Read A Fanfic So Good I Started Writing Again.

𖦹 WHO HAVE I REMEMBERED? ⇆ touya "dabi" todoroki

┆︎summary ┆︎you find that love can create curses the same way they dismantle them.

┆︎tags┆︎the frog prince au, came back wrong trope, princess reader, prince turned usurper touya, obsessive behavior, survivor's guilt, stockholm syndrome, fade to black sex

┆︎wc┆︎5.1k

┆︎an┆︎my entry for @ljubimaya 's grim nightmares collab ! and special thanks to ethel cains new album for getting me through this. i tried something new with the formatting/writing style cause i wanted to go with discordant storytelling so let me know how you guys like that.

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the court whispers that you and your sisters―the kings daughters, were born from the wishes of faeries. and you, the eldest, even more so. what other way could it be explained, besides magic? that the sun kissed your cheeks each morning when it rose, and the world seemed more bleak when you were not around.

you, only short of eleven years, pay little attention to this. in fact, you pay little attention to anything that does not interest you. and lately―your latest obsession is the well outside of the castle gates.

in order to sneak away from your guards and your servants, you don a simple frilled hood and sneak through the passage-ways of the dungeon. and in the palms of your hands is your treasured ball, golden and full of sparkling light. a gift from your mother―who passed giving birth to your youngest sister.

the well reminds you of your mother, you think. and maybe that is why it entrances you so. you sit on it now, half an hour later. the stone is cool and slightly wet, where it touches slivers of bare skin. you toss the golden ball up and catch is easily in your hands. the forest is awake, but not yet bursting with energy. the birds sing their morning songs and occasionally you can hear a shrub rustle in the distance. a rabbit or dear, most likely.

it's soft, but you can hear it. the water inside the well bobbing along.

your mother had been obsessed with water. the ocean, lakes and rivers. she sketched and painted it all of the time. you never understood what was so captivating about them. only that her pieces of art were as beautiful as she had been. as miserable, and bleak, too.

the next toss of your golden ball is much higher, spurned from the strength of escaping thoughts of your deceased mother. you watch as it soars into the air, bright even against the blue sky. it comes hurtling down just as fast and you hold out your hands to catch it. the ball skims past your fingertips and you seem to watch it all in slowed motion as it lands deep within the well with a plop!

you move quickly, bracing your hands over the edge of the well with a gasp. but the well is too dark and much too deep for you to even begin to see to the bottom. even your ball, golden and bright, is swallowed up by its darkness. the tears prick up along your waterline, trickling down your brown cheeks in slow, steady streams before bursting into full-flamed sobs.

you cry and wail, kicking at the side of the well. your fists beat down on the stones and your grief chokes you. your fingers scrape against its surface, taking the moss underneath your nails.

"princess? what's wrong?" a voice calls out, approaching from your left. you turn towards the voice, staring into the face of an impassive young boy. he has a head of shock white hair, blue eyes that seem to stare so hard that they pass through you.

you don't like it. not one bit. you wipe your tears determinedly with the puffed sleeve of your gown, gesturing towards the well.

"i am crying because my golden ball fell in the stupid well" you explain, eyes narrowing with anger as you glare once more at the well. "it was a gift from my mother. i need it"

"i'll get it for you" the boy offered, staring between you and the well in equally unnerving moments.

you scoff, though the boy's foolish gesture warms you anyway. "don't be an idiot. it's gone f-forever. the well is too deep for anyone to go down. especially you, you're too small"

"i can" the boy stresses, which such conviction that it makes you pause. he relaxes the tense line of his shoulders and stares at you for a while longer. you don't know why you feel so inclined to believe him. he's a stranger, and dressed plainly. "for a price"

"whatever you want" you promise, not really thinking about it. your eyes drift to the well. you're going to get your ball back. "how about fancy clothes? pretty gems? a feast thrown in your honor? you can have it all, if you can get my ball back for me"

the boy frowns. "i do not want any of that. i want you to marry me. if you give me your hand, then i will go and get your ball for you"

"alright. fine" you acquiesce, shrugging one shoulder and without so much of another word, the boy jumps into the well. alarmed, you yell out for him, peering over the edge into the dark abyss.

moments later, your ball soars into the air and lands beside your feet with a thud.

one.

your father says socializing is perhaps the most important duty of a princess. engaging with the members of the court, with the nobles―all to find a good match. at just shy of sixteen years, you only care to socialize for the sole purpose of dressing up. spending days on selecting the perfect gown, the shoes to match. the art of your maids styling your hair, applying the gentlest forms of makeup upon your face. coming home to your castle after a long day, just to repeat the process again the next week.

unlike your younger sisters, you thrive at court life. the dancing, the rules of conversation, you understand it all. some part of you likes the attention. the boys who throw themselves at your feet, pushing at one another to please you. it fills your mind with a sense of power, of control.

you press your gloved palm to a lords, a smile dancing on your face as he whisks you across the floor. the music carries you and the lord―unnamed because you care not to know, fluttering from the tips of your toes into the smallest hair on the crown of your head.

the lord begins to pull you in. there's a curly mustache on top of his lip. his hand hovers along the small of your back, prepared to dip you, maybe. you never get a clear conclusion to his actions, because touya is wrenching him away from you.

his blue eyes are narrowed in anger. he heaves a breath, and one scathing look in the lords direction is enough to send the grown man scattering away.

"touya" you whine petulantly, in the middle of the ballroom floor. people turn their heads, sparing you only a glance before tearing away again. they know better than to interrupt the crown prince. and you should know better than to invoke his wrath like this. "that's not fair, i was dancing―"

"his hands were all over you" touya interjects, hissing the words at you. his white hair has been combed neatly and his hands shake when they reach out for you. you allow the movement, and the dance begins anew. touya seems to be replacing the lords hands with his own, touching the small of your back, palms pressed together.

"we're not married yet" you remind him cheekily, letting him spin you around before you're pulled in close once more. your eyes catch on his doublet, the intricate pattern work in his house colors. your dress, empire waist with elegant beadwork has been done to mirror his as well. "father still has to accept your proposal, in fact" its wrong to tease him, you know it is. but you can't help it.

"he will" touya hisses again. his hand tightens around your waist. he's so horribly endearing when he's angry, like a hissing kitten. the crown prince is close to you in age, a year older. where most people are afraid to anger him, fearing his wrath―you can only imagine him being that same fool hearted boy who leaped head first into a well to retrieve your ball for you.

but it is perhaps the wrong thing to say after all, because the crown prince takes one final glance at your smiling face and roughly pulls you from the floor. you protest, trying to pull away. touya only tightens his grip and drags you further into the darkened halls outside of the ballroom.

"touya―mmpfh!" the prince pushes you into one of the rooms, shutting the door behind him with his foot. he presses you against and swallows the sound of his name on your lips with a searing kiss. one of his hands braces against the door behind your head and the other remains possessively on your hip. he brings up one hand briefly to cup your chin, moving your head to deepen the kiss.

you've kissed him before. mostly chaste little things, sweet presses of your mouths together when the two of you are alone. but nothing like this. the way touya kisses you now feels like ownership, devouring your mouth and restricting your movements, knee pushing between your skirts.

his tongue swipes against the seam of your lips. you open them obediently, to which you've earned a gentle caress on your hip, and his tongue twines with yours.

touya pulls away string of saliva connecting your mouths as he stares down at you. you pant, trying to catch your breath―unable to hide the sound that escapes you when he pushes his face into your neck, pressing biting sharp kisses there as well.

your betrothed stops sucking a mark into your neck long enough to bite out the words, "you are my wife, i won't share you. not with anyone." drunk in it you nod along, hand squeezing his shoulders as arousal settles in the bottom of your stomach, new and foreign. "say it."

"i-i'm your wife" you whine into a series of kisses. you aren't married yet. your father is still thinking on the betrothal. he could reject it at any time. he could be rejecting it right now.

touya's hand slides under your skirts, pressing against heated skin, and that doubting little voice falls quiet.

two.

the wedding will go on, no matter your conflicting feelings on it.

it feels too soon. touya died only two years ago. you loved him. it feels wrong to marry someone else. every inch of you is pulling you towards someone you cannot have. you need more time. yet you say nothing, as your maids usher you from the tub into a warm towel. they scrub at your skin, drying the water from your flesh.

the war has just ended. there on the throne, on touya's throne―sits an usurper. your father's people, your people, they have lost loved ones. women who have lost their husbands, much like you have. children, without fathers. resources that are scarce and dwindling. and yet your father thinks a marriage will united the kingdom.

play your part, your father had said. what the people need now is something to make them happy. you stare bitterly into your reflection as the maids bring out the wedding gown. the one you were supposed to be wed in, when you were going to be wed to touya―that one had been destroyed. you don't even want to look at this one. it is like everyone is trying to take his memory from you.

you screw your eyes shut as the dress is pulled onto your frame. lace and tulle scratch against your brown skin. you want to claw out of yourself desperately. to be anyone else.

the maids murmur quietly amongst themselves. you are a vision, they say. you can hide no longer, and your eyes must open. you stare at yourself in the floor length mirror and you hate what you see. its not the dress you would have chosen. you look mature and wise, elegant beyond your years. you look nothing like the girl who chased touya through the gardens, tumbling with him on the grasses.

you look like a queen―regal. you do not look like the girl touya kissed under the moonlight as he held your hand. your hand comes up to your neck absentminded, searching for the ring he had given you, dangling on pure silver. it is not there, you realize a moment too late, and your hand connects with the smooth bare skin there instead.

your eyes slide over to the chest, where you have kept it safe since the night prior. it isn't wise to marry a man with a ring of another around your throat. even you know that.

but still, each step towards your husband-to-be feels traitorous. all eyes are on you, and the wedding march plays and all you can think about is how much you want to run away. but you are a coward, so all you do is keep your head straight as you continue down the aisle of the cathedral.

the priest begins with the ceremony. your heart feels like lead in your stomach and a feeling of pure dread encompasses you. your fingers shake from where they are wrapped around the stem of the bouquet. the man you are to marry stands across from you, smile on his face.

there is nothing to be joyous about. your husband turns that smiling gaze towards you now, and you feel the priests eyes on you as well. you open your mouth to prepare to speak your vows. your voice is hushed and you have to clear your throat softly to try again.

the sounds of men yelling outside wash over the quiet cathedral. several heads turn towards the doors, you among them. there are more shouts and moments later the doors burst open.

even from where you stand, you know by the glint of silvery steel on his helm that this man is the usurper. the man is followed by a small group of armed men as they charge into the cathedral. one of your own knights unsheathes his blade at your fathers command, and you can do nothing but stand there are more blades are uncovered―glinting in the morning light.

you swallow a gasp as the usurper cuts down the knight, spraying blood and viscera among the guests, making his way towards you determinedly. the cathedral is thrown into disarray as the usurper and his men charge, cutting down those who stand in their way. you throw down your bouquet, cursing the tightness of the dress that doesn't allow you much movement at all―trying to flee.

the usurper reaches you, pulling you towards him. several men hold your husband, and even if you did not want to marry him, you bear no ill-will towards him. and when he stabbed through the chest, you cry out for him all the same. the usurper turns towards you once more and he stares at you―you know he is, you can feel it even with the helm obscuring his face.

"let me go! let me go, let me, stop touching me!" you shout, fists pounding against the chest of the usurper. you fight against him, scratching and squirming. though you might as well be kicking mere pebbles against him, with the way he doesn't move. tears cloud your vision and soon your fight wears out of you.

without a word, the usurper reaches forwards―gripping your arm far too gently as he takes the ring from your finger and tosses it among the remains of your husband with a scathing growl.

"i wont' share you" the usurper says, voice gravelly and rough as recognition dawns on you. your eyes widen, and the usurper drags you to the front doors.

"touya?" you ask, eyes glistening with fresh tears. the usurper stiffens but does not answer you.

though, not answering is answer enough.

three.

he insists that you call him dabi, now. the name fills your mouth with bile and so you refuse. he is touya―you have to believe that the man who stands before you now is your touya. he is still yours. sour and mercurial. the touya that loves you deeply, that loves you purely. dabi is the one who yells, who accuses you of horrible things―of abandoning him. who tells you that this, the life you live now, is your fault.

the ballroom carries on in merry feasting. everyone present seems to be wholly engrossed in dancing, in the meal. no one pays much attention to the usurper king and his wife. or perhaps, they are all like you―pretending that nothing has changed.

touya's arm leans across your chair, draping over your shoulder. it is a miracle that you do not shudder when his fingers dance along the skin of your jaw. his mouth presses close to your ear and you can feel him gently playing with the neckline of your wedding dress. "are the festivities not to your liking?" he inquires, whispering. this time, you do shudder.

"i-i'm content" you reply, swallowing your nerves. you can feel the way touya continues to stare at you. a month ago, still new to your life here as the usurpers wife―you tried everything you could to rebel. you refused to eat, scratched at him every time he came near.

and one morning, he had the chefs prepare your favorite. fluffy pancakes, drowning in sticky syrup. sliced fruit and yogurt on the side. a tall glass of chilled orange juice, free of pulp. again―you had refused the meal. dabi had leaned over you on the bed, gently cupping your cheek.

"is it not to your liking, wife?" he had asked, always with the wife. as if he was making up for lost time. but to you, it only felt like a reminder of your place beside him. you had stubbornly shook your head and moments later dabi had the chefs brought into your chambers and slain.

you do not doubt for a second that dabi would have every noble in this room slain if he felt like it, guided by twisted morals. you don't want anyone else to die for you. you don't want him to kill anyone else. "i'm happy, touya" you say once more, plastering a smile onto your face. you force yourself to look at him―the scars and the charred flesh. his hair, dyed black now. the soullessness of his blue eyes.

moments of silence pass. you play with your hands in your lap, anxious as you wait for his visible displeasure to pass. touya continues to stare at you, and without another word, he stands.

fear washes over you. he stares down at you, eyes roving over your face. "we're to retire for the night, my dear" he says, sounding almost like touya again as he helps you from your chair. you know what's to come.

guards are posted up and down the halls, spears raised and at the ready. each nods in your direction, acknowledging their king and queen. touya moves steadily forwards getting closer to your shared chambers.

you had caved once, earlier in the week, and asked one of your elder servants how her first time had gone. her hair was graying and you knew she must have a had a child already. she did not answer you, not immediately, braiding down your hair.

"it's going to hurt" she told you, staring down at you pityingly "men do not understand that they have to be gentle, for a maidens first time. you have to relax and let the worst of it pass"

touya's mouth claims yours the moment you two are alone. it feels invasive, like he's trying to crawl into your body from your mouth and stay there. you try to kiss him back, but he dominates the kiss so easily, moving you this way and that. his hands deftly undo the buttons on the back of your wedding gown, pressing fevered kisses to your neck once the slope of skin is exposed to him.

"there is not a single woman in the world who compares to you" touya whispers, pushing you down onto the bed gently. his eyes meet yours in the dim lighting as he kneels before you. his hands undo the straps of your shoes, lightly massaging your foot, then your calf and then up to your knee. "in beauty, in grace. i have lived my entire life in your image, and i will continue to do so still. you have entranced me mind, body and soul"

he is reciting his vows to you, you realize somewhat dazedly, as he pushed the gown from your shivering frame. clad in only your undergarments, the air chills you. his teeth nip at a sensitive part of your throat, pulling a meek sound from your lips.

touya's hands hover above your body before slowly touching the bare skin of your legs. he kisses you once more, humming into it as his hands caress flesh. like he can't quite believe you're real. you've never been touched like this before, and your stomach curls when his hands skirt around your pelvis.

his hair tickles the skin just underneath your breasts. you look down when you feel his face pressing into your stomach. touya groans, loudly. "you're so soft" he whispers, nearly feverish with it. you don't know what to say to that, so you say nothing. his face presses further into your skin and he smells you, groaning again―like he's trying to push past the layer and live in your bones instead. even that level of closeness may not be close enough for him, you realize with slight horror.

"like vanilla" touya murmurs, hooking two of his scarred fingers over your underwear and slowly pulling them down your legs. touya's gunmetal blue eyes are focused onto your cunt, like a predator right before it strikes. blindly, touya brings the silken garment to his nose before he tucks your underwear into the breast pocket of his jacket.

"you can't―!" you protest in embarrassment, squeezing your legs together as shame fills you. you only realize entirely too late that this does nothing but expose more of your privates to him, and before you can try to shift your position, touya is pulling your legs apart once more.

touya dances his pointer down the length of your inner thigh, and then once more. he drags it down from your hooded clit to your entrance. "so pretty" he murmurs. the attention causes you to shiver and in return, touya finally looks up to face you. "are you a maiden?" he asks, as if he does not already know the answer.

"touya―" you reply, nearly whiny. his fingers continue to trace your outer lips, and them pushing them aside to drift between your folds.

"dabi" touya corrects sternly, but doesn't bother saying anything more on that subject, too engrossed in playing with you. "answer me."

you can feel yourself getting wet. it is the single most embarrassing thing in the world. you don't know if its his tone of voice, the way touya plays with you―somehow both nonchalant and obsessive about being in-between your legs. "y-yes. i'm untouched"

not truly. there was that time at the ball. but touya had used only his fingers, bringing you to completion quickly. you wonder if he can even remember it.

"do you touch yourself?" a shake of your head. touya presses more insistently, grazing them along your sensitive nub as he stares at your face for a reaction. "with words" a harder press and this time a tiny sound escapes you, hardly above a gasp and your cunt throbs, clenching around nothing.

"i haven't" you answer dutifully, voice shaky as another gasps escapes you. "please-"

touya laughs. it sounds cruel and condescending all at once. he brings those eyes back up to your face. "do you even know what your asking for?"

your thighs press together. you don't. touya knows you don't.

"i thought not" touya chuckles, spreading your legs once more. he drags you none too gently down the length of your bed, and settles his lower half against it. his fingers continue their gentle petting, mouth placing little kisses against your inner thighs that have you squeezing your eyes shut as more slick pools from your cunt.

"but that's alright, isn't it?" he asks, and you open your mouth to speak when you realize that he isn't talking to you. touya licks a broad stroke up your cunt, pulling a little squeal from your lips before drawing back to kiss your clit. "you just need your husband to figure everything out for you, don't you sweetheart?"

four.

"i could get in so much trouble for this" you say, as touya helps you cross over a path of stones. you hold your skirts up in your hands as he guides you along. "if my father finds out i've left, it could ruin my reputation"

"why do you need a reputation?" touya replies, looking at you with a perplexed expression―like he really can't understand the concept. it is entirely too endearing for your liking. touya is supposed to be a pest, he is a pest. but you like having him around all the time. "i'm going to be the one to marry you, why does any of that matter?"

you feel yourself flushing. he hasn't let that go, and you don't think he ever will. you are grateful that it is too dark out for touya to see you properly. you don't say anything else, refusing to give in. instead, you allow yourself to be led along, trying to puzzle out where exactly touya is taking you.

"oh wow" you breathe, as you reach your destination at last. the moon stretches over the forest floor, glittering against a lulling stream. the grasses tickle against your ankles, and you are surrounded by a sea of blue flowers. there are fireflies, and their lights illuminate the prince's face. "touya, where are we?" it's hard to believe such a place has existed so near to your kingdom.

"its not too far from the well where i met you" touya says, staring at you. your head whips to stare back at him. your eyes drift slowly away from touya, and back to the sea where you find yourself immersed in. the blue is not so far away from the color of touya's eyes, you realize. the thought does not bother you. "do you like them? the flowers? i do not think they are nearly as beautiful as you are, but they will have to do"

you flush again. you have been told that you are beautiful, hundreds of times. maybe even thousands. yet the way that touya says it is...it is not the same. "will have to do for what?" you ask, turning back around.

"i do love you" touya says, stepping close to kiss your cheek, then then corner of your mouth. you both meet in the middle to sweetly kiss. touya takes your hand in his, and you gasp into the kiss when you feel something cold slide onto your finger. your eyes fly down, wide as saucers as you stare down at the ring.

"touya―"

"it isn't silly and childish. i knew i would marry you the day i saw you crying at the well" he continues, watching your expression as you lift your hand to your face. "i am in love with you. i will never love anyone else. nothing compares to you. you have bewitched me ; mind, body and soul"

you can only stare at him.

but touya knows your silence is a good one. a soft smile dawns on his face as he stares at you. he brings your ring-adorned hand up to his mouth, and kisses every finger. his eyes do not stray from yours. when has touya turned into such a romantic?

"i've spent my entire life under the thumb of my father" touya murmurs. "i did not have anything to live for. but you. i want you more than anything in the world. we will be wed soon. you only need wait a little longer. can you do that for me?"

a shiver befalls you.

the scene breaks. the doors open, and you start from the pleasant memory. you turn towards the doors, gazing into the stern face of your father.

nervously, you reach below the neckline of your daygown and pull out the ring touya gave you, suspended by a silver chain. "my letters to touya, has there been any answer?" you inquire. the same as you do everyday when your father comes to visit you.

nearly a year of silence. you have never gone so long without any word from him. it scares you.

yet the air around you feels oppressive, heavy. you bring your attentions away from the ring around your neck to look at your father. his face is pinched, heavy. he does not have good news, you realize, and your heart drops to your stomach at the thought of it.

"father?" you ask, standing hurriedly. "what is the matter?"

your father only grimaces, and gestures for you to sit back down. you obey, gripping the material of the setee in a tight grip. "the prince is dead" you shake your head. a second time, and then a third as tears well up into your eyes. "a fire, in the east wing of the castle"

five.

you rub your lower skin softly, mind elsewhere. the cross stitch in your hands has long since been abandoned.

the wind blows, rustles your gowns as you sit alone in the gardens. touya has been gone for three days now―on business. he is soon to return. though you wish for his carriage to fall of a mountain anyway. it hadn't the last time, so you know it won't this time either. and he may not be with you physically, but you feel the hold he has on you all the same.

hard not to, when everyone has given you such a wide berth. they know that talking to you for too long, smiling in your direction. complimenting your hair ; any of it could incur his wrath. and those who angered the usurper king were all quickly disposed of. the news of your pregnancy has only seemed to worsen his possessive streak.

a shadow falls over you, blocking out your light. hands fall on your shoulder. you no longer have the strength to resist him.

"i've returned" touya says softly, pressing a kiss to the side of your cheek. his hand travels down your body, laying over your own, gently caressing your belly. "how have you fared, in my absence?"

"i am content" you reply, softly. obediently you tip your head back and allow him to kiss you for real. "happy" you say, and the lie tastes like ash in your mouth.

touya hums into the kiss. "and the babe?" he inquires, eyes landing on your slightly swollen belly.

"another story entirely" you tell him, and your husband laughs. the sound of it fills you with dread and you want to fling yourself from the highest tower. but you are a coward, above all―and so all you do is smile and let him lead you back into your chambers.

© amalainse -- do not copy, steal or plagiarize my works.

the last of us devils 𓂃 ♰

༒︎﹒ABBY ANDERSON

ıllı more than a woman ꕀ and they say werewolves and vampires don't get along ⊹ smut. 2.8k

༒︎﹒DINA WORMWOOD

༒︎﹒ELLIE WILLIAMS

༒︎﹒JOEL MILLER

"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 ♡

・♱・ "DEVIL MAY CRY...!"

jujutsu kaisen

| not yet written 4 :: nanami, geto, choso, shoko, megumi, maki, yuuta, nobara, toge

| written 4 :: sukuna, gojo, yuuji

bnha

| not yet written 4 :: izuku, bakugo, kirishima, denki, shouto, tenya, tomura, aizawa

| written 4 :: dabi, hawks

attack on titan

| not yet written 4 :: eren, armin, mikasa, erwin, levi, jean, zeke, reiner, ymir

hq !!

| not yet written 4 :: daichi, suga, tsukishima, kageyama, bokuto, akaashi, kuroo, kenma, kita, oran, osamu, suna, sakusa, ushijima, tendou, oikawa, iwaizumi, mattsun, kyotani

| written 4 :: atsumu

tlou

| not yet written 4 :: ellie, joel, dina

| written 4 :: abby

arcane

| not yet written 4 :: ambessa, sevika, mel, jayce, viktor, vi

there are many types of reader personalities in fics but i have to say my fave of all time is the bumbling idiot reader. shes so cute, so endearing, so clumsy. ugh i would die for her.

𖦹 MORE THAN A WOMAN ⇆ abby anderson

┆︎summary ┆︎and they say vampires and werewolves don't get along.

┆︎tags┆︎werewolf! abby, vampire! reader, established relationship, they're so gross in love power bottom reader, domme reader, sub abby, werewolf biology...so...knotting, and dual sex werewolves...and also gp!abby, biting, marking, facesitting, strap-ons, orgasms control, a little overstim

┆︎wc┆︎2.8k

┆︎an┆︎if the concept of gp (girl penis) makes you uncomfortable i included the strap tag so you can delude yourself that way

abby presses her nose to the elegant slope of your neck. you tilt your head, just so―you probably don't even realize you're doing it. but in doing so, you allow her more room.

"you smell like other vamps" she grumbles, slightly peeved. "it stinks"

your body shifts underneath her own. a page turns in your book, audible in the otherwise quiet bedroom. "well get off of me then" you reply, though your arm is wrapped pretty tightly around her waist―keeping her anchored right where she is. you're freakishly strong when you want to be. "i would hate to upset your delicate senses"

below the somewhat pungent scent of vampires, dead and decaying, sticking to your skin, there is the scent of your soap. so, you had tried to get rid of it. despite her jokes, abby knows you know that she doesn't really mind it as much as she says she does. and she's more than content to stay in your lap like this for the rest of the night―since there has been an apparent early end to your nightly activities.

"no way" she says, chuffing against your skin. "you couldn't get rid of me even if you tried."

"well it's a good thing i have no intention of doing so" is your smooth response, adjusting your hold on your book to wind her braid over your fingers.

"what did you get up to tonight?" abby asks. sometimes she likes to follow after you when you go out. but mostly not. there's a better thrill to be found watching you come home all bloodied―adrenaline from a good kill sitting against your skin. "did you and the girls have fun?"

besides. vampire's aren't too keen of werewolves, and the sentiment is returned. whenever she's present, abby isn't spared from a barrage of condescending remarks from your friends―but she knows you delight when they call her your wolf. vampires, you included, like to play mean. abby likes it, but only when it comes from you.

a chuckle. "a time we had, certainly. gambling"

abby nips at the side of your throat and then whistles lowly. "that's my girl"

your hand fists more tightly in her hair, winding her braid around your hand like a leash―pulling her back just a fraction. there's something disarming in your gaze, tongue running over your fangs absentmindedly as you stare. "and you? what did my precious puppy get up to tonight?"

"well, y'know" abby starts, face flushing bright red. from shame or arousal, she can't tell. with you, it's most likely a little bit of both. it's no secret to anyone that she turns into a lapdog around you―eager to please and be doted on. and the name puppy is as endearing as it is teasing when it comes from you. "figured since you didn't feed yesterday, or tonight that you might be thirsty. went and stocked up for you"

you perk up at that, fondness seeping into every pore of your face. so much so that abby flushes again, looking elsewhere. "such a sweetheart" you murmur, dragging your knuckles down the side of her face.

"yeah" abby says, a beat too late, swallowing thickly―awkwardly shifting her hips against your lower thighs. your brows quirk up immediately when you feel her half-mast against your nightgown. "i deserve a reward. for being such a good girlfriend"

you huff a laugh. "you really are a dog, aren't you?" you tease, but acquiesced with a sinful little smile. abby shivered minutely, feeling your words brush up against her skin. "mm. come up here so i can kiss you"

wow that actually worked? she thinks in the back of her mind, clambering up to press her mouths to yours, eager and sloppy. nasty and filthy on purpose, delighting in the way your hand curls around her braid, moving her how you please. she's careful not to slice her tongue against your fangs―moaning a soft, baby, please, can i? into the kiss, rutting against the center of your thighs so that it's impossible not to know what she means.

it's like all of her senses are tuned to you. the sight of your face morphing into pleasure when her cock slides just right against your panties. how good it feels, wet. the smell of your arousal in the air, scent just as sweet slick as your cunt. your breath panting slightly in her ear and the taste of wine on your tongue.

but you're never one to give in easily. even as worked up as you are, your voice sounds perfectly cool when you say, "earn it" eyes all lidded with desire, gazing at abby expectantly. the only thing that gives away even the slightest bit of desire from you is the way you snap your book closed, shoving it to the far corners of the bed.

abby nods, half drunk off your scent alone, nosing against the side of your throat. she finds it in herself to pull away―just barely though―sitting back on her haunches to admire your body below her. the strap of your silk nightgown has slipped down to rest around your shoulder. she can easily see the dip of your breasts. and the lace edging of it has lifted up, exposing just the lower parts of your underwear, thighs plush and soft when her hand moves to massage the skin there.

she curls her hands underneath the hem of her tank top, pulling it up and off in one rushed go. shucking down her pants and awkwardly shoving those away too. your eyes rake down her body―appreciative.

"you're so soft" abby murmurs, sliding her hand down your legs, staring reverently at you. her mouth waters for you. hands trembling from sheer need alone when she begins to push your nightgown up inch by tantalizing inch. she's seen you naked hundreds of times already, but still can't hardly believe her eyes when she sees just how perfect you are. "so pretty"

you hum softly, spreading your legs nice and wide for her. and you giggle at the groan that leaves her lips at the sight of the damp patch on your lace panties. god, her hands itch to just fucking rip them off.

"don't rip them this time" you chastise, as if reading her mind. you beckon her forwards, groping at her tits as she devours your mouth. your nails rake down her torse, adding pressure when they reach her abs. abby pitches forward―moaning into the kiss needily, growing sharper in pitch when your hand suddenly closes around her cock.

"baby―" she gasps, pulling away to pant against the crux of your neck. her hips shift, bucking up readily into the feeling, chasing it desperately.

your laugh echoes in her ears and your hand pulls away. and before she can really realize it, you utilize that sexy vampire strength to flip your positions. you stare down at her like a predator does prey, eyes smoky and so hot it makes her cock twitch.

"what to do with you" you say, sing-songy, dancing your fingers up the side of her body.

abby swallows. "whatever you want" she promises, immediately. you raise your hips and her hands work to help you out of your underwear, smearing your essence against her fingers, feeling the stickiness web between her fingers.

"dirty girl" you say, voice giving away just how aroused you are, watching as she lifts them to her lips to suck them clean. and the two of you seem to be moving on the same wavelength, because when you raise your hips once more, abby is doing the rest of the work―pulling you to sit directly on her face.

a soft moan leaves your lips at the first contact, eyes flickering down to meet her own. her tongue laps eagerly at your cunt, flattening to slurp up your juices. you taste so good, and her eyes flutter shut as she gets lost in the taste. your knees relax into the mattress next to her head, a louder moan leaving your lips as you begin to rock back and forth against her face.

you chase your pleasure, alternating between swiveling your hips and grinding against her tongue. your hand smooths away the flyway's from her face, groaning out a soft fuck, good girl abby, when her tongue flicks up against your clit at the right moment. your skin is pleasantly cool, always is―and abby's fingers dig into the meat of your thighs, guiding your hips into a purposeful grind.

her tongue swipes through your folds, slipping into your cunt. your eyes widen, and your body pitches forwards, nails scraping at the wall for purchase before digging into the wood of the headboard. she likes watching pleasure take over you, twisting and shifting underneath your skin. your hair twists over your shoulder, neck craned to the side as soft sounds leave your lips and abby can hear the sound your nails make as the scratch down the wood.

your eyes meet and abby isn't ashamed at all to say her cock twitches at the hazy look in your dark brown eyes. cool air hits her mouth when you lift your hips. there's no patience left in you when you shift off of her face completely. abby moves when you move―understanding what you want without you even having to say it.

abby settles you down on your back and your legs part wide and open, spanning your fingers across the lower part of her pelvis, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth. she scootches in, shuffling forward on her knees. her hand wraps the base of her cock, jerking it a few times to smear the precum everywhere. her hand cups your cunt, feeling the way it spasms underneath her heated palm, slicking her cock up nicely with your essence.

she likes watching your face whenever she pushes into your tight cunt―always has. you almost always throw your head back, and make this odd little sound, a cross between a grunt and a keen. and then your thighs twitch. always. she's obsessed with the way your body moves and twists. so alive.

"not too much?" she asks, checking in, grunting when she bottoms all the way out. "fuck, sweetheart. how are you always so tight?"

"mmm" you hum noncommittally, wriggling your hips a little bit at the stretch. your eyes flutter open, gazing at the place where your bodies are connected. your voice is more than a little dazed when you part your pretty lips to say, "and you're always so big"

abby doesn't bother to hide the way she preens, hands sliding down the length of your body. her wide palms settle on your hips, guiding your body against hers in a smooth circular motion―grinding her cock deep into your cunt. her brows knit in pleasure, fingers digging into your skin to stop herself from cumming too early. it feels like she could. your cunt is sucking her cock in like a vice.

your hand fists in the sheets directly adjacent to your head, moaning quietly when abby settles on her knees and begins to properly fuck into your wet heat. a curse leaves your lips, back arching off the bed as her cock pounds into your dripping cunt again and again. she can see the way your slick shines along her cock every time she pulls out, waiting till only the tip is inside you before roughly shoving back in. you feel like absolute heaven, gripping her so tight, so warm where the rest of you runs deathly cold.

the force of her heavy thrusts causes your tits to bounce, stomach clenching and quivering as moans pour freely from your throat. abby can feel sweat beading along her hairline―forcing herself to go faster, cock twitching inside you when you utter out a shaky, "f-fuck. abs. yes, yesyesfuck―shit, right there"

her hand gropes at your tit, fondling your nipple between her thick fingers before her hand slides off your chest all together. you're absolutely gushing, getting slick everywhere, making everything messy with it.

your hand slides up her arm, pulling her forwards to smash your lips together. it's nothing but teeth and tongue, and abby bites her lip so hard it bleeds, and you're quick to lick it up―moaning at the taste. a choked noise comes from her throat, grunting as her hips slam against your ass.

"baby―" abby pants, pulling back enough to stare at the entirety of your face. something possessive twists inside her, desperate for the way you gasp and lose yourself in the pleasure she's giving you. desperate to let everyone else know who you belong to, as if it isn't already obvious. something that makes her want to eat you or keep you close, away from prying eyes. maybe a little bit of both. "baby, can i? fuck―i'm so close"

you crane your neck to the side, legs kicking out when abby immediately latches down onto the skin between your neck and shoulder and bites. hard. her tongue is quick to soothe over the pain. she's close, right there and, fuck―she'll pop her knot in you any second now. a whispery moan leaves her throat, abs clenching as she nears her climax. she pitches forward, tucking her head into the sheets next to your head as her hips buck wildly into your pussy.

"oh i know that sound. don't you dare." you spit, eyes boring into her face, even as her thrusts grow sloppy and uncoordinated. "you're not cumming yet abby. i'll ride this cock until you're crying if you do"

she knows you'll make good on your promise. you have before. abby makes that same sound again, nibbling at your neck and shoulder. "i can't. 'm so close, baby―sweetheart, let me cum"

your hand pushes onto her shoulder, sliding along the sweaty skin there. she can feel her knot swelling before she sees it, cock flushed an angry red―throbbing and twitching inside of you. then your hand slides from her shoulder to her neck. not squeezing. not restricting her airflow at all.

just...claiming. your eyes level with hers. "harder." you demand, and abby groans pathetically as she obeys. your hand flies down to your clit, moaning loudly as you rub circles onto the sensitive nub. the headboard slams against the wall, a steady band in time with the pace she drives into your pliant body. the room is filled with the filthy noise of your fucking―abby's grunts and groans, the bedsprings squeaking underneath you. and your own moans, high pitched and trembling, voice dipping into high little keens as you demand her to pick up the pace.

your legs threaten to snap shut but abby forces them open even as your back bows off the bed. a string of curses leave your lips, eyes screwed tightly shut as you finally cum. "baby―baby, please" abby gasps, feeling her knot catch against your entrance with every messy thrusts. "i gotta cum, please, let me―"

your hands rake down her front. you make a mean sound, a condescending little hum that has pleasure sparking down her spine.

"awwww" you say, tugging her forwards by her braid again. her hips couldn't stop even if she wanted to, eyes unfocused as they train on you. your body twitches, toes curling, knees pushed up to your chest now even as overstimulation begins to settle in for both of you. "is my little puppy going to pop her knot soon?"

abby makes a pained whimper against your neck at the familar nickname, gnawing on your skin―panting wetly against it. hardly manages to get out another shaky, pl-please, please baby.

your hands sweep the mess of her hair out of her face. a soft moan leaves your lips, hand cupping her tits. "go ahead sweetheart, you earned your reward" and she cums immediately, hands scrabbling at the sheets as she goes shock still―knot pushing inside of you, locking you together. a guttural groan leaves her lips, feeling so good her vision goes white and when she comes to again its to the soft murmurs of praise you murmur into her skin.

"that was a big one" you tease, once she feels like herself enough to pull back to stare at you expectantly. her face turns bright red in embarrassment.

"sh..shut up" abby stammers, sliding her eyes away, feeling the knot swell down long enough to be able to safely pull out. you were right, but her cum trickles out of your puffy cunt in steady rivulets―which does nothing but add to her shame.

--

"jesus, fuck what happened to your neck?" your head turns up to the sound of your mutual friend, nora. she bends down, finger hovering in midair. "you look like you were mauled by a bear"

you shuffle the deck of cards in between your deft fingers, sliding a slow smirk abby's way. she at least has the right idea to stiffen up, looking away guiltily when all eyes zero in on her.

manny huffs, shaking his head with a laugh. "more like a wolf" he says, and this time, everyone joins in to laugh.

© amalainse -- do not copy, steal or plagiarize my works.

my hero academia devils𓂃♰

| ࣪ ִֶָ☾.﹒ students

༒︎﹒IZUKU MIDORIYA

༒︎﹒KATSUKI BAKUGO

༒︎﹒SHOUTO TODOROKI

༒︎﹒KIRISHIMA EIJIROU

༒︎﹒DENKI KAMINARI

༒︎﹒SERO HANTA

༒︎﹒TENYA IIDA

| ࣪ ִֶָ☾.﹒ heros

༒︎﹒ KEIGO TAKAMI

ıllı moonlight on the river ꕀ you're the only one for him. you have to know that, you have to. ⊹ smut. 2.01k

༒︎﹒ AIZAWA SHOTA

| ࣪ ִֶָ☾.﹒ villians

༒︎﹒ DABI

ıllı who have i remembered? ꕀ you find that love can create curses the same way they dismantle them ⊹ yan. 5.1k

༒︎﹒ TOMURA SHIGARAKI

| ࣪ ִֶָ☾.﹒ multi

okay that's it. i've been influenced by the dash and i'll give blue lock a shot.

𖦹 AM I THE SAME GIRL? ⇆ atsumu miya

┆︎summary ┆︎you've taken up two new interests―geology and unearthing the truth behind atsumu's new cryptic behavior.

┆︎tags┆︎getting together, friends to lovers. reader is oblivious. atsumu is predictably, a loser in love.

┆︎wc┆︎3.7k

┆︎an┆︎it is the beginning of winter and for some reason i always think of summer. and also this 100% an excuse to research further about something that has always interested me. half of what i learned didn't even make it into the fic but just know i have about 3 hours worth of stuff lodged in my brain now.

okinawa is a long thirty-six hours from your home in hyogo. you've already vowed to visit once your curator job takes off―and you actually have enough money to stay there. but anyway. the reason you want to visit so badly is because of the hoshizuna no nama―or the star sand beach. where sand is typically made up of tiny rocks and particles, the sand is made of tiny star-shaped little particles.

you know this, and other odd things about rocks you've never heard of before, thanks to your monthly subscription to the petrology society journal. the part time job you've gotten at onigiri miya doesn't allow much for extra expenses, but the journal is one of the things you don't mind dipping into your budget for.

it's nothing something most people would expect from you (and certainly not something you thought you would enjoy so much) but you had caught the tail end of a documentary on the history of the earth while studying for yet another exam.

you're reading the latest issue now, or you're trying to. it's more like you're pretending to read it, as your eyes scan over the same paragraph seven times. in reality, you're way too interested in watching osamu and a few of his friends play a friendly (?) game of volleyball. and more specifically―watching atsumu play volleyball.

osamu had asked if you wanted to join, or maybe if you wanted to keep the score but you had declined. these were osamu's friends, and you felt more than a little out of your element just by being there. you attended the inarizaki high, same as osamu and his friends, but to say you were friends then was a generous statement.

at most, you and osamu partnered together often to work on projects or study. classroom friends. not the sort that hung out together outside of school hours. and when you started working part-time at onigiri miya, you assumed it would be the same. it isn't, and as a result, the two of you have struck up a tentative new friendship.

atsumu, osamu's twin, is an entirely different story. even in highschool, he was never someone you were able to understand. and nothing about him ever made any sense. even after all the time that has passed, that remains the same.

it's like he pays too much attention to you, but at the same time―none at all. you don't get it.

suit yourself atsumu had said, putting his hands on his hips as his eyes traced over you―watching keenly as you found a place to sit off to the side. you can just be my cheerleader instead.

your scowl had been instantaneous. feathers ruffled, you planted yourself down on your beach chair and forced yourself not to give atsumu the time of the day. a challenge, when he's possibly the hottest person you've ever seen. he carries himself differently than osamu, and you wonder if that's what makes you so drawn to him.

you aren't sure if you want to know the answer. what does that say about you, being attracted to boys with bad attitudes and piss colored hair?

"i don't hear any cheerin" atsumu drawls out, when he catches you staring for maybe the third time in a row. you scowl again, and cross one long leg over the other, body language clearly expressing your displeasure.

the star sand, in the end, isn't made up of anything mythical―not like you had been expecting. you know magic isn't real, but still your mind had conjured up the idea that the star sand was made of remnants from magical stars. sand, star shaped or not, are made up of decomposed organisms.

your eyes slide once more towards atsumu. for once, he isn't looking back at you. people, famous volleyball athletes or not, are made up of the same things.

--

today had been taxing in a way it hasn't been in a long time. you woke up on the wrong side of the bed, plastered with heat and sweat. class fared no better, and you forced yourself to trudge through the lessons―completely fumbling when a professor suddenly cold-called on you.

the one time you decide to give yourself a few extra hours of sleep instead of keeping up with the reading, you make a fool out of yourself in front of everyone. you're sure no one even remembers it, or gives it a second thought. but you wouldn't know how to stop being so mean to yourself, even if you wanted to.

your day hadn't gotten any better. you spilled a cup of iced coffee all over yourself, tripped and skinned your knee, had a disastrous shift at onigiri miya (to the point where osamu sent you home early)―and to top it all off, passed out the moment you arrived back at your apartment, instead of working on a paper that was due the next day.

never again will i take a summer class, you think to yourself, as you stand sleepily in line at the nearby convenience store.

"you seem tired" a voice says, next to you. and you turn blearily to face atsumu miya himself. "you're in grad school, right?"

it's totally and completely unfair that he gets to walk around looking that perfect. if there is a god, it's clear that he has favorites. and you are most certainly not one of them. atsumu, on the other hand, is.

"i'm regretting taking summer classes" you explain, tracing the floor pattern with the toe of your beat-up sneakers. you don't want to delve too deeply into your issues, and you're unsure if atsumu even cares to listen. "it's―challenging. at times"

"it might be a busy day, but try to make some time for yourself. any time spent settling your mind is time well spent. staring pensively into that cup of tea for a few moments can be equally beneficial" says atsumu, reading off of his phone, tone unusually wise. "calm your mind, and your heart, and make it an at-peace day"

it's night. your brow arches, thoroughly concerned.

"what?" is all you say, looking at him.

"it's pretty straightforward you know" atsumu pouts―pouts. this whole infatuation...thing, would be a lot easier if he weren't so pretty to stare at. "just, keep it in mind, okay?"

"...okay" you promise, because what else can you even say at this point.

a grin spreads across his face, surprisingly genuine. you don't even want to begin to unpack what that might mean, so you don't. you pay for your things, and part ways outside of the entrance of the store, going in opposite directions.

you get back to your apartment. and you make yourself a cup of tea, staring at it in the snoopy shaped mug.

it does help you feel a bit better.

--

your favorite shifts at onigiri miya are the morning ones. well, late morning and the beginning of the rush hour. you and osamu typically chat politely, where he asks about the different events happening in your life. neither of you seem to have many friends and you're all the more glad for the easy friendship you have with him.

this morning had been passed in comfortable silence, both of you in separate parts of the shop, working.

that is, until osamu sticks his head to the front of the shop and throughs a wrench in your entire life. "you know you could just talk to him"

"huh?" you say ineloquently, serving spoon held above the rice. it dawns on you pretty quickly, what osamu is saying and you don't have to look at him to know that he knows. still, you lie and reply with, "i have absolutely no clue what you're talking about"

"really? because 'tsumu's standing right there" your head snaps up. atsumu is not there. you turn to glare at osamu, who only laughs loudly at your expense. "god you're easy"

"i'm going to quit" you threaten, though both of you know that isn't the case. osamu only laughs louder. "i don't deserve this treatment"

the bell jingles overhead. "what treatment?" atsumu says, in the flesh this time―fresh from a jog. both you and his twin look surprised. speak of the devil, they say, and he shall appear. "osamu you better be treating your best employee with the utmost respect!"

"i don't even treat you with the utmost respect" osamu drawls, before heading into the back of the shop so he doesn't have to hear his twin's response.

atsumu, thoroughly annoyed, stalks to the front. he stares down at you through the separation glass and smiles. "good morning. doing better?"

"uhhh" you say, awkwardly, staring at him. or trying not to stare at him. he's wearing a tank top today and you can feel your brain shutting down. eventually, your brain reboots itself and you remember what it is he wanted to know. "yes―the tea helped. thanks for that"

"no problem" atsumu replies, and rattles off his usual weekend morning order. two spicy tuna and two yaki. he watches you make them with eerily focused eyes―like it's his first time ever seeing anyone make onigiri or something.

you make your way to the cash register, and atsumu follows. his eyes land on your latest issue of the petrology society journal. "you've been reading those a lot."

your eyes, naturally, also track to the magazine. you usually like to read to pass the time when there's no customers in sight. but being noticed, perceived, by atsumu of all people, makes you feel suddenly too-conscious. you try to remind yourself of the star sand, and how it's just like regular sand. atsumu is just another person. no need to get so worked up about it.

"every time i see you, your nose is usually in it" atsumu says―unaware of the effect it has on you. he points to the cover. "do you know what kind of rock that is?"

"basalt" you gurgle out, avoiding his stare.

atsumu's eyes light with understanding. "looks kinda like gravel to me" he lifts his gaze to you once more. "is that a rock? gravel?"

you pretend to think on it―like you haven't covered that topic on one of your earlier issues weeks ago.

"gravel's made up of a lot of other crushed rock" you explain, eyeing him. he's looks genuinely interested. "usually limestone, sandstone and basalt"

atsumu smirks, victorious, and snaps his fingers. "i knew it"

he did not 'know it'. you hand him onigiri with a small smile and a shake of your head anyway.

--

osamu, atsumu, their friends and a handful of new faces you don't quite recognize are playing volleyball in an indoor gym. once again, osamu has extended an invitation to you―but you learn that atsumu has asked that you be there as well.

this time, you bring along an ice cooler, stashed with water bottles. you don't really know what volleyball players eat to conserve energy and after classes sucking the joy from your body, you didn't feel too up to making anything. but they seem overjoyed at the snacks you've brought anyway.

what excites a bunch of grown adult men about mere trail mix and greek yogurt, you'll never understand. but if it means everyone likes it, then you're happy. you're chatting with a few siblings and close friends of the players and you're having so much fun you haven't bothered to pick up your magazine once. but its tucked into your crossbody bag, pressing up against your side as a gentle reminder of its presence.

watching them play volleyball is fun all on its own, too. atsumu and his brother play on the same team, playfully bickering with one another. and then atsumu's eyes search through the small gathering of people watching until they land on yours. he slaps the back of osamu's shoulder and jogs off the court before he can retaliate.

"give me your hands" atsumu says, instead of greeting you like a normal person.

you, predictably, do no such thing. instead, you shoot him a cautious look, cradling them to your chest. "i'm not doing that"

atsumu rolls his eyes. "just do it"

he holds his hands out, expectant. side-eying him, you comply. he takes hold of them―touch surprisingly gentle. his hands are warm, but aren't sweaty like you'd expect. he turns your palms over, and his eye's scan over them, studying them.

there's not much else for you to do, but join him. you look at your palms, trying to see what he see's. if he's seeing anything at all.

"you know, by looking at your hands, i'd say you would make a pretty good spiker" he says, and then, cryptically―"a twist in your plans will lead to unexpected joy. embrace the change"

"what are you, miya-san, you aren't making much sense at all" you say, trying not to give away how much you like it when he gently starts to trace over your palm lines with his thumb.

atsumu holds up one of your hands, comparing it to his own. "your palms and your fingers are proportional―see? signs of a good hitter they say"

that sounds like you made it up, you want to say, but don't.

"and the last part―it was your horoscope this morning" he says, continuing to make less and less sense. why does he know your horoscope in the first place? does he check it periodically, or is this a spur of the moment thing? the two of you are still holding hands. what does any of this mean?

i didn't know atsumu was into this kind of stuff, you think to yourself, as you stare at his hands in return. you suppose you aren't the only one with new, emerging interests.

"and what do your hands say?" you reply instead, hoping that he doesn't pull away.

atsumu snorts, and this time, places his in yours. "well i guess you can check. not that you know what you're looking for"

"well explain it to me then" you retort with a roll of your eyes, turning his palms over in your hands, like he had done with yours. you hear the hitch of breath that follows, before you see it.

"well my fingers are slightly longer and that means they're unproportioned to my palms" he explains, matter of factly. you stare more pointedly at his hands, so you don't have to look up into his face. "so you could say i would make a good middle blocker"

"but you're not" you say, frowning.

"i'm not" atsumu confirms, smirking at you―like it's a fond secret the two of you share. someone laughs in the background, surely not at the two of you, but he pulls away anyway, running a hand through his hair.

"is it really that hard for you to want to cheer for me?" he asks suddenly, staring at you.

confusion falls upon your face. every time it seems that you finally have a handle on the conversation, atsumu has to flip them so that you remain ever puzzled. "huh?"

"i always ask you to. cheer for me, i mean." he explains, uncharacteristically looking away. "but you never do. you cheer sometimes for osamu, or suna. oran especially."

you wish for the contact of his hands again. "i didn't think you were serious. i'm sorry"

it dawns on you then, that he has. nearly every time they play, in fact. he asks without fail. but you assumed it was a joke, or something.

"try it next time?" he asks, 100% serious, ignoring the way his team calls out for him. you have a feeling this isn't about the cheering anymore. but it's like you're missing several pieces of a particularly large and complex puzzle. in other words. you have no idea what it is that atsumu means behind his words.

"okay" you say, because what else is there to say?

atsumu beams, and jogs back onto the court.

--

osamu says he's going to head out to go pick up some supplies. he returns forty-minutes later with no supplies and with atsumu in tow, flanked on the other side by suna.

"hi atsumu, hi suna" you greet, waving, closing your magazine. "are you guys getting anything?"

suna and osamu look to be in much higher spirits than atsumu, who looks seconds away from puking. he doesn't. suna leans close to whisper in his ear, and atsumu glares at him fiercely―trying to turn around to leave the store. osamu doesn't let him, looking all too cheerful to push him towards you.

you decide you really don't want to know what shenanigans the three of them are up to.

"your usual, miya-san?" you ask again, putting on a pair of serving gloves.

atsumu spares another look at his brother, before shuffling forwards half-a-step. he rubs nervously at the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze. "there's a market. for crystals and stuff, about an hour from here in osaka. it's here for two weeks and i wanted to know if you wanted to go with me"

then, looking up at the ceiling of all things, continues. "it'll have other stuff too. like horoscopes and fortune telling."

you don't really need the extra information. you figured that sort of thing would be there. but horoscopes are kind of atsumu's thing. you're pleased he wants to share it with you―even if you find it a little cool as well.

"sure" you smile "sounds fun"

atsumu looks as though he could faint. or puke. or maybe do some combination of the two. but his color improves, and he gives you a small smile in return, shockingly bashful.

he peers down at you, shedding all of his strange behavior. "okay. great. tomorrow? i'll pick you up"

"tomorrow works for me, miya-san" you reply, good-naturedly.

atsumu turns and leaves onigiri miya without another word.

"you should dress nice" suna says, oddly, once he's completely gone. osamu's too busy typing madly on his phone to interject, so you look at him strangely. now he is starting not to make sense.

--

you do dress nicely. so much so, that atsumu compliments you on it at least four different times before you can even make it to the marketplace. i like your hair, it's cute. pretty, like your skirt. things like that. you don't know what to make of it.

"are you excited?" you ask, once the security guard hands the two of you wristbands.

atsumu clasps his on deftly, but signals for you to hold out your wrist once he notices you struggling. you try not to jerk in place every time his fingers graze your skin―but you aren't sure how successful you are at keeping a straight face.

"shouldn't i be asking you that?" he asks, raising his brows in confusion. he doesn't wait for you to answer, tugging you along by the hand in the direction of one of the booths.

"oh i recongize this one" you tell him, pointing down at a jagged stone. "its called chalcedony. i read about it a few days ago. it's a type of cryptocrystalline"

"a what?" atsumu asks, shoving his hands in his pockets as he stares down at the stone with a puzzled expression. it's cute on him, the casual bewilderment. he looks at it like he's trying to place where he's seen it before.

"a cryptocrystalline" you repeat, smiling at him. much easier to do when he isn't looking at you. "it means you can only tell that it has the structure of crystalline when its under a magnifying glass"

atsumu hums, pleased. "cool", he says, and browses the rest of the booth with you. once you're done with that one, poiting out all of the stones and rocks you've read about―atsumu pulls you along to the next one, eager to repeat the process. he's seems interested in what you have to say, asking questions to pick your brain for more information when he senses you might be holding out on him.

"i'm glad i heard about this" he brings up, as you walk away from a food stall―matching bowls of yakisoba in hand. "i read yesterday that opportunity only seizes those who are ready to take it and that i need to take the fearful leap"

you stop a stray noodle from landing on your crisp yellow cardigan, looking over at him. "what?"

atsumu's eyes are on yours. "my horoscope" he says, like it means something important.

"oh!" you exclaim, once realization hits you "i'm surprised you've gotten so into horoscopes and fortune telling"

a odd look crosses his face. "i'm not―you are"

"no i'm not" you tell him. "why would you think that?"

atsumu's face heats. "well, you're always reading about the rocks. the crystals and gemstones"

"i like petrology. not crystals and gems" you explain, unable to hide your smile. "it's about rocks in general. like their origins or what they're composed of"

you remember all of atsumu's cryptic words, odd, strange ways of speaking. the sage advice in the store that one time. they were horoscopes. before you can stop it, you burst out laughing. you try to muffle it into your arm, but the sound escapes anyway.

"that's what you were meaning with all those weird things you kept saying?" you ask, once you've managed to stop laughing. "i thought you were trying to―i don't know, warn me of my ominous and impending doom!"

"i wasn't" atsumu pouts, tossing his unfinished yakisoba into the trash. "i was trying to find something to start a conversation with you. i didn't know how else to tell you i liked you"

your amusement dries up and your throat closes up. your eyes look around, at everywhere else but him.

"...are you going to say anything?" atsumu asks, looking like the boy you remember from highschool.

"i―uh. i like you too" you stammer out, staring down at your shoes. it's shockingly easy to do. logically, you knew there was always a small, small chance that he would reciprocate your feelings, always in the most pleasant of dreams.

in them, atsumu would blush (much like he is now) and ask "are you sure?" much like his is now.

and in your dreams, you would throw your arms around his neck and kiss him. or confess your undying love and attraction to the most strangest boy you've ever known. but like the star sand, and so many other rocks you've learned about, reality does not end up like your wistful imagination.

"i'm sure" you nod, and gingerly reach for his hand. "do you want to keep looking around?"

atsumu beams. squeezes your hand in his own. it feels better than any of your dreams could have ever conjured up. "'course i do"

© amalainse -- do not copy, steal or plagiarize my works.

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