Distorted angel indeed…

He roared as the Shades retreated, peering darkly at the pair. No easy meal was to be gotten this night. If given the chance, they would try again. Her light was easily snuffed out…too easily…

And Orlok knew this. The vampire breathed deeply, his breath sounding pained again. His throat burned, and he could feel that once familiar need. He thought he escaped it in death, but magic always came at a cost. Even magic as ancient as his…

He turned his moonlit eyes to Ellen, his expression a bit vague and hard to read. His breathing was labored, and he looked again like that loathesome beast she knew in life. His price for his power, at least in this instance, was the thirst. The horribly familiar need for blood…

Ellen felt like a cornered deer facing down a ravenous wolf. Her heart drummed with fear, her instinct screaming for her to run. But where in the world would she go? The shades were out there still, and they would not be denied a meal again. Orlok growled, his throat burning. Her blood sang to him, like a softly playing melody only he could hear from the depths of her heart. He took a step towards her, shaking, his eyes darkening.

His senses flooded. His vision blackened. His nose was overridden with the smell of her blood. Her heartbeat pounded in his ears, overriding anything else. The cold around him was numbing, as numbing as death. Overwhelmed, he fell to the snow covered ground, his throat burning still.

Ellen blinked at the count’s sudden fall, uncertain of what to make of it. She could leave him there. She had every right to leave him. He was a monster, a beast who only sought to destroy in life and in death. Where would he wind up though? In this strange afterlife, this Other World, what would he be doomed to? Would he become a Shade, or something far worse given his misdeeds?

The wolfhounds surrounded their fallen master, the black horse coming to her side as if to give her a choice to flee on his back. The dogs looked at her pleadingly, as if begging her not to leave him. She turned to the horse, but…she could not bring herself to mount the splendid ebony furred beast. Ellen closed her eyes tightly.

“Heaven help me…” she thought aloud.

The shades would be back. If he was still fallen by the time they did, Ellen knew she wouldn’t have enough power to fight them all off. Her hands clenched into fists as she made her choice…

Ellen turned back to the wolfhounds and the count. Kneeling in the snow, she knew she couldn’t lift him on to the horse, she’d need to find some way to get him up and get him on to ride back to the castle. But how?

She looked at her hand, her wrist, and an idea came to her. Oh this was going to hurt…but pain was something familiar when it came to him. Ellen moved Orlok’s head into her lap as she looked at the hounds.

“I’m hoping somehow he can smell me. I need to get him on the horse so we can get him home but I can't carry him” Ellen shuddered slightly as she put her wrist in front of the Count’s face, “Please…please let this work…”.

She knew what he needed, but could he take it like this was the question. Would he, given what happened the last time he fed from her? Ellen caressed his cheek softly with her free hand, tender and gentle. He looked oddly peaceful like this, head in her lap, his eyes closed as if merely asleep.

“I know you’re far away right now, but I need you to come back. Please come back…if for a moment. Please…”.

No answer, no movement from Orlok. Not even a sign there was something in that mind-

Her thoughts were interrupted as she felt fangs at her wrist. His eyes opened as he fed ravenously. Orlok tasted the warm, sweet blood of her, slightly different from when she was alive. There was something in it now, more energizing. More…powerful. Addicting. He fed, the burning in his throat soothed. But still he kept her wrist to his mouth, still he craved more.

More…

More…..

Ellen hissed and whimpered in pain, catching his attention as his eyes peered up at her pained face. The sight of her large eyes, a mix of hurt and concern in them, compelled him to slow down. His mind was returning and he realized he was hurting her. Orlok slowed his feeding, lapping at the wound gently to soothe her pain, and only taking what he needed. Ellen looked down at him, her free hand still caressing his face tenderly as he fed from her. Their eyes met and it was again like meeting at the crossroads.

Slowly he let go, giving the wound one last lick to heal it, leaving only a minor scar. Their breaths mingled and Ellen lowered her head to his, their foreheads touching. Their heartbeats seemed to synchronize for all of a moment as the night began to give way around them…

Her vision blackened and Ellen felt herself fall. From there she knew nothing more…

If you guys enjoyed please consider liking, reblogging, and commenting! If you wanna see more please give me a follow! This is gonna be a long story so I hope you'll stick around for the long haul ^^ your support means the world to me! Don't forget to be awesome ^-^ <3

[bidisasterevankinard]

Hello friend 💕 can I request a platonic eddie & tommy snippet?

hi Gat<333 I'm pretty sure it's not what you wanted, but I love bitchy hurtful Eddie and he's bestie was hurt so he needs anger out so.

It's not Tommy bashing, but it's Eddie's pov and he's angry on Tommy and scared for Buck. so let's say it's Eddie's interpretation

Eddie loses the fight against sleep, when Tommy’s voice gets him back from word of slumber.

“I don’t know why I’m here,” he says mournfully. “I have no right.”

“Not for you to decide. Buck changed his papers, adding you as his emergency contact after he dislocated his shoulder and he had almost five months to change them again. But he didn’t,” Eddie says with closed eyes.

He still feels Tommy fidgeting uncomfortably. Man’s shoulder rubs on the fabric of Eddie's sweater. Buck knitted it for him. When baking was too much he got into a new hobby and at least this one is not the danger to their sugar level. And Buck is really good at making stuff from some yarns. Eddie never had such a comfy sweater before. 

He doesn’t want to think he might never have another one again.

It’s Buck. He never stays dead for long.

But it doesn’t mean you’re not scared it’s this time his luck ended.

“I still think I should go,” Tommy’s voice sounds … uncertain. It's like he's at a crossroads. Doesn't know what to choose.

“Go,” Eddie shrugs still with his eyes closed, “you walked on him once, when he gave you the idea he wants forever. Why stay now?”

“He’s hurt. He-he might die. I couldn’t not come.”

Eddie sees red. Yet, he doesn’t want to be not in the hospital when Buck wakes up.

When. Not if.

“Get the fuck out then,” he opens his eyes to see Tommy look at him scared and bewildered. Surprisingly even with all anger he talks almost with no emotions. “Get. The. Fuck. Out,” he shakes Tommy’s seat. “If you’re here just because he's hurt, because you want to love him till you’re ready to run again when he’s  healed, get out,” he points to the door. “He spent twenty years of his life doing everything he could to almost kill himself so people can love him, he still does sometimes, and I won’t allow the man, who already took so much love and will to live from him to get him in that circle again.”

Tommy stays in his place and Eddie wants to add the red and blue to the red eyes and eye bags he has. With his fists. 

“He can’t love me.”

Eddie smiles ruefully, “yeah, tell yourself you know him or his feelings better than him or the man who sees him getting over the worst heartbreak he ever had.”

Eddie closes his eyes again, counting to ten, “get out, Kinard. He needs people who stay because they love him anyway. Not the ones who keep their legs out of the door. Buck always loves with all he has. The moment he starts he’s all in, the door blocked from the outside. He doesn’t need a person who can’t do the same. At least try. For him.”

“He didn’t call or text. Or came to see me.”

“And you would if someone said to you what you did breaking your heart? Would you reach first?”

Tommy doesn’t answer him and Eddie hopes when he will wake up from another nap the man would finally run again. He has no strength to get the man he still likes, even though all the anger, out of the hospital. But he said the truth. He won’t allow Tommy to mess with Buck again.

He hits where it hurts.

Eddie opens his eyes to enjoy the torture. Sue him. He has a devil in him.

“Buck was waiting for Abby for months. The one who used him to finally rebound after you,” Tommy hunches over so much that Eddis starts to suspect the man has a plasticine spine. “Months. He tried to call, text. Tried to be the one to reach the person who told him not to wait. And he learned his lesson when she ghosted him and then came back with fiance.”  

Tommy sniffs.

Eddie feels awful satisfaction from it.

“The lesson was not to chase the one who decided to leave. Especially when they tell you it’s a bad idea. For him to love them it’s a bad idea.” 

“He didn’t tell me he loves me.”

“You didn't either, yet Buck believes it’s true. And he still waits. For you to ask about another chance. So decide Kinard. You want another chance, but NOT because he’s hurt. Or you shouldn’t be here and you leave.”

Eddie closes his eyes again. One last blow, though.

“But know that I’d tell him you were there, but left. What do you think will be his conclusion?”    

[the-meme-monarch]

huh sorry for disappearing for like a day and a half. a weird guy appeared

[youremyonlyhope]

why won't my brain shut up why won't my brain shut up why won't my brain shut up why won't my brain shut up

[goblin-enjoyer]

I swear why are half the things i like/fandoms im in made of mostly younger people while the other half are mostly older people? what are the zoggin odds with that?

How it feels being 20 in a fandom with a bunch of 30-40 somethings.

VS how it feels being 20 in a fandom with a bunch of 14-17 somethings.

like am do i just have extremely odd luck with things i like or is this just what being 20 is like?

[fragmentedblade]

Blade compared the relief from pain death brought him to the moments spent with his friends drinking together.

His desire for death as both a release from pain and from the condition of existence in which he finds himself now, so similar to that which he most hated (hated so much as to dedicate his entire life and self to fight, up to the point of crossing unthinkable barriers for shortlife species); but death also almost like a returning to the time that was, the joy and pride it brought him, and the friends and self he lost

[thethingything]

so CBT never worked for us in therapy. basically every instance of it was therapists trying to get us to stop being anxious about very real problems that were very likely to happen. like, situations that were not only likely, but would be very dangerous if they did happen. sometimes even things that had already happened and were likely to happen again.

meanwhile we have an app on our phone that guides you through various CBT exercises and it turns out when we use that for the kind of shit where we already know our brain is being irrational and we just want to get our thoughts together and work through the issue by writing it out, it works really fucking well and oh look suddenly we've been doing CBT for an hour and processed the root cause of several key emotional issues we've been having for years.

funny how that works. it's almost like we can actually figure out for ourselves when something is irrational and when it's an actual real problem that could put us in danger and shouldn't be dismissed. who'd have fucking thought it

[tinyperson00-venting]

My middle sister came home from school with a stomach ache today and ran down to my room crying saying she was gonna die. A little background, everyone in my house but me is paranoid of getting appendicitis since I got it last year and it was traumatic for everyone. I practically just forgot most of it since that's what I do best, but my sister was bawling saying she was gonna die because her stomach hurt, so I gave her some medicine and make her lay down.

when my parents came home I told them she had a stomachache, and they immediately rushed over and asked if she was ok. I told them it's not what I had since it's not even in the right area, but they didn't listen to a thing I said. After dinner I was sitting on the couch watching a show with my other sister, and my middle sister comes out of her room to be with us. My mom starts asking how she is, and she just groans. Apparently I was making a 'disgusted face' as they called it, because my other sister nudged me to make me stop before I got in trouble again. A few minutes later she started like freaking out over this stomachache and being really extra, and I said something again telling her she was gonna be fine, and that just got me yelled at and called insensitive once again. I have a hard time sympathizing with things like this especially because it's directly linked to a very traumatic time for me as well, but no one seems to really care about that.

I eventually got told to just go back to my room, so I did. Now all I can think about is being probed in the hospital for 3 straight days while in excruciating pain like nothing else, being put through tests and wheeled around. And what's worse is that at the same I was still dating my old ex, and then that stirred up other memories I had buried away never to be recovered. So now I'm sitting here disassociated as hell for literally 2 hours, which I only thought it was a few minutes. Apparently my mom took my sister to the ER to make sure she doesn't have it, which I already told her that it's not even remotely close to what I had. Ahh and now I cannot for the life of me forget the other memories and it's making me really weird

[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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