Me Because The Fics I Like For Certain Characters Are Nothing But Literal Slop

"creature of myth."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, my lady?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you like them?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course… Satoru.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not tonight.” 

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

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

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

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

~  

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I hope Thomas treated you well yesterday?” 

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

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

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

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

~

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

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

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

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

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

“It was… good.”

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

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

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

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

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

You nod eagerly. “I’m sure I will.” 

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

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

“You’re not… eating?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You smile lightly. “Perfect. Thank you.” 

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

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

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

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

He chuckles. “My pleasure.” 

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

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

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

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

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

~

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

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

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

~

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

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

~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You skip ahead again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No, no, no. 

“(See next page for only existing portrait)”

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

You flip the page and Satoru stares back at you. 

Knock! Knock! Knock!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“About the estate?” he asks. 

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

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

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

“Anything interesting?” he presses.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhm?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your brows furrow when you hear it, your head lifting to a sight that locks your limbs in shock. Satoru’s hand is lifted in front of his face, his pointer finger coated in– blood, you realize. Your blood. And he’s a fucking vampire. 

“Oh princess,” he coos, and the manic look in his eyes makes you tremble. “You really are perfect.” 

Things seem to slow as you watch him take his blood covered finger into his mouth. You’re sure you’ve never seen an expression more blissful, more lost to sensation. His eyes roll back and his body shivers, like he’s ascending to some higher plane. Maybe he is. 

When he pulls his finger from his mouth it’s completely licked clean. You hold your breath. He’s going to go for your neck now, right? He’s had a taste and now he’ll want more of it, all of it?

“Fuck,” is all he says. His mouth is back on your cunt so fast you don’t even see him move. 

Your mouth falls wide. It hurts, the way he is so desperately licking at you. You feel his finger again, pressing in, in, in, only to pull back and suddenly be joined by another. The stretch tears at you. You thrash and jolt, but Satoru doesn’t bother telling you to stop this time. His arm wraps over your hips, holding you in place. He seems immune to how hard your legs squeeze at his head or your hands pull at his hair. He’s lost. You can feel him licking, lapping, and prodding at you like you’re a fucking gold mine. He’s lost to desperation, to the need for more, more, more. Every so often he lifts his chin and you see his mouth smudged with a mixture of your wetness and your blood. He laps at his lips like an animal, dragging his thumb across his chin and sliding it into his mouth to make sure he gets every last drop. 

You’re not quite sure when the ravenous pain turns to a ravenous pleasure, when it turns from terrifying to downright delicious. You don’t notice your moans filling the air until Satoru joins you, groaning and whining into your cunt and telling you to keep going, to keep making those sounds. The hand you have buried in his hair doesn’t fight to push him away any longer, only to pull him into those now practiced rocks of your hips. His fingers thrust deep, curling into a spot that makes you feel so good and his mouth has found your clit again. He sucks your nerves lightly between his lips, tongue swirling in little circles. Your thighs start to shake. 

“Yes. Yes. Give it to me.” 

“S-Satoru–” you breathe. Warmth and tightness pool in your tummy, and you recognize it as your approaching orgasm, though you know this one will be far different than any you’ve ever managed to give yourself. Your body shakes and your breaths tremble and then– you fall over the edge, rocking your hips senselessly, losing all form of rhythm. Warmth tingles in your spine and seeps all the way down to your toes. You think you cry out, cry for your husband, cry for more, cry for less, but if you do you don’t hear it. All you hear is the pounding of your pulse, of pleasure throbbing in your veins until the world slowly seeps back in through the corners of your vision. 

Satoru is grinning. A speck of your blood clings to his chin and his fangs peek out from behind his lips. The sight makes your blood run a little colder. If any part of you doubted what he was before… well, there was no doubt any longer. 

There’s a shift between your legs, his hips slotting between them, and you’re suddenly snapped back to reality. From the look in his eyes, you’re not done. 

Frantic hands find his pants and he undoes each button with a quickness that is almost inhuman. You wonder if he could go even faster, if he’s holding back so as not to scare you. If he is, it isn’t working very well. Fear surges in your veins right alongside anticipation. 

“S-Satoru–”

“It’s alright, love.” His hand finds yours without his eyes ever looking up. His grip is just a little too firm, a little too cold. “Just stay still.” 

You whimper, but you don’t think he’s paying attention to that, and soon enough, neither are you. His pants slide down just past his hips, just enough. You gasp. 

You’ve never seen a man in the nude, never even dared to think about what it might look like, though it seemed you no longer had to guess. His hand wrapped around his shaft, giving one long and slow stroke that made his breath hiss through his fangs. The tip was flushed, angry, and leaking something that looked clear and sticky. You couldn’t help but notice it was a lot thicker than a finger, or even two. If his fingers had hurt…

He moves with that alarming quickness again, leaning down to hover over you, chests nearly pressed together. “Gonna take you now, princess. Gonna make you mine.” His eyes bore into yours, blue and shimmering with something wild. His hand presses into the mattress beside your head. “Stay still, now.”

It’s all the warning he gives you. You feel like you’re splitting– straight up the middle. You wail, hands flying out to claw at his back. It hurts. It hurts. 

“Satoru, p-please! It’s–” 

Lips catch yours– hungry, feral. The kiss is not gentle, not soothing. It shuts you up, it keeps you quiet, it keeps you still as you feel him sinking further, deeper into you. It’s too much, you try to say, but the poke of sharp teeth against your lips keeps you silent. Your hips jolt and wiggle trying desperately to escape the stretch but it’s no use. By the time he’s fully inside you, tears are streaking down your cheeks, fat and heavy. His lips break away and his eyes reappear. You shake when you see that none of the wildness has been tamed, that you’ve only just begun.

“Good girl,” he coos, and a cool finger traces a line across your jaw. “Took me so well.” You hold back a sob when his hips shift a little, testing, prodding. He must see the pinch of your eyes, the twist of your mouth, because he’s quick to comfort. “Just hold my hand, princess.” His hips rock in earnest this time and you whimper, squeezing down on his hand with all your might. You’re panting as he chuckles. “Breathe, love. Breathe. Soon you’ll be begging for more,” he laughs. It’s not long before he’s rocking into you sincerely, setting a pace that stretches you to the brink of breaking. At first it’s all you can do to grasp onto him, to bite your lips through the whimpers and hold his hand. And then it’s… more. It’s heat and warmth despite the coolness of his body on yours. It’s sensation and… pleasure. He laughs when the first moan slides past your lips, burying his face in your neck once again. You hear him at your ear, panting his hot breath across your skin. 

“Feel good, princess?” You nod, letting your hips rock against his as he showed you before. It feels good– it feels right. He chuckles, but there’s nothing light about the sound. “Wanna feel even better?” Something sharp pokes at the skin of your neck, hard enough to make you squeak, to make you freeze at what you know he wants. 

He pulls himself back, pressing his forehead to yours, searching your eyes with his. Something like a cruel smile dances on his mouth. “Just a taste, love. I promise it won’ hurt.” His tongue darts out and licks across your lips, his thrusts rocking just a bit faster. “You’ll feel s’ good an’ I’ll only take a little.” He laughs again and it sends a chill through your bones. “Promise.” He sounds breathless, like he’s struggling to restrain himself. The increase of his pace makes you whine and you squeeze his hand again. He buries himself back in your neck, panting. “Come on, love. Say yes. Say yes f’ me.” Your eyes glaze over. Your body justles with each new thrust. He’s desperate now, seeking a release that you don’t think is any kind you’re familiar with. “Yes, yes, yes,” he chants in your ear. You’re not sure when his words twist in your mind, when they settle on your tongue and push past your lips, but you know it feels so right when they do. 

“Yes,” you whisper. 

His fangs clamp around your pulse. You scream when the sting rips through you, violent and savage– but it only lasts a moment. Pain fades to… ecstasy. You feel his throat bobbing with each swallow, feel your blood seeping from your skin and onto his tongue. You’d thought it would feel slicing, draining, like the life was being sucked from you. It doesn’t. It feels wonderful. Heat spreads under your skin, emanating from your neck and down to your toes. It feels like breathing for the first time, like sugar being pumped into your veins. It feels like heaven. Your hand tangles in his hair, holding him close. You don’t want it to stop, not ever. You could die like this, have him suck every last drop of blood from your veins and thank him for it with your dying breath. 

He’s moaning now, hands curling into your hips while he fucks into you relentlessly. The pace is grueling and brutal. You know it should hurt but only feels perfect. Anything less would not be enough. Anything else would leave you wanting. You feel it building, feel that familiar twinge at your core. The ecstasy flooding through your veins has it coming faster, has you teetering on the edge in moments. 

“Satoru…” You hadn’t noticed how dizzy you felt until you tried to speak. You wonder why… “‘M gonna…” 

He fucks you harder, something menacing and deep rumbling in his chest. The sound makes you shiver, makes you whine, makes you come. 

Your body shakes and a cry rips from your throat, cunt clenching like a vice around him. Your eyes roll back, hands scraping trails down his back. Your thighs quake with the intensity, with the overwhelming senses of pleasure that erupt throughout your body. Every nerve is firing, every hair rising. It’s an unstoppable current, one that sweeps you away, helpless to its pull. 

His thrusts grow sloppy and untimed. His grip on your hips tightens, holding you in place while he makes you his. His teeth break from your neck and when you look up through blurry eyes you see his head thrown back, your blood streaming down his chin in thick little globs. You feel it when he cums, feel the thick ropes of it seeping into your womb, feel the way he keeps fucking you, pushing it deeper and deeper inside. He’s moaning, chanting your name like a prayer at the heavens. 

When the moment ends he slumps over you, eyes half lidded and tired. There’s a familiar grin on his lips, one that inspires both comfort and uneasiness in your gut. You can’t help but stare at him, at the blood that stains his chin and cheeks, that reddens his lips so beautifully. You want to reach out and touch him, touch his blood-soaked skin and see what it feels like, what it tastes like. What you taste like. 

His eyes slide to the side, finding your pulse again. You groan. Yes, you think. Please, yes. More. You don’t think you’ll ever get enough of that. Of his teeth in your flesh, of the euphoria flooding your veins. More, more, more, your mind chants. 

He chuckles lightly and shakes his head. “No, princess.” He raises a finger to trace the curve of your neck. “I took more than I should have…” His expression doesn’t tense with worry. His cheeks pull into a smile, those little dimples shining through. “But what can I say? You just taste so good.” Like he needs to emphasize his point, his tongue darts out to trace his lips, lapping up some of the remaining blood on his chin. “You taste like mine.”

You whine. More, more, more. It’s all you can think about. You lift an arm weakly. You want to pull him to your neck, to make him drink, to make him fill you with the heaven you had just moments ago. 

He catches your wrist and brings it to his lips, inhaling deeply. His lips split into another grin and you see his eyes spark again with the wildness you crave. 

“Not yet, princess.” he coos. “But soon.” His smile grows even wider, until those fangs are on full display, until you’re trembling again. “Forever,” he whispers.

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me when the fic i imagined has a long detailed plot with more than one smut scene and i realize i can't get it done in a day or two :

hi so if i ever talk about making everyone's christmas gifts again next year, i need someone to grab me by the hand and stop me. post haste

𖦹 MOONLIGHT ON THE RIVER ⇆ keigo "hawks" takami

┆︎summary ┆︎you're the only one for him. you have to know that, you have to.

┆︎tags┆︎established relationship, hurt/comfort, vanilla sex, intimacy, body worship, oral (r!receiving), fingering (r!receiving)

┆︎wc┆︎2.01k

┆︎an┆︎idk i don't think we give vanilla enough credit i'm sorry i can't be freaked out 24/7. and yes this title comes from a song by the same title by mac demarco.

this is your first real healthy relationship in...maybe ever.

the most you and keigo ever argue about are chores. or which unlucky soul has to be the one to get out of bed and answer the door for the delivery guy. sometimes he says he'll take out the trash but when you get home from work, it's still there. he says you always leave your shoes in the middle of the walkway (you don't) and that he can't help but trip over them.

things that are big disputes for most couples, like the leasing or the topic of parents and family―those are always discussed civilly. both of you reach the agreement that you'll talk when you've sorted through your emotions. when you're calm. in fact, you don't even think keigo's so much as raised his voice at you the entire two years you've been together. you only realize how easy it is with keigo whenever you confront the real fear that you could lose him.

"hey, turtledove" keigo says from somewhere near your left. you manage enough of your strength to shift your eyes to him. just enough that he should know you aren't purposefully ignoring him when you inevitably do not answer.

he stands in the doorway of the bathroom, clad in only a pair of simple black boxers. fresh from the shower, if the steam billowing into the bedroom is anything to go by. you remember him getting in, promises of, we'll talk when i get out, let you get your thoughts together murmured quietly into your cheek when he kissed you farewell.

you don't know how long he's been in there. just that you've been staring up at the ceiling, trying to muddle through the murk of your feelings. there's a soft creak in the bed, keigo's knee hitting the mattress as he lightly prods at you again.

it's not fair to him, you think idly. the way you're acting. silent and distant, lost in thought. but you're oh so weak to him and you turn over on your side so that you don't have to look at him. five years of therapy and all you can manage is a quiet, "it's nothing you did, keigo. i'm just...i need to―have to keep-"

a frustrated sound escapes you. it isn't him and you don't want him to blame himself. it's you and your doubting mind, that's the issue. and you hate when you get like this. keigo's hand settles at the small of your back, gently rubbing up and down comfortingly. then, his hand dances up your back, over your shoulder as he gently urges you onto your back again.

his shadow settles over you comfortably, and the way the moon settles behind him makes him look beautiful. like something unattainable. there's a knit of confusion and concern in the center of his brows and his hand settles over your breast, next to your heart.

"i'm worried about you turtledove" keigo says, after a while, voice quiet in the short distance between you. "it's not like your usual off days" he tacks on after a while. followed up shortly by a please in a tone that's uncharacteristically begging for him.

"you're the first good thing i've had...in a while, keigo" you tell him shakily, eyes roving over his face as you watch him piece the puzzle together. "i want to be good enough to keep you, if that makes sense"

it's stupid, juvenile. you know keigo loves you. anyone with a pair of decent pair of working eyes can see that. there's a long pause, emotions flitting over keigo's face as he sorts out his own thoughts.

the sheets rustle as he mirrors your position on the bed ; flat on his back, head craned to stare deeply at you.

"you never have to worry about that" keigo promises, voice strong and sure. "i'm not going anywhere, you know that"

and you do. but its no secret the sort of man keigo was when you met. some model or actress or hero in his bed every night, faces plastered all over the news. you aren't any of those things and until now, there was no real reason for you to worry about that.

"i know" you reply, meaning it. "i guess i just. i feel...a little insecure. i love you so much. i don't want to lose you"

the rational part of your brain agrees. but the irrational part―the part of you that has just been so loud these past three days. that's the part you can't silence.

"i can't see myself with anyone else. i don't want to" keigo says, and you find yourself chuckling softly. he pinches your side, darting down to kiss your cheek and then the corner of your mouth. and finally, a proper kiss at last. "don't laugh at me. i mean it."

you know keigo wouldn't do something as baseless as cheat. you've long gotten over the fear that any man would cheat, chasing after the first young skirt he sees. you've been cheated on before. you know that if keigo wanted to, he would. you could control his every move but if keigo was that type of man, nothing you could do would be enough to stop him. but he doesn't. for some reason beyond you, keigo is perfectly happy bickering over your shoes in the walkway and what to make for dinner.

"i mean it" he says again, eyes reverent and voice serious. he kisses you once more, moving his mouth against your own and your reciprocation is more than enough for the chaste kisses to grow in ferocity. "she's nothing to me. not compared to you. you're..."

keigo trails off. gently rubs the back of his knuckles down the side of your cheek. he sits back on his haunches, simply admiring the view and you don't bother to hide the fact that you're doing the same.

his hands slide down the length of your body, curling underneath your thighs to pull you in closer. his voice takes on that same begging tone from earlier. "tell me you understand" he pleads.

"i know" you promise in return. "i love you"

your hand pulls through his hair. keigo pushes his face into your hand like a cat seeking heat. he kisses you again, a series of kisses that burn like liquid fire in your veins. laying claim and reassurance in the same breadth.

"i love you too" he murmurs into the skin of your neck, voice more of a purred rumble than anything else. those beautiful red wings are tucked, folded neatly over one another, and when his back arches slightly so that he can rub greedy hands all over you―and you see that the feathers twist and shine in the moonlight.

a moment of silence passes. keigo toys with the hem of your sleep shirt. asking permission. "anything i can do?"

"keep going please" you swallow thickly, trying to mask the neediness in your voice. by the long look keigo gives you in return, you can tell it hadn't worked.

he stares like he's trying to unravel you. its as unnerving as it is pleasurable, and you shift underneath him, trying to turn away.

keigo doesn't like that. clicks his tongue, gently cupping your jaw and turning your face so that you're eye to eye. once more, the staring starts. his gaze is purposeful, intent as he watches you―free hand gently playing with the waistband of your plain cotton underwear.

"you just need to look at me" he whispers, pushing your underwear to the side. the cool air brushes against your heated cunt, and keigo stares at the exposed flesh as if he wouldn't want to be anywhere else.

goosebumps rise on your arms at the notion.

and he's nothing if not efficient. no sooner than the words leaving his mouth and he's twisting, getting comfortable and his mouth is enveloping your sticky cunt. a choked off noise escapes you, and without him needing to direct you, you spread your legs to make more room for him to settle between them.

soft pinpricks of pleasure dance down your spine, clenching tightly in your lower stomach. keigo massages the soft skin of your ankle, humming into your cunt as his lips circle around your clit.

another feeble whimper tears from your throat and you shift, throwing one leg and then the other across his shoulders. keigo rolls with the motion, not once separating from your cunt as he switches from dragging his tongue through your folds and suckling on your clit.

you roll your hips against his face, seeking more of that friction. another sound, the cracked syllables of keigo's name leaving your lips as you stare down at his blond hair peeking from between your thighs. he's content to let you shift and writhe against his face―but not before long and he's pressing your hips down into the mattress to keep you still.

two thick fingers slide into your cunt―the ache at the stretch quickly passes over to pleasure, too much, nearly overwhelming. keigo only shushes you softly, kissing at your inner thigh absentminded almost. and then his tongue is returning to your sensitive clit, laving over it again and again and again.

keigo pulls away slow, like it kills him. his fingers are pulled out of you completely, but only for a moment―just long enough to pull your underwear down your thighs and flinging them across the room like they've personally cursed him. his hand presses you down again, because you've started to squirm restlessly, spreading your thighs so far apart that it almost hurts.

"not too much?" keigo inquires, rubbing the soft skin of your inner thigh almost reverently.

you shake your head, voice clogging up in your throat. "no. keigo―"

the way you say his name is almost helpless, a plea. keigo murmurs a soft, i know sweet girl, i'll give you what you need, and returning to kiss your clit, sliding his fingers back inside. you make a sound, a cross between a squeal and a groan when keigo pushes his fingers in so deep, crooking them just right, rubbing incessantly against your g-spot.

your fingers tighten around the sheets, palm slick with sweat as your back arches off the bed. keigo makes no move to hold you down this time―instead doubling, tripling his efforts. there's the ever-so-familiar coil in your belly, uncurling faster and faster. your breath picks up, whines more pronounced.

with just one more suckle at your clit, just one more curl of his fingers deep inside you has you falling apart with a jagged moan, fingers tightening so hard in the strands of keigo's blond locks that he makes a soft grunt below you. keigo doesn't work you through it, instead slowly pulling his fingers out to push them into his mouth instead, watching you with intense focus as you climax.

you fall back, completely boneless. it would be uncomfortable, being nearly trapped under the driven way keigo stares at you, if you weren't already so used to it. so instead, you catch your breath, listening as your gasps even out to soft puffs of air.

"good?" keigo asks, once you've come back to yourself. your chin dips to your collarbone in a shaky nod.

it means so many things. good? as in, are you feeling okay? did he do a good job? do you need more? good? as in, do you understand now?

there's no doubt in your mind now. not when the moonlight shrouds keigo in an ethereal light and he stares down at your naked body like he has witnessed god himself craft you whole. his past, your past―it's exactly that. something of the past.

his present and his future, both of them are yours.

"are you?" you ask, tugging him down to kiss him, tasting your essence on his tongue. "good?"

you can feel keigo smile against your mouth, against the side of your face, dipping down to kiss right over your heart. "as long as you are"

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

if i accidentally click on the tumblr tv feature ONE MORE TIME!!!

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.

read a fanfic so good i started writing again.

with you, i'm first | miya osamu x reader

in which miya osamu is used to coming second to his brother. but with you, he's always first.

wc: 1113 | gn!reader | fluff

Miya Osamu is used to coming second. 

It starts with Atsumu, like most things do. October is cold and gray and Atsumu comes first, a small body with a large presence that fills the warm hospital room. His cries are loud and he’s a little underweight, but with him comes the sun. 

Atsumu is born under a partly cloudy sky but the nurses swear he was shrouded in sunlight. 

Osamu comes twelve minutes later. His parents are crying and his Ma is close to passing out. If he thinks really hard he can almost feel her warmth, Atsumu’s sobs, and a mumble of prayers that October has safely brought Atsumu and then Osamu.

He asks Grandma one day what the weather was like when he was born. She says, with confidence, it was foggy.

Atsumu doesn’t get along with his classmates. He is too loud and too rash and lacks social cues, and Osamu is angry because Stupid ‘Tsumu cares too little: and he wants everyone to know Atsumu like he knows Atsumu.

They fight and they yell and they argue until Atsumu says, 

‘Samu, I don’t care about ‘em. Why do ya care so much? 

And Osamu throws him across the room. The argument ends there, he says sorry, and Osamu lies awake that night thinking about his brother. Atsumu is hotheaded. And an idiot. A loud snorer, too. But he turns on his side and curls into a ball because he knows it was sunny when Atsumu was born and all of a sudden he really wants to be his brother. 

Atsumu dyes his hair first: it’s a shitty box dye from the pharmacy down the street, and it looks terrible. It’s a little yellow and a little neon, and Osamu laughs until his sides hurt when Atsumu shows him. 

But Atsumu is proud, and he is confident, and he goes to school with a hundred watt smile and a group of girls trailing after him. 

Osamu goes to the pharmacy that night and buys a box of gray, cloudy dye. Atsumu helps him bleach his hair under their bathroom sink with the faulty tap and tells him he looks like the moon.

His Ma says that Atsu is hot and Samu is cold after the two have a particularly bad fight. Atsumu is gleeful and smug as he gloats that he was born to be hotter and warmer and better, and Osamu punches him. 

He remembers his Ma sitting on the porch, an arm around his shoulders as he pouts. 

“‘S not fair,” Osamu had said, his chin in his palm. “Why’d ya name Tsumu that?” 

His Ma had laughed, quietly, leaning her weight into his side. And she had held his cheeks between her palms and told him with a fire in her eyes that Osamu means To Rule. 

He meets you for the first time in February. 

You were standing in front of him, a little sheepish, with a box of chocolates in your extended palms. He remembers feeling something heavy in his chest. Because, yeah, Atsumu was definitely going to accept your confession. 

You had said, IReallyLikeYou, and Here’sSomeChocolates, and Please Accept Them. 

You were shorter than him, and your hair was done nicely, and you were blushing and nervous. And you were really fucking cute. But Osamu is used to coming second, so the only thing that comes out of his mouth is, Why? And then, Tsumu’s in tha next classroom ov’r. 

He doesn’t remember what happened next, only Atsumu’s laugh and the slap echoing through the halls. You leave with his cheeks stinging and hot. And Atsumu had teased him the next day, behind his mountain of chocolates and confessions, because Osamu’s face was still red twelve hours later. 

He sees you a lot the year after. 

You’re in the same class as him and ‘Tsumu, and you smile every time you see him. You sit two rows in front of him and you’re not very good at tying your uniform. Every lunch, Osamu watches you pull out the same gray bento with a wrapped onigiri on the side. He tells you one day that he really likes onigiri. And then, Osamu watches as every lunch, you pull out the same gray bento with two wrapped onigiris on the side. 

With you, it’s always Hi Osamu, first, and then, Hullo Atsumu. With you, it’s an onigiri dropped on his desk when the lunch bell rings. With you, Osamu thinks back to a conversation with his Ma on a porch. 

Osamu means To Rule.

The menu is this: Tuna mayo on Mondays and Thursdays, Ume on Tuesdays and Wednesdays. Friday is plain. You don’t ever bring onigiri for his brother. 

He asks you, on a hot night in June, what your favorite type of weather is. You had your knees tucked to your chest, a sparkler in hand, and then told him cloudy. Cold. Foggy. Winter. Snow is nice, too. You say it all with no hesitation. 

Osamu kisses you for the first time that night. 

It’s New Years and you’re cooking Ozoni on the stove. The curtains are open, it’s snowing outside, and Osamu wakes to the smell of miso and the sound of carrots on a chopping board. He gets out of bed, padding to the kitchen with half-lidded eyes and a stifled yawn, and then he thinks his heart stops when he sees you. 

Because what Miya Osamu is not used to is this: coming first and having something unequivocally his. 

But you’re bent over the counter, fiddling with the oven as you read the instructions on the back of the packaged Yakimochi you bought the other day. And you’re wearing his shirt, it falls right below your thighs, your hair is still messy from using his chest as a pillow, and you look beautiful. 

“Mornin’ ‘Samu, come help me with this.” You say, looking back at him with a smile, pointing to the fresh pot of rice on the counter. “You’re in charge of onigiri.”

He hugs you instead, his arms around your stomach with your back to him. 

“But I like yer onigiri,” He says, his chin on your head. His eyes are watering and it must be from the steam of your boiling dashi. 

“‘Samu,” You complain, giggling as he presses kisses into the crown of your head. “I made enough for ya in high school.” 

It’s cold outside and snowing, and Osamu knows he’s going to make the onigiri. 

He also knows that if his name means To Rule, he’s okay with coming second if it means you’re by his side.

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

・♱・ "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