#you NEED to just make art for only you to enjoy and love not just the art you make to show others

[sophrosyncc]

— but i'll be there when your reality drowns .

warnings/tags : SFW, no beta we die like chrysos heirs, alternate universe, blood, slight biting, choking, all lowercase, gender-neutral reader, ft. amphoreus trio (castorice, phainon, mydei)

author's note : first post done! now the only issue is keeping it consistent ... apologies to the historical siren lovers in advance because I doubt this is very accurate

word count : 1.4k

imagine meeting siren!anaxa for the first time.

as someone who lived by the ocean, sirens were a common folktale shared around in your area. they were dangerous creatures rumored to have a human-like appearance, taking on a fish's tail for their lower half instead of legs. sharp teeth, fins, and predators.

in the distant past, sailors loved to talk about how they were nuisances in the waters. infamous for their reputation of causing multiple shipwrecks or stealing fish they had caught after multiple hours of labor. even pirates would spread information to comrades through horns, guns, and most importantly flags.

but what caught the attention of most people were songs, art, and poetry about their beauty.

historical records described them with scales that would rival the most precious pearls. ethereal appearances and perfect faces with little to no flaws. voices that allured resilient individuals, oblivious to the danger awaiting them as they allowed the depths of the ocean to swallow them whole.

you could distinctly remember phainon making a joke about it. if he learned that mydei was a siren, he would walk into the ocean without doubt and keep his arms wide open. the blonde-haired man didn't hesitate to smack his head with a rolled up newspaper.

"sirens aren't real." mydei sighed, ignoring castorice's quiet laughter in the background while phainon scratched his head. "but you shouldn't make jokes about that."

at the time, you believed them as well. the last sighting of the creatures were more than one millennia ago.

now?

sirens were more than just myths passed around by families to scare children who dared to sneak out of their houses. they were real.

and you remembered the night you met one for the first time.

you were walking along the shores, carrying a basket full of salt while you were on the way home.

it was a tedious task, one that had you huffing for breath or kicking the sand out of boredom, but you knew you couldn't slack off. these were only one of the main ways your friends earned money other than joining competitions, hunts, and other activities. the sights at night made it worth it anyway. a joy you didn't get to appreciate often other than the rare days you were free.

nothing compared to the delight of seeing the stars in the sky reflected in the tranquil waters of the ocean. however, this time, the others weren't with you to enjoy the beauty of it.

a fishing competition drained the energy out of everyone last week, especially when you were against one of the most skilled and experienced teams. all the preparation fell pale to the actual fight. you were sure you saw phainon holding two fishing rods at one point. castorice was telling him to put the other one down because it was slowing down efficiency. mydei was fortunately caring enough to handle every chore last while the rest of you were exhausted.

despite his intimidating appearance, you could compare him to a mother hen with how protective he was over the group.

"focus on recovering." he clicked his tongue, flicking his finger against phainon's forehead. that earned a small whine of pain from the white-haired man. mydei turns to look at both of you. "the same goes for you and castorice. I don't need you two dropping dead."

the memory brought a smile to your lips. this was the least you could do for all of them.

with newfound determination, you steel yourself for the remaining hours left before you reached home. maybe you could ask castorice for some of her books that you could read when you arrived. she enjoyed sharing poetry whenever the house was quiet—absent from the childish bickering and pots clanging in the kitchen—left to her own personal space that she didn't mind having you in.

before you stopped walking at the sound of someone's voice.

last time you checked, you were pretty sure you were alone right now in the beach. that wasn't a good sign at all.

you placed the basket down on the sand. slowly, you walk to the source of the noise, keeping your hand right next to your leg. your fingers wrap around the wooden handle of your dagger, firmly gripping it as you try to watch out for any movement.

was there someone following you? if they were, they didn't seem to be doing a good job at it.

"...is there anyone out there?" you hesitantly call out.

.

.

.

only the silence answered you.

a relieved sigh left your lips, moving the dagger back to its leather sheath.

perhaps it was just your imagination. auditory hallucinations weren't uncommon for you when it was late at night, or when you were barely surviving off a couple hours of sleep.

until the hum came again.

the pitch remained low. soft. almost as if they were singing to themselves only, yet the echo was loud enough to reach your ears. even at this distance, the cadence of their voice remained calm, further enhanced by the sounds of the tides washing across the shore. soothing. it sounded exactly like a lullaby torn from the pages of fairy tales you've once read as a child.

beautiful.

entranced, you took a step forward.

they continued humming, oblivious to a listener they've unknowingly drawn in with their song.

the shivering breeze from the ocean left goosebumps behind, wrapping your arms around your body in search of more warmth. it was too cold with winter approaching. every step made your feet even feel heavier, wet sand slipping into the corners of your slippers, trying to ignore the uncomfortable sensation of grains prickling your skin.

all of these nuisances were washed away by one single goal, guided by the melody that grew louder as you went nearer. it kept a firm tug on your heart. pulling you closer with every tone and rise, barely aware of the water rising up higher and higher.

desperate for more, you push yourself to walk faster.

even if mydei was going to scold you for getting a cold later, you had to keep listening. you wanted to listen. no matter what. to envelop yourself around the sensation of peace and comfort it gave you.

you needed to hear their voice closer. closer until it was all you could hear and breathe in—

something wraps around your ankle.

without warning, it drags you down by force.

you fall to the ground and hiss at the pain, reeling from the sudden pain in your spine, clutching your head. the sound of your heartbeat pounded in your ears as you scrambled for your weapon.

"shit, shit—" you curse, panicking as you struggled to wrap your head around the situation. "where was it?"

near your thigh, you flail your hand and finally feel the familiar leather against your palm.

but before you can grab it, fingers wrap around your throat and tighten their grip, abruptly forcing you down. you gasp as the air is knocked out of your lungs, leaving you heaving for every single inhale, clawing at the hand slowly choking you to death. mind spinning from the dizziness. the shadow looming over you grew larger.

in the growing darkness of your vision, you barely manage to catch a glimpse of something glimmering amongst the blur of colors that seemed whole. scales. iridescent scales.

the hypnotizing voice. a tail for their lower half.

a siren.

he was a siren.

you shiver at the press of something sharp against your neck. even with your eyes squeezed shut, you already know what's happening—his fangs barely prick the surface of your skin, drawing blood out—and bite back a whimper from the pain. the sound of your heartbeat grows louder, faster as he doesn't make any move to back away soon, helplessly digging your fingers deeper into the sand. a rough sound revebrated from the siren's throat in response. his grip on your wrists tighten.

was it contentment? pleasure? fun from toying around with prey? you swallow.

and then without warning, you feel something wet brush against your skin. you jolt at the sensation, eyes snapping open with bated breath, watching him.

he's licking your neck.

you gasp, slapping a hand over your mouth as he continues. the siren nuzzles your neck. he's lapping up the wound, refusing to waste a single drop of blood. the slender fingers around your throat move to the back of your neck, pushing you closer against him. you squirm and try to put distance but you know it's futile. when you finally look down—

one red eye with a slitted pupil stares back at you.

[etherealfilmstar]

– thunderbolts* headcanons; pt 2 i am not romantically shipping anyone btw !

part 1

theme; social media ════════════════════════════════════════════

JOHN WALKER

advocates that instagram reels is better than tiktok. will trash on you for being on tiktok. but he's also a reddit user. he tries to defend himself saying that he's the 'normal one' when he's really not. he loves those AITA stuff tho. his favorite thing to watch? idk why but i can see him as a dude who loves commentary channels. also he's a twitter/x keyboard warrior. he crashes out at memes making fun of him. probably blocked bucky's number.

════════════════════════════════════════════

BUCKY BARNES

only uses youtube because it's the only thing he can navigate. he tried to get onto twitter/x but gave up because of the UI (me too bucky, me too). he's that parent that gets upset at your screentime. he constantly tells the others that they're online too much. he doesn't like youtube shorts much but he likes long documentaries. the others, including valentina, want to get rid of the cable tv but he wants to keep it 😭 don't get me wrong he's not completely grandpa, he knows how to use messaging apps like whatsapp. he has an instagram account just because yelena told him to make one, but he doesn't use or check it much. he still prefers sending emails.

═══════════════════════════════════

ALEXEI SHOSTAKOV

he loves memes. also will spam the whatsapp group chat with tiktoks. i feel like he'd be interested in conspiracy theories. sometimes he sends the others memes against them yet still laughs heartily at them. he doesn't take them that seriously. he also yells at his device if it's lagging or if the wifi is bugging. he watches those clickbait celebrity or online drama channels LOL. he has facebook too. but he loves sending yelena those wholesome posts like "my daughter is the light of my world" with floral backgrounds fshkdfhsfm

════════════════════════════════════════════

AVA STARR

TUMBLR. SHE'S ON TUMBLR. you cannot change my mind. also ao3 is her guilty pleasure. she is def on twitter/x and has a john walker hate account. literally messages walker: "i hate you 98" "i hate you 99" "i hate you 98" "oh no i messed up." "i hate you 1" she calls people on twitter/x morons and idiots. i feel like she'd looove watching legitimate drama channels. enjoys looking at shopping online. and is defff a chill pinterest girl. she's also the girl that helps with all the tech issues. is also a discord mod and does nitro giveaways. constantly calls people out for using ai and mocks them. "oh poor baby 🥺🥺 do you need the robot to make you pictures? 🥺🥺 yeah? 🥺🥺" (og tweet from @/peterokii)

════════════════════════════════════════════

BOB REYNOLDS

definitely watching baking and cooking videos. the one least on his device aside from bucky. he also likes watching puppy videos and shares them with yelena. he avoids blocking people as much as possible. is the guy in the comments who says 'guys pls dont argue.' defends himself against hate posts. trying to learn the online terminology ("why do people call me a pookie?") he also loves looking at art and stuff. he uses tiktok and instagram. he has trouble telling the difference between real and AI but when he does realize it's AI he reports it. he's not a complete softy though, he will call people out for posting disgusting things. also the guy who has 'dms open if u need to vent' in his bio. has a pinterest account where he posts those like 'everything will be okay' positivity posts with pictures of flowers or animals. definitely wants to use the internet to help people because he knows not everyone has a shoulder to lean on :) he also sometimes forgets to reply to people and leaves them on read unintentionally

════════════════════════════════════════════

YELENA BELOVA

definitely a tiktok girly!!! she ADORES animal videos. also will spam the others' DMs with reels or tiktoks or memes. often times supports Ava, liking and retweeting/reblogging/reposting her stuff. is the person on pinterest that always puts in the comments the original poster if there aren't any credits. she definitely watches minecraft videos. bought walker a pair of cat ear headphones ("now you're a true redditor"). is the one in charge of hosting movie nights. she is obsessed with actor and broadway drama. always checking movie reviews. watches those 'lazy meal' videos. finds speed paints mesmerizing. she also listens to those like slime asmr videos. she likes to argue with people in twitter/x. always makes sure bob is staying safe on the internet (gotta take care of her little brother) but if he doesn't wanna share she doesn't push.

[s0phslibrary]

'strawberry matcha and fallen leaves'; bakugou x reader fic/drabble ! :*:·ﾟ☆ 。·:*:·ﾟ★

this is a part two to 'after school solace' :) no pressure to read it, but it might help in some respects to understand some things in this part!

content tidbits: platonic bond but possssiibbleee romance leaning, class 2-A era, following the plot but not the full on war, swearing, gender neutral reader, maybe ooc bkg?, somewhat healed platonic bkdk bond, childhood friends bkdk + reader, this is in early autumn too btw! didn't really indicate that in the last part, swearing, reader drives a car in this, banter, Mina and reader prank katsuki, soft moments, reader likes matcha in this so i apologise if that doesn't align with actual you 💔

not fully proofread

word count: 1.9k

A/N: This was sm longer than anticipated but I love it :) i really really wanna make this a mini series, so i shall do so. I also need to make a masterlist atp. ANywho, enjoy!

this song because the vibe/lyrics work with the fic!

The next day came around faster than anticipated. Yourself and Bakugou agreed on 9:30 to meet for your day of errands. Brunch, bookstore, grocery. Simple, yet you felt an air of excitement floating around you. The idea of these mundane, yet comforting things to do, drifted in your mind as you got ready.

9:30 on the dot, a knock was heard on your dorm door, grabbing your bag, you go to open it. Before you is Katsuki, obviously. In a simple pair of black cargo jeans, and the custom orange hoodie you got him for his birthday (custom in the fact it had 'DYNAMIGHT' wrote in black on one sleeve, and 4/20 on the other. He didn't want to wear it at first because he he thought people would see the sleeve and think he was a stoner).

He looked at you, doing a once over, and then spoke. "Ready? It's chilly outside, so make sure you're not gonna get cold." "I'm fine, thank you, dad." You respond, stepping out of your room, closing and locking the door.

"Fuck off, it's too early for your shit. And god forbid I show an ounce of care."

"Yeah, yeah. Come on." You sigh, and head to the elevator. Once down in the common area, you walk past some of your classmates, lounging or eating breakfast. Mina catches a glimpse of you both, and calls out "You two look like an old married couple."

"Fuck off, Pinky, or I take your horns and put them on my wall." Bakugou responds, still walking to the exit.

"Oh my god?" You respond, shocked at the response from Katsuki.

"At least make sure to put jewellery on them!!" Mina calls back.

Katsuki huffs a laugh at both of your reactions, and opens the door for you to walk through first.

"Why thank you." "Don't expect me to do it again."

"You so will. You always do." "Dickhead."

The cool autumn chill brushes over your face, dried leaves in shades of green and orange cascading down from the trees. You pull your scarf up a little more, the warmth of your breath against it warming the bottom of your nose. You both walk down the street a little, until you get to the line of cars along it. So far, they only belong to you, Iida, Sero, and Tsuyu. The rest of the class, as is Katsuki, are still working on getting their licenses. Katsuki would have, but he blew up the training car's steering wheel when he couldn't reverse park.

You slip into the driver's seat, Katsuki being passenger prince next to you. you start the car, turning on the heater, and plugging your phone into the aux. So you both didn't get into any arguments about music, you made a collaborative playlist, which you pressed play on, the music filtering through the car.

"So, brunch first?" You ask. "Yeah." Katsuki responds. "I'm fucking hungry. Don't wanna hold it off."

The drive is about 7 minutes, and you soon arrive at the place you both agree on. A decent sized cafe b the name of Iito’s Coffee Parlour, a comfortable spot decorated with plants, light woods, and contemporary art. You go in and take a seat, grab menus, and start deciding what to get.

"I'm just gonna get a caramel latte and a breakfast burger. You know what you want yet?" Katsuki asks, looking up at you.

"Hm.... dunno what I want to eat yet, but I want a strawberry matcha." You respond

"Oh, so you're drinking diabetic agriculture."

"I beg your utmost fucking pardon?" "That's what it tastes like! Sugary ass strawberry puree and powdered grass." He defends.

"Oh, for fuck sake, you're such a baby." "At least I don't drink caffeinated grass-" Your banter is cut off as a waitress walks over, and you both order your respective meals and drinks. The waitress takes them, and says it'll be about 10 minutes or so. In that time, you both just talk about whatever, still with the occasional wit from the both of you.

Your food and drinks arrive, and you dig in. Taking a sip of your drink, you let out a small sound of delight, and Katsuki looks at you in playful disgust.

"Diabetic agriculture."

"I fucking loathe you." :*:·ﾟ☆ 。·:*:·ﾟ★,。·:*:·ﾟ☆ 。·:*::*:·ﾟ☆ 。·:*:·ﾟ★,。·:

Back in the car and now satiated from breakfast, you settle in, turning on the heater, and music. "We're going to that 4 story bookstore." You say simply.

"Sorry, what?" He asks, looking at you in annoyed confusion.

"You heard me." "Literally why?"

"Because I love it there, and this is revenge for calling my matcha diabetic agriculture." "IT IS!" You go back and forth, before he reluctantly agrees.

You drive to the bookstore, managing to get a basket for yourself and Katsuki to share. You instantly start browsing, Katsuki telling behind you like a dog fly. By the time you got to the second floor, you already had 3 books in the basket.

“You’re gonna go broke.” Katsuki says from behind you.

“Broke is a mindset.”

“Ok, Anna Paul.”

You snort, and head up the escalator, him following. You get to the second floor, and gasp when you see a certain book. "Oh my god, I've been wanting this forever!! And it's on sale!" You show Katsuki, who simply nods. "Get it, then." From there, the pile of books grows more....and more......and more.....and more..... and by the time you're at the third floor, you now have 6 books. Katsuki found one for himself, which you chose to pay for since he paid for brunch.

On the 4th floor, you took a break, since there was a couch near a large window, overlooking the scape of the town and city nearby. It wasn't until you heard a click sound that you noticed Bakugou took a candid photo of you. Before you could protest, he showed you the phone. The photo reflects the warm lighting of the store and cloudy light from outside against your eyes, catching all your good angles and tailoring perfectly to your outfit and appearance at that moment, "Damn, that actually looks good. Send it to me." He nods, and does so.

After taking a break, you both get back to looking around. And 6 books turns into 10. And 1 turns into 3 for Katsuki. You lug the basket down the floors, and get to the counter to pay.

"Alright, your total is ¥13,932." The clerk says. Your eyes widen, and you turn to Katsuki. "Are you sure I have to pay for your books too?" "Just the one." He says, an 'I told you so' look on his face. The clerk removes the two from the payment, but the damage is still done to your bank account.

Leaving the store, you carry two bags, Katsuki holding the two others. Putting them in the trunk, you get into the car, and sigh. "Fucking hell, ¥12,074?"

"Well yeah, you got 10 books." "Because they were ones on my TBR! And new releases. AND sales." "Uh huh. Come on, start the car. We have to do the groceries for the dorms." He responds.

"Fuck, forgot about that." You sigh again.

•.¸¸.•*´¨`* •.¸¸.•*´¨`*•.¸¸.•*´¨`*•.¸¸.•*´¨`* •.¸¸.•*´¨`*•.¸¸.•*

You go to the grocery store closer to the dorms, and head in. Katsuki grabs the list he got from Aizawa, compiled of the usual necessities, requests from class A, and any restocks. "Ok, we'll do each isle and grab what we need from each. Starting with meat and poultry." He says.

You wander down the isles, as he reads out each section of the list. "Right we need 2 packs of beef steak, one pack of stir fry beef, one pack of chicken breasts, one pack of pork mince, 3 cartons of eggs- in this economy, fuck- huh, though I suppose Japan is fine for now- anyway, and last... who the FUCK wants 5 packs of salami?"

"Kaminari. It's his hyperfixation snack." You respond, grabbing the items.

"That'll be fun when he gets his stomach pumped."

You grab what you need from that isle, then move through the next. In the fruits and vegetables section, you both grab what's needed. Then onto rice and pasta, sauces and dressings, hygiene and toiletries, then the snack isle. Grabbing things on the list, you also snuck in one little thing for yourself- Katsuki obviously noticed.

"The hell are you doing ?" "Shopping?" "No, you cunt, grabbing that extra bag of chips. Put it back." "I'll pay for it!" "With what money? The 30 cents left after book shopping?" "My student allowance." "That is for school." "Ok, well..... i'll eat it before training and improve my stamina with it!" "I will clock you in the middle of the chips isle, don't fucking play. Put it back." Grumbling, you out it back, and continue shopping. You go through the other isles.

Grabbing out his phone, Bakugou looks to his screen, then you. "Pinky needs pads. The strawberry ones. Go get them." "........The what?" "The pads. The strawberry flavoured ones." Catching on to what Mina's trying to to, you play along. Katsuki may know how periods work, and that period products exist, byt the types? Clueless. So this will be fun. "I dunno if this store sells them. Go ask." He sighs, and goes to a nearby clerk. You don't hear the conversation, but when it ends, you see a mildly horrified clerk, and a heavily pissed and embarrassed Katsuki stalk over to you. "I am going to fucking kill you. Slaughter you, and Pinky. Neither of you are longer safe." He says, and speeds to grab the cart, and charge off. You're doubled over in laughter, trying to follow along.

"That was a sick fucking joke. Damn worker looked at me like I had 5 heads!!" "Y-yeah, but it was funny as fuck." You respond, still giggling. He huffs, still annoyed.

"Glad you got our fuckin' enjoyment. Now come on, we have to get some more. You and racoon eyes can laugh it up back at the dorms."

─── · 。ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Back at the dorms, you both unpack the groceries, eyeing Mina and giggling every time, which landed you a slight swat on your head from a still grumbly Katsuki. After unpacking, you both cook a quick meal and decide to sit outside the dorm building to eat, enjoying the afternoon sun peaking through the clouds, balancing the persistent cool breeze.

"Y'know, I didn't mind today." Katsuki says, his tone slightly softer than usual.

"Yeah?" "Yeah. I meant what I said yesterday. I like being around you. You're one of the few people who can match my energy, or at least put up with it." He responds.

"I don’t put up with it, I enjoy it. I enjoy you. You don't judge me, and any criticism you give me isn't out of cruelty, or something. I can tell you actually care. And.... that's special to me."

"Obviously I care, idiot. And yeah, i know by now what you need to hear and what you don't. I do try. To, like, be a good friend. I'm damn aware I've been an egotistical cunt at points, and at other points, I still am. But I don’t want that to cause anything bad between us. And to Izuku as well." "It won't. And I see how hard you try. That's what matters." He hums in response, and you both keep eating in silence for a bit.

".....I'm still fucking pissed about earlier. Strawberry flavoured pads?!" He exclaims, looking to you like you're nuts. You laugh loudly again, and he tries to remain pissed, but eventually cracks a smile.

"You're a prick. An astronomically sized prick." "You love me." "Absolutely 0 promises."

[bunnipuffs]

Not smut but could you write reader who has a learning disability and is really struggling in school with nerdy Abby who takes her time and helps reader in a way she can understand?

awww omg of course !!!! i love this idea ( ˃̣̣̥᷄⌓˂̣̣̥᷅ ) nerdy abby holds such a special place in my heart she’s my baby !!! i loved writing this soooo much  ૢ(❛◡❛✿)  ૢ thank u sm for this anon !! i really hope u enjoy ^_^

i hope i've written this properly and respectfully ! if i have written something incorrectly/made an offensive comment , please let me know ! <3 i did as much research as i could to do justice for this prompt but i definitely know it will not be perfect . tysm !!!! <3<3<3

꒰ cw. mentions of learning disabilities, dyslexia in particular! ꒱

⋆˙⟡ abby anderson helps you out!

♡*.✧ you noticed something was a little off when you were growing up. words were difficult to make out, sounding out funky pairs of letters and how the words were even supposed to be said out loud. when your teacher brought up reading time, it was very difficult. you were always confused as to how your friends were reading so quickly, finishing the ten-paged picture book in minutes. it took you way too long to even get through the text next to the colorful images. the letters seemed to dance around within the word, and given the context, what you were reading didn't match the picture you saw. you did your best, and somehow, it still wasn't enough.

♡*.✧ you were seven when you were diagnosed. dyslexia. it sounded way too fancy for you, the word was... hard to read or process at the time. your parents had to break it down for you in easier steps so that you could understand, but at that age, you just described it as simple as you could in your head. school life was easier, though. you received more time during tests and reading exercises, and you were enrolled in one-on-one classes with a reading specialist. it helped, sure, things were easier to manage now that you had a chance—but your academics weren't drastically improving. your grades weren't great and it demotivated you further, your classmates always had an easier time and you had to put in more effort to get to their level. it wasn't fair at all.

♡*.✧ you managed to get by your younger years just fine and you got into college. you couldn’t lie to yourself and say you weren’t super anxious about it, it would be another section of your life where you felt like you were potentially falling behind. you knew you were smart, creative, you loved drawing and being able to place meanings behind your art. you were great at math, having only a little trouble with word problems, but nonetheless you were good at it. it was just those pesky english assignments that caught up to you, and even then you were managing to land better marks than some of your peers. you just hated the fact that college seemed so "adult," you had bigger responsibilities since you lived alone and had to manage yourself on your own schedule.

♡*.✧ you’re sitting in your 2nd lecture. your professor is introducing the text you’d be analyzing for majority of the semester and you’re having a little trouble with some of the sentences. you’re stuck on the same page for a while before the person next to you taps your shoulder, and you glance at the girl next to you with her braided blonde hair. she’s wearing a warm smile, “did you need any help with that?” you’re giving her a small nod and she’s shifting her creaky chair closer to yours. “what part were you having trouble with?” you’re a little hesitant to tell her at first—what if she judges you for something that seems so easy? but she’s looking at you with genuineness in her eyes and you suddenly feel at ease. “uh.. like, what exactly does this mean? and i don't get the other stuff here.” she reads it out for you, sounding it out, and explains the definitions after. in the past, you never really understood things at first—but the way abby thoroughly walked you through everything, you got it immediately. you both end up going through the chapters together and she helps you with anything you struggled with.

♡*.✧ the lecture ends and the girl introduces herself as “abby,” you exchange your own name and your number. “just text me if you need anything, i don’t mind studying with someone else.” you’re giving her a smile and heading your separate ways, walking to your dorm with a warm heart. no one else had ever really insisted on helping you out like that, never getting frustrated or tired of your questions. even though you had known her for such a short amount of time, she made you feel relaxed. you always felt anxious when you were meeting new people—especially since others hadn’t been so understanding in the past. you didn't feel the need to tell abby about your dyslexia, you felt no reason to. she wasn't judging you because of your struggles and you didn't need to provide an excuse for your academic abilities. it felt like a breath of fresh air and cookie dough ice cream in the summer. she was so good.

♡*.✧ a few weeks go by and you find yourself texting abby on a regular basis. not just for college assignments, but little things like "the barista messed up my coffee!" or abby's texts like "my mom sent me this really cute picture of my dog, look :)" college had been insanely nerve-wracking at first, but with abby's presence, it had been easier than you anticipated. you both took time after lectures to catch up on how your day went, going through readings together, or just taking a walk around campus. abby was kind and smart, and so pretty. but every time you’ve thought about the latter, you felt butterflies erupt in your stomach. you couldn’t stare at her for too long unless you wanted to feel your heart violently thumping against your chest.

♡*.✧ before you knew it, midterm season was approaching. you have a stack of assignments and exams piled up and you’ve been crying under your sheets for hours now. you had been attempting to start your many essays, study for your various exams, be a regular college student—but it didn’t go as planned. you didn’t expect college to be this demanding. you never had a million assignments or tests due at the same time in high school, and this was completely new. the stress of everything had also made it impossible to read through anything properly. you usually give yourself time to read, you know your situation, and you’ve never felt this overwhelmed from trying to read. the letters are jumbled together and you can’t tell if a word says that or this. your pillows are completely stained with tears, knees to your chest. you felt miserable.

♡*.✧ your phone is suddenly buzzing next to you, multiple dings at a time. it’s abby.

abby <3: wanna study?

abby <3: i have lots to do

abby <3: you there?

you blink away tears, thumbs slowly moving to reply.

you: not feeling it rn, sorry

abby <3: are you okay?

you think carefully about your next reply. should you just tell her you’re struggling? she would understand. it’s abby.

you: uh

you: i have dyslexia

you: since midterms are coming around i didn’t rlly expect for everything to be this stressful

you: i usually take my time to read but i feel rushed and because i feel rushed i’m anxious and i can’t get through anything properly, the text is so small and i’m srsly gonna go insane

you put your phone down when you see the text bubbles pop up, heart clenching. even though a part of you knew that abby anderson would never judge you for something like that, another part of you felt afraid. that she would just be like the others. you've come this far with her, and you really didn't want her to think of you any differently—

abby <3: give me some time, i'm coming over

♡*.✧ you're wiping off your tear stained face when you hear a knock at your door, opening it up to see abby standing there. she has a folder covered in a pattern of different ocean animals and a package of papers inside. you're raising a brow before abby shoots you a smile, "can i come in?" you respond with a nod, abby moving past you to sit on your small rug next to your bed. you sit right in front of her wearing a confused expression. "what do you have there?" abby doesn't reply, only opening up the folder to reveal the contents inside. she takes out the papers and hands it over to you. "i know our exam is coming up and i was doing some research," you're flipping over the stapled pages and smiling. it's the book for your class, but the font is printed huge, spaced out, easier to read and the letters aren't mixing together anymore. "i don't know if it'll help, but i heard it might make it easier for you to read." your heart swells, stomach filled with a comforting warmth. "you did this for me?" abby nods. "i don't like seeing you like this and i know you can do it, you just need a different method."

♡*.✧ you end up passing everything with flying colors, the studying had completely paid off and you started printing assignments and your work in bigger prints. it took a while getting used to, but it was easier and you were doing well. abby invites you out to dinner after midterm season, your favorite place, and you haven't stopped smiling since you both sat down. "thank you abby, seriously, i don't think i could've done it without you." she's shaking her head, a big smile on her face. "you did it. not me, you're the smartest girl i know."

[chaifootsteps]

um, hi. it's anon from this ask - https://www.tumblr.com/chaifootsteps/783221152782958592/one-other-thing-i-dont-get-normally-with

I came back because I think I wasn't clear enough with what I was trying to say

my intention wasn't to say people who loved either HH or HB once should just let it go entirely - I also loved both shows at a point in time, even if how bad they've gotten means I struggle to enjoy even the parts I once liked knowing where it ended up going. if someone wants to read second hand copies of HP or rewatch old HB episodes, I don't begrudge them that

my question was more about fans who aren't former fans but are current, active fans. what I don't understand and was trying to drive at is - what are they getting out of the shows anymore? the writing is so bad now I honestly can't fathom how anyone has the patience for it. even if they still love the characters and their potential, there's not a lot of fun in watching them become hollow copies of themselves

fans give so much to these shows just to have their intelligence insulted by bad writing. it feels to me like the only way to enjoy HH/HB nowadays is just don't invest in the plot that much and also agree with everything Viv says

which is why I bring up LD and TADC. not to suggest they should just be able to substitute one show for another - they're very different tone wise and plot wise, for one thing - but to point out that HH/HB don't honor anyone's time or love, where LD and TADC do. it took TADC two episodes to prove it writes characters more competently than Viv has in the entirety of Helluva s2.

and so much of HH/HB makes it hard to divorce the art from the artist even if current fans wanted to. Viv has this almost dictatorial attitude about how her shows 'should' be enjoyed. coupled together, it's why I asked how the show still even has active fans when they're given nothing but lazy slop writing and keep having to have these sad little convos amongst themselves about how Viv should really get off Twitter and stop having crashouts.

this might just be one where I have to stop trying to understand, to be honest? HH and especially HB when written by Viv solo are honestly the most amateur bits of writing I've ever seen get this level of animation quality behind them. maybe I'm just not going to get what current fans see in it - or maybe it's just because they actually prefer the woobified version of the Stolas Show that everyone else bounced off of. maybe they're Viv's real audience and she only cares about pleasing them, and I just need to let it go

anyways, sorry that got long but I hope that makes it clearer what I was trying to say. I certainly have artists better than Viv whose work I still own copies of despite them being problematic, so I wasn't trying to tell anyone 'just cut it out of your heart even if it meant a lot to you'. I'm as sad as anyone about what she did to Blitz, to the point I refuse to watch s3 and will just absorb news about where this car crash goes second hand

Ahh, no worries! Sorry if I came across as defensive; I figured even if it wasn't what you were getting at exactly, there are so many people in fandom who wholeheartedly believe "There's no excuse for watching/reading X when Y exists."

I do get what you're saying. I don't always get the love for Viv's stuff in its current form either, and frequently have to remind myself that it doesn't matter, it means something to the fandom.

[hayaku14]

yapper bf x listener bf

[sevastiel]

Behold ye, my Protoframe oc, Darius.

(Ft @doggojin and @thatfluffyboi's Chanho n Sol, they make an delightful trio tbh)

Some extra deets (lots of notes on him be warned) post cut! :)

Separated into physical and psychological/lore.

Physical notes :

Spanish-Mediterranean, mid-to-late twenties, looms at a ridiculous 6'6" (200 cm I believe? around there.) but is normally hovering an inch or two off the ground. Thankfully, he's gotten into the habit of tucking his legs in a bit so he doesn't hit every single doorframe that he passes through. He lost his left leg from the knee down due to an unfortunate incident with a landmine, and had a prosthetic for several years before the techrot.

Darius's body is made up of connected pieces held together by sentient energy, and all of his organs have either been replaced by the techrot-sentient hybrid growths, or are no longer necessary and have been removed. He currently lacks the entirety of a regular digestive tract as we would know it, and subsists mostly on energy. However, should he require physical mass for either rebuilding/modifying himself, or creating other sentients, he can 'eat' by putting materials in his mouth, pulling his bodily pieces together, and allowing the techrot systems to dissolve things into more workable particles, or pushing things between separated segments of his body (usually his chest) and letting the sentient bits pick things apart and feed them to the rot for storage. (This takes longer and is less effective at energy conservation) Extra notes on this later when we discuss his abilities.

The connective energy between segments is manifested in string-like bundles of force, which are manipulatable and can be 'touched', though unless he's focusing on keeping his energy properly contained you will likely get a light zap, and with prolonged touch you'll likely be able to feel them hum with power. They normally have about the same tactile strength as woven spiderwebbing of the same thickness, stretching easily but ultimately severable with either enough effort or something sharp. Should you sever all the connections, the piece will just fall off. Removed pieces aren't controllable by him any longer, but are re-attachable, and although he's got a body plan that his form defaults to, every single bit of him is entirely modular except for his cranium. Removing his jaw takes some effort, as there are technically still segments of flesh (his lips, basically) holding it on, but it is possible. If he really puts his mind to it, though, he can remove a segment, and maintain the links through mental focus, or by tethering them to something that he/they can feed off of. Through this, he can make replacement limbs for others, or additional armor, given they've got the bio-energy to keep the segments active.

Bodily segments are almost entirely made of toughened armor plating, with the majority of flexibility being located on the twin pieces that make up his chest/torso, as this is also where the majority of the techrot based organs lie. Although he does need to breathe, each segment intakes oxygen individually, through the softer and more porous dark insides. He has full sensation in any piece of him that he's linked to, as the energy connections serve as a nervous system, and can 'digest' pieces if he's in desperate need of energy/materials in a pinch.

Being modular, he can, in the same way he summons other sentients, simply craft himself differing body parts whenever he so pleases. The larger the piece, the more effort/thought it takes, since it requires a greater complexity of systems for nutrient, oxygen, and waste management. Due to his own lack of knowledge, he doesn't manifest any replacements larger than his own legs, and would rather just spit out a patch and slap it onto injured areas and let the techrot do its thing. This is why his 'armor' looks less dramatic compared to actual caliban, because why the hell would he want that much weight throwing him off balance? He'll accept the techrot/sentient's desires and keep his form adjacent to it, though.

Ability wise, he's functionally pretty similar to a vampire. While he technically could subsist entirely off of regular food, it would require a lot of time and careful dieting to gather the proper resources his body needs, and his energy levels would be rather constantly low. So, instead, he just eats as much techrot as he can and prays for the best, or drinks directly from power generators when he can get away with it, or anything similar. Pure energy as a baseline keeps all his sentient systems running, and metals/proteins allow his techrot systems to keep going. Thankfully for him, he's got two boyfriends who are both quite energetic, and really don't mind his needs as much as they should.

Manifesting sentient fighters usually happens in the same way as he manifests new pieces of himself, but with the added caveat that they don't need functional internal systems for long term usage, and he can charge them up with his own power to keep them running as long as he needs. This is obviously extremely resource intensive, but if it keeps those he cares about safe, (and since it appeases the eternal need to consume and create and consume and create and consume and create) he'll do whatever he must.

Due to all of the above, he prefers particularly tight or comfortable clothing,, as it helps mitigate the changes that happen depending on his energy levels. The less he's got, the looser his pieces, and things will just fall off if he's dead tired (lol). So... Avoiding that is nice. Additionally, although he needs his chest cavity within reach for making sentients at a quick notice, he does like looking in the mirror and not seeing his own body immediately as so blatantly inhuman and monstrous. The straps he uses for his military harness are half to hold things and half to straight up just keep himself together. The mask is for keeping his eyes clear of gore while he's in the middle of shit, because that was a severe issue beforehand. Take a bite, get blinded bc there was more fluid than you expected, have to panic and try and fix that mid combat, leaving you even worse off than you were previously? No thanks.

--

Psycological notes and lore:

Before Entrati got his hands on him, he was a well respected mediator that worked on communications for the ICR, and worked directly with the Hollvanian government and its military to allow for the ICR to remain in the city.

Coming from a well off and well expecting background, from a young age he was put through his paces and taught to be the finest edition of a modern renaissance man, giving him very little time to do anything but his studies, and very little affection from anything but perfection. Even then, kinda mid. As such, he is a well mannered and well spoken fellow with a deeply repressed childish nature that only ever comes out at the worst possible times amidst the best possible company.

Having been tailor-made for communications work, he was also ensured a healthy dose in very many other skills that might come up from time to time while traveling. (Including, but not limited to, sewing (which he hates), cooking (which he has extremely low patience for), midwifery (which thank god hasn't come up yet), medical triage (unfortunately has), general electrical and mechanical knowledge (much better for him now than it was before), a few languages, and so forth. Post becoming a protoframe, much of his knowledge has degraded due to the changes required for his brain to be able to control his bio-energy, leaving him constantly irritated when faced with a challenge that he knows DAMN well how to deal with, but cant remember specifics on.

He deals with irritation and anger very expressly, not one for subtlety or sarcasm when it comes to his displeasure. This man will Not be the one making snide jabs across the table, he would instead pull you aside privately and explain quite logically the behaviors he's disliking and see if either an agreement can be reached or if another specialist should be put forth. A trait learned from his parents, no doubt, but also one that helps considerably when it comes to governmental relations and respect.

All of his emotions are generally delt with highly logically, which, when it comes to more positive or soft feelings, gets very awkward and confusing for him very fast. One might find have found him before sitting on a bench, staring up at the falling leaves. If you asked him what he was thinking about, he'd respond that he's trying to comprehend why exactly he should be feeling happy about witnessing something so mundane. He wouldn't leave, of course, he'd still watch, but there will always be a part of him that shies away from emotions as a whole. All the sweeter, imo, when he really starts feeling and letting himself feel. Love is a strange thing, isn't it?

During his time in Hollvania, he got infected through volunteer work, doing his best to actually be helpful past the eternal red-tape. He hid it for as long as he could, taking extra care to frequently wash, scrub down, and then properly bandage and ointment up the affected bits of his arms so he wouldn't risk spreading anything, but it didn't do much for him at all. He was needed to maintain good relations, often running intermediary briefing dialogues to keep both sides as up to date as possible on the ICR's doings, so duty really did pull him in half. (haha) As the rot progressed and claimed more of his body, leaving him weaker and more frequently ill, it was less and less ethically feasible for him to keep working, despite it more or less being the only thing he really knew how to do, and there being very few people who could replace him. If he wasn't doing something, if he wasn't being productive, solving problems, keeping people happy, then what was he?

And then he heard of a man with a miracle cure, our good old Doktor Friday, and the fact that it worked. Naturally, Darius paid him a visit, already having used his infected status as an excuse to let him do a bit more hands on assistance wherever he could. And Entrati indeed did give him a cure, listening and nodding along to all the reasons Darius gave as to why he would likely be a good test subject, especially if it meant that if it worked, Darius would be in an excellent position to grant Albrecht significant funding for expanding his cures to the greater populous, who needed them desperately.

Well, it sure didn't fucking do much, did it, leaving him visually better, but when word got out that the others who'd taken the cure had become super-spreaders, you bet your ass he started panicking immediately. He'd been in rooms for extended periods of time with everyone in command, just his presence might have been enough to entirely destabilize the local government, or absolutely gut the ICR. So, once more, he claimed a stomach illness to take some time off. This was a very big problem, so back he went, livid as all hell, to hunt down Entrati.

He got the whole spiel about unforeseen mutations within the techrot responding strangely, and although he didn't believe it, he already had nothing left to lose. He wasn't a soldier, sure, he had training in fencing, could handle a gun, but he couldn't help like the others could, and he could not go back to the one thing he'd been set up all his life to be. And Entrati had a bit of a twinkle in his eye when he said that there might be something that he could do, but it would take time, and multiple tests, to be able to make it all work. There was another strain Dr E was experimenting with that, as he was shown samples and heard the explanations, seemed to be able to nullify the techrot almost entirely. (It was actually just subsuming it, but visually, the two outcomes were nearly identical.)

So he said yes. Like a fucking idiot.

The initial dose laced him with the helminth strain, preparing his body, granting him strength, even though it hurt so very much, the pain leaving him borderline insensate, unable to do anything but lay there and cry as he felt his very flesh twisting and saw Entrati approach with the second dose after a few hours.

Number two was a low dose of the sentient strain, modified, following Caliban's biological approach, and the reaction between the two was violent, techrot subsumed with a rapid hunger and made to serve a new master. Darius's body quite literally began tearing at the seams, and Entrati took his time with the process, utilizing several more small injections, so he wouldn't die of pure blood loss.

When all was said and done, his twisted body was held together by a scant few threads of power, and he was very much unconscious, having fallen into a coma that would last multiple days, fed with an occasional battery set into the new cavity within his chest.

Wisely, Entrati was not there when he awoke, starving, terrified, and in great pain. All he could focus on was the hunger, that pulsating desire that screamed at him to consume, create, consume, create, consume, create, his human mind utterly overwhelmed by the twin techrot and sentient desires. It took him some time to figure out how to move again, much less walk, and the hunger only got worse by the second.

When the Hex found him, they came across a crying, shattered man, tearing into mounds of freshly killed techrot with his bare hands, stuffing wires and flesh alike into his mouth with an inhuman voracity. He was guarded by bizarre automatons, whos' origin was quickly made apparent by him reaching into that glowing gash that bisected his entire body and pulling out another, his own form splitting and reshaping as he dragged it free.

It took quite some time for him to regain his humanity. Quite some time to mediate the new desires of his reformed body with his own. The urges have not left him, but at least he's got a choice, now.

Prince of both worlds indeed.

[cluescorner]

I cannot imagine being a Damian stan right now. You've got both Zdarsky's bullshit (where he clearly doesn't give a shit about your boy) and The Boy Wonder (where Juni Ba clearly gives so many shits about your boy) coming out on the same day. The whiplash must be insane. I hope y'all get some nice warm soup for your efforts jfc

[copper-sands]

starting to think that maybe it's a good idea to stop forcing myself to create and take a break actually

[hplonesomeart]

Hey!! So turns out a video I made between a certain “well beloved but highly sensitive/emotionally reactive T.V” and an “orange haired inkling-turned-human” has managed to sweep my YouTube channel and accumulate 100k VIEWS!! THAT’S A LOT OF PEOPLE ACTUALLY?? My most widely viewed video EVER to exist in this moment in time?? AAAAA?? Not even mentioning the various comments and staggering increase in subs! It’s so much more then what I expected or even prepared for—might even be the most impactful thing to happen for me this year <3

…aside from graduating high school + the social connections I’ve been fortunate to make lol

BUT THE POINT IS I’d been closely monitoring the YouTube growth through the entirety of October. It’s make me smile like a dork, gawk in astonishment, dance frantically in my room from the energy boosts, and grow courage to stop being so selective/self-conscious with what I wish to share with the world! It’s kept my ambitions going!

I needed to find some way to celebrate the occasion and express my thanks—because I can’t NOT acknowledge this milestone jksjskp. Typically I try to avoid getting tunnel visioned focusing on the metrics/numbers. Mr. Puzzles had already demonstrated how much those things can mess with the minds of creatives. Caring too much about chasing views or placing your artistic value in attention seeking gets damaging. But at same time…it’s hard to deny the sense of pride the 100k achievement has filled me with. I understand that reaching 100k views doesn’t immediately make me any “better” or “worse” then I was before. I’m still just me! It only helps me feel seen by others—and that’s all I really needed. To hear some nice words & receive reminders that my ideas are cared about. So thank you SMG4 fandom for that, seriously thank you.

Please accept this Mr. Puzzle drawing as a way of sharing the happiness around. He’s so entertaining. Love him for simply existing. So glad we can all collectively be super attached to him (and the rest of the SMG4 cast of course). Can’t wait to see more incredible artworks from the fandom :)

Just incase anyone is confused by my vague description over which “animated video” I’m referring to here—hopefully this photo will help clarify lol. It’s this one!! Sorry about not outright stating the title at the start, I got carried away with writing!!

I’ve been in an odd place mentally when thinking about it. Wondering to myself if any of the attention is deserved considering it’s not even fully colored and could be dismissed as “low effort” content (despite taking several days making it). It’s easy to get into a trap of comparing yourself to others and questioning how much of the videos success is based on your skills, sheer algorithm luck, or only because you used popular characters and catered to a specific fandom. And then judging yourself by looking at other peoples videos. I’ve seen several artists post higher quality works then my own but it somehow gets less views. So why did mine succeed when others (who should have gotten just as much attention if not more) didn’t? Sometimes you feel like you’ve unfairly robbed them of that chance to be seen. However I’ve realized that I can’t ever expect views to be consistent—and comparing is pointless. So why worry about it or feel inadequate? I mean it’s pretty common for funny cat videos to go viral, so who am I to question the system lol. “Popular” YouTube videos can range from a passion project which took 7+ artists…to a clip of Toad singing Chandelier or a nonsensical Vine sketch. Anything can happen when it’s the internet! And just-so-happened my video was chosen. I should stay glad about that and get rid of all the overanalyzing. So that’s what I’ve chosen to do :)

[asgardian--angels]

things I wish I could relive for the first time again:

that magical window where you finish a new piece of media, having watched/read it all by yourself with no fandom contact whatsoever, and you are just so happy about it, and full of interesting theories and takeaways, and just in love with it as a gorgeous piece of art.

because I swear to god as soon as you join the fandom for anything, you're bombarded with how you're supposed to view characters and their arcs, how you're supposed to morally and ethically judge the plot and the ways it apparently failed to present the right message, and if you don't you'll either be shunned for not sharing the popular headcanons or you'll be harassed for not criticizing the source material enough.

like how is it that the fans of a piece of media are also the ones being the most negative about it? If I like a show or a movie or a book, well, I liked it. That's kind of the point. I'm actually not here to tear it apart and talk about how it didn't live up to standards other people had! I enjoyed it for what it was, and forcing myself to find negative things to say about it doesn't actually bring me more enjoyment of it or reap any benefit to me. Fandom's a double-edged sword; you want to join a community to share your love for a piece of art, and the price you pay for a modicum of joy is a mountain of negativity. that's one main reason that I never engage with fandom until I'm completely done with a show, because if I was plugged into all of that commentary and discourse during the process, I'd be completely colored by how I'm expected to interpret everything this piece of art is presenting to me without being able to even form my own opinions.

[itissadbutitsmy-artblog]

favorite phenomenon is the existence of all the cute wizard city fanart entitled “this special looks so cute!! cant wait for it to come out!!” and “drew this while waiting for the last distant lands to air!! it looks really good!” and after it actually aired? radio silence.

[b4kuch1n]

one thing I thought was missing from canon sk8 was the mine being haunted apparently. so we are bringing that into burnished house for absolutely no fucking reason

[lemonynuggets]

no one talk to me I’m watching a movie from my childhood that was imprinted on my brain and I’ve been thinking about and trying to find non-stop for years and I finally got it (thank you Len for sending it to me you’re so awesome)

[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.

taglist (dm me or send an ask to be added!): @lacheri, @la-undercover-latina, @keiva1000

please consider leaving a comment, sending an ask, or reblogging! interacting with authors is the best way to support them! thanks for reading ♡

[wardingshout]

hey guys have you ever heard about the game Star Stealing Prince? <- that's a rly cool link

sweet dreams and not so sweet dreams