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gojorgeous · 4 months

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"creature of myth."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, my lady?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you like them?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course… Satoru.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not tonight.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I hope Thomas treated you well yesterday?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It was… good.”

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

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

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

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

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

You nod eagerly. “I’m sure I will.”

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

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

“You’re not… eating?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You smile lightly. “Perfect. Thank you.”

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

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

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

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

He chuckles. “My pleasure.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You skip ahead again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No, no, no.

“(See next page for only existing portrait)”

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

You flip the page and Satoru stares back at you.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“About the estate?” he asks.

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

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

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

“Anything interesting?” he presses.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhm?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes. Yes. Give it to me.”

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

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

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

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

“S-Satoru–”

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

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

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

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

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

“Satoru, p-please! It’s–”

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

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

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

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

“Yes,” you whisper.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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floatmeintothesun-2 · 5 months

Text

Drunken Love

Pairing; Miguel O’hara x afab! Reader

Tags; grinding, lazy sex, smut, cumming in pants, word count 2.2k

Summary; Miguel really can’t keep his hands to himself when you’re sitting in his lap like this.

18+ MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DNI

—

You’re intoxicating, Miguel reflects, watching you seat yourself on his lap with lidded eyes. He can’t get enough, you’ve got him utterly hooked. His hands settle on your waist, squeezing your hips and ass at equal pace.

He had a glass of alcohol in his hand a moment prior before it was set aside and forgotten in the haze that had consumed him. He can’t get drunk anymore — not since he was genetically altered but he feels light headed and dizzy just from your presence.

He tilts his head up to look at you, lips curving in a smile as he reclines back into his chair. One of your hands is in his hair, carding through dark brown strands. The other is on his cheek, your thumb smoothing over warm skin.

“What’s a gorgeous girl like you doing here in my apartment?” He asks with a grin, pulling you closer to him. You smile back.

“Mm… I don’t know,” You hum, “I’m looking for my boyfriend. Have you seen him?” Your index traces a light path down his jaw leading down his neck. He can’t help but shiver, tilting his head a little as you reach his collarbone.

“Well, you’re in luck, pretty girl,” Miguel nearly purrs, palming flesh and sliding his hands underneath your top so he can feel your skin against his. “I’m right here.”

You laugh and fuck, he doesn’t think he’s heard a sound sweeter than that. You’ve got him wrapped around your finger and you know it. He sucks in a quiet breath as your hand slides down to his chest, tweaking one of his nipples playfully through his shirt. He bares teeth at you with no heat, content to let you do whatever you want with him.

You shift so that you’re properly straddling him and Miguel can feel himself already half hard under you. He holds you at the place under your breasts, wandering hands slipping under your bra and unclasping the hook in the back nimbly. You sigh, deep and low as large hands palm at your tits greedily.

“Someone’s impatient.” You kiss the corner of his jaw, and he turns his head so he can catch your next on his lips.

“Hard not to be,” Miguel breathes, trailing his lips from the corner of your mouth to your neck. And truly, it’s hard not to be. How can he possibly be patient when you’re on top of him like this? You look practically ethereal as the dim light from the overhead light shines down on you.

“Take this off?” You pull at his shirt – it’s old, a simple black tee that used to hang off him in his college years. Now, it’s tight against his skin, easily displaying hard lines of muscle, stretching across broad shoulders. He obliges your request, pulling it over his head, feeling the chill in the air soak into his bare skin before your warmth chases it away.

Hands, smaller than his, flutter down his bare abdomen, feather light touches trailing down his ribs before rising to settle on his shoulders. Miguel peppers kisses over your face, moving his own hands so he can press you down in his lap. He pokes at your bottoms, a finger tugging at the waistband.

“Take this off?” He mimics you, raising his eyebrows a little as you laugh.

“Don’t wanna get up,” You reply, and he shrugs, grabbing greedy handfuls of your ass. You give him a look and —

Miguel hisses, low in his throat at the feeling of your body grinding down against his and suddenly his dick is much more than just half hard. Sticky pre seeps out of him and he swallows dryly, your heady scent swirling in the air. If he was any lesser man, he would’ve passed out by now. And also probably busted.

“You’re a minx, pretty girl,” He rasps, clenching his jaw. Fuck, he can practically feel how wet your pussy is, can fucking smell your damn arousal through the air. It’s making him dizzy with need, he can barely think. Your arms loop around his neck leisurely as you lean in to kiss him – something he welcomes readily.

“Would you have me any other way?” You tilt your head, coy. He almost misses your words with the way he’s focusing on your gorgeous body.

“No. I wouldn’t,” He whispers, big hands forcing your hips down onto the hard shape of his cock. Making you feel how bad he wants you right now. His tip is pressing against your clit through the fabric and god, he’s so big, tenting through his sweatpants. You swallow back a moan as his hips twitch up, pressing against you in just the right angle.

Your panties are practically soaked by now, needy pussy pulsing to have him inside of you. But you’re too impatient to get up and discard your undergarments, heat coursing through your veins like molten fire. His huge frame dwarfs yours easily but right now, it’s you who’s on top of him, you who’s making this 6 foot 9 inch man moan and hiss with every teasing dip of your hips over his straining erection.

His breaths come in quiet growls, and he squeezes his eyes shut as you tease and tease and tease.

“Baby, please,” He nearly whines, obedient hands resting lightly over your waist. Your cat-like grin makes sparks of halfhearted irritation and warmth dance through his nervous system. He knows you’re just as desperate as he is and he kneads your plush thighs as if trying to entice you.

You’re addicting and infuriating, Miguel thinks to himself. He wants to bend you over the kitchen counter and fuck you until you’re sobbing in pleasure and he can barely breathe through the haze of overstimulation. He wants you to keep him right here and make him beg for just a scrap of your attention. Mostly, he just wants you.

You finally decide to grant him some relief, messily slotting your hips against his and a ragged hum escapes Miguel’s throat, low and quiet. The shape of his dick is defined through his sweats, pressing and twitching against you through the fabric. You can’t help but moan as he rubs his tented half against you, almost like a dog in heat. You have half a mind to tease him for it, but the way he presses up against you makes your head feel foggy.

The edges of razor sharp fangs glide over the sensitive flesh of your neck as he peppers kisses and nips to your skin indiscriminately. It’s slow, it’s messy, his hips roll upwards underneath you, searching for that sweet friction. A particularly harsh bite has you hissing lightly and Miguel soothes it over with his tongue. It doesn’t bleed, but you’re sure it’ll leave a mark.

And he had to leave it in the most obvious place ever? Bastard. You shoot him an unamused look and he just gives you a smug expression.

“Something wrong, hermosa?” He coos, all cloyingly saccharine, and you roll your eyes. If someone told you that this man was begging for your touch three seconds ago, you wouldn’t have believed them.

“Don’t act cute now,” You grumble and he laughs, a wonderfully soft sound. His hands drift to the small of your back, putting pressure and lazily grinding against you, keeping your pussy anchored over his dick through layers of fabric. It’s like a haze has settled over you both, something sweet and heavy and sticky all at once. It’s languid and mind numbingly good — it’s different from the way he fucks you. You might even call it domestic.

Something about the way Miguel stares at you feels almost reverent. He looks so pretty here, mussed up hair and heaving chest. He’s warm and you can feel it in the way his thick thighs tense and the way his hard cut abdomen presses up against you. Sticky sweetness seeps into your limbs like molasses, and you can’t help but kiss him, all teeth and tongue. His low pleased hum vibrates through his chest and vaguely, you think he tastes something like wine and spice.

He’s sloppy and hungry, quickly deepening the kiss as he leans closer. It’s not until you’re running out of oxygen that you tap his shoulder and he pulls away, a pink tongue darting out to wet his lips. You’re panting, kiss swollen lips shiny with saliva and he’s groaning, rolling his hips upwards. His clothed cock catches on your clit deliciously and he catches on quickly, making sure to aim for that one fucking spot that makes you see stars.

“Shit — Miguel, feels so fucking good…” you gasp into his mouth and he groans. You sound so sweet when you moan and whine on his lap. He’s head over heels for you, he decides. You could sit on his face for hours, suffocating him between plush thighs, and he’d say thank you. He’s almost tempted to pull you to the bedroom right now just so he can beg you to do just that, but fuck, with the way his dick is throbbing, he might not make it that far.

“Just like that, baby, c’mon,” He nips at your neck lightly and licks into your mouth greedily, “you want it? Want this fat cock? I’ll give it to you, I’ll give it all, j’st cum, baby, you can do it,” quick hands come up to palm at your breasts, squeezing stiff peaks and god damn, he knows how to use them.

Your back arches, pressing your tits against his bare chest and Miguel dips to litter marks around your collar bone and lower, humming in satisfaction as you thread a hand in his hair. You’re a mess, he’s panting and groaning, hair mussed up, dark crimson eyes squeezed shut. He might just be the prettiest man you’ve ever seen.

The thing that really does it for you is the way he says your name. Breathy and pleading, it makes your head spin, and you press a searing kiss to his lips as the knot that has been slowly building finally snaps. It’s filthy, sinful, and fuck, its everything you want.

Miguel tenses underneath you, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he shudders and twitches. He sounds almost drunk from the way he’s slurring your name, honey sweet and desperate. He cums with a quiet grunt, staining his boxers with it, soaking the light gray of his sweats.

You slump against his chest and he hisses lightly as you brush against his slowly softening cock. A burly arm comes to loop around your waist, pulling you closer while you gently move sweaty strands of hair out of his face.

“Good?” He asks, and you hum in affirmation. He grimaces at the feeling of slick cum dripping down his balls. “We should get clean.”

“My thighs feel sticky,” You mutter, trying to gently extricate yourself from your boyfriend’s hold so you can walk to the restroom. He shoots you a look and sweeps you up into his arms easily, pressing an easy kiss to your neck. Instinctively, you hold onto him, leaning against his bare chest as he carries you to your shared bathroom.

He glances at you as he pushes open the door with his foot, considering.

“Bath or shower?” Miguel tilts his head, looking remarkably composed for a man who just came in his pants a few minutes ago.

“Shower,” You answer immediately, and he puts you down, turning to strip off his clothes and hearing you do the same. You turn on the water, setting it to both of your preferred temperatures and slip into the stall, sighing in relief at the warmth. Miguel joins you after a moment, swiping your body wash off from the corner. Technically, it’s his, but you use it so often that he just delegates it as a shared item.

You say that his is better because it’s fancy. He doesn’t object. After all, he really doesn’t mind you smelling like him.

Squeezing some into his hand, he cleans you up, soapy suds washed away by the spray overhead as you do the same for him. You pay special attention to his pecs and ass and he just sighs like he’s annoyed. He’s not. Honestly, he doesn’t care — you can touch whatever you want. He’s all yours and he relishes that fact whole heartedly.

Your hands trail down his chest and abdomen. He smothers a smile against your hair, pressing you up against the shower wall and hooking strong hands under your thighs.

“Wanna go another round?” He asks, looking down at you, a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. You card a hand through wet curls and he leans into it.

“Sure, why not?”

—

Needless to say, you don’t come out of the bathroom until much later, littered with marks and sore between the thighs. Miguel follows after you, looking utterly satisfied with himself, a towel wrapped loosely around his waist as you both enter your bedroom. It’ll be a pain to wear a scarf for the next few weeks but with the way Miguel practically drapes himself over you has you not caring.

A problem for future you. For now, you’ll just snuggle under the covers and exchange sleepy kisses with your boyfriend.

#miguel o’hara smut #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel smut #miguel o'hara #atsv miguel #miguel spiderverse #miguel x reader #miguel ohara #miguel spiderman #spiderman 2099 #miguel x you #miguel o’hara x y/n #miguel o’hara x you

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peachsayshi · 5 months

Note

(going crazy about Choso watching you in the shower don't mind me.....)

It was the smell of your soap that Choso noticed first. Wafting into the hotel room with that undeniable moisture- the bathroom door must be open.

Open? You'd never made that mistake before. He glanced at the mirror across the bathroom door and saw the cracked door and light filtering through. It was open. The bathroom door was in fact open, and the only thing separating him from your naked form was a thin shower curtain.

Before he knew it, he was standing by that door, peering in. Your silhouette moved and his eyes widened, watching you cleanse yourself of the mess of battle. Could you get your back on your own? His mouth was agape as he imagined himself joining you, washing you, dragging his soapy hands all over your incredible body.

He was rock hard. Overwhelmed by the sweet scent of your shampoo. As you picked up your conditioner, he caught a glimpse of your skin through the gap in the curtain and nearly groaned. He needed you. God, how intensely he needed you...

Like the soothing sounds of a siren, you hummed a tune as you lathered your hair with conditioner. He was enraptured. Nothing could tear him away from this. From you. He softly palmed the tent in his pants, wondering if you left that door open on purpose. Wondering if you wanted him just as badly as he wanted you...

Wondering if you'd welcome him if he decided to join you.

@nyxronomicon 🖤

{oh, nyx. this is altering my brain. you need to take full accountability for what you are doing to me right now, but I also refuse to walk away without leaving a few more crumbs myself. your ask has me clenching my thighs and biting my lip. I am simply losing it over this man!!! now let's think of this scenario, where the temptation is far too much...}

➳ minors / ageless / blank blogs dni ➳ tags: cw breeding; lchoso in heat; arousal

there's a soft knock on the door that sends a tremor of excitement and apprehension up along your spine. you curl your frame under the shower head, allowing the warmth to veil over your soft, vulnerable body.

"yes?" you call out, your firm tone dwindling through the barrier of raining water droplets.

"did you mean to leave the door open?" choso bluntly asks, making your lungs collapse from the tension in his deep voice.

what are you supposed to say? you think in a moment of panic, that you did mean to leave it open because you wanted to test him?

a lump forms in your throat. you were coaxing someone who barely had the capacity to understand the deep intensity of his human emotions just to play a game of a rabbit toying with a wolf.

instead, you simply swallow your guilt and innocently reply, "yeah, I wanted to let out some of the steam..."

the silence lingers for only a few seconds but the heaviness resides in the short distance of space separating you both.

you hear him clear his throat from behind the door.

"would it be alright if I used the sink to wash up then?"

your heart rumbles, shuddering with enticing uncertainty.

"yes, you can come in."

from behind the curtain you hear his footsteps, a slow approach to the bathroom sink. you're suddenly hyper aware of your naked state, of every drop trickling down your delicate curves, of your nipples pebbling hard from the slight draft that followed choso, and of the throbbing pulse between your legs.

you exhale quietly as he turns on the faucet, wondering what to do next. from between the curtain you study him, his hair down and haloing around his handsome face. his cheeks are slightly red, and he cups the water in his hand as he splashes it across his face.

your hand mindlessly turns off the faucet to your shower.

you avert your gaze just as choso turns to meet yours through the small sliver of space.

"do you mind passing me a towel?"

there's another pause before the sound of choso rummaging through the drawers interrupts the quiet. he approaches you, the shadow of his strong, broad frame prominent from behind the curtain. you don't know why the thrill of it makes you ache, or why you insist on tempting him further when you know that the it truly isn't a fair game.

you curl your fingers around the curtain and peek your head through, your thighs clenching at the expression on choso's face.

there's an unrecognizable hunger in that gaze, a hardness resting along his sharp jaw that's contrasted by the blush in his cheeks. the front of his brows are pinched slightly together, and you can see the veins in his hands pop as he grips the terry cloth fabric between his fingers.

you reach for the towel, noticing his eyes falling to your glistening bare skin, and focusing on the slope of where your shoulder and neck meet.

"thank you, cho." you gratefully reply, as you pluck the towel from between his hands.

when you dip back behind the curtain you swear you hear him sigh with exasperation. you wrap the towel carefully around your body, the length barely covering you up in any decent manner.

choso is still in the bathroom when you step out of the shower, his head now under the sink faucet as he allows the water to run through his raven hair. he slicks back the strands with his fingers, and exhales once again.

"you're free to use the shower now," you calmly state.

he leans back, his hands gripping the counter behind him, but his eyes are fixated on you.

"great," he murmurs through gritted teeth, focusing to keep his attention on your face and nowhere else. "I'll jump right in"

you nod your head, tucking your bottom lip between your teeth as you try to scurry away but you suddenly freeze when choso sidesteps in front of you and blocks your path.

you're so much closer now. close enough to take in the hard muscles of his torso. close enough to burn with shame from toying with him in this way.

you seize up in panic when draws his hand to your neck, sealing the gap of space as he stands in front of you chest to chest. the tender caress ignites everything within you, and you sink your teeth deeper into your bottom lip as a shivering vibration runs up along your neck. choso has his hand to your throat, his thumb stroking up the column to the space right underneath your ear.

your eyes fall to his pecs, the rise and fall pulling you away from the stillness of the moment.

choso drops his hand to your line of sight, showing off his thumb covered in bubbling suds.

"you missed a spot"

he wipes it off against his pants, as your hand absentmindedly reaches for the place where he touched you. the pads of your fingers lightly dragging over the exposed skin.

you glance up at choso from underneath your eyelashes, "oh, I did..." is all you can say.

your arousal sticks to your inner thighs, making you adjust your stance, but that is when choso directly drops his gaze to your crotch without any hesitation, his expression a battle of desire and concentration.

his breathing slows, and your eyes widen as the heat rushes straight to your cheeks.

why does it feel like he can see right through the material?

like he knows that you’re wet right now.

“I should leave you to it then,” you foggily announce, taking a tiny step back.

“hmm,” choso purrs, his dark eyes gaping at your concealed cunt.

you casually dart around him, stepping out of the bathroom and shutting the door behind you.

every nerve in your body quivering with anticipation.

#choso x reader #choso x female reader #choso x y/n #choso smut #kamo choso x reader

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snowsonlylove · 3 months

Text

Partition (Inspired by Beyonce & Ana Huang)

Pairing: President!Coriolanus Snow x Wife!Reader

Summary: Frustrated from her arranged husband’s lack of attention towards her, Y/N Y/L/N bursts in a plathora of words spewed to her arranged husband and elected President of Panem, Coriolanus Snow about his lack of care and affection towards his own wife despite Coriolanus literally being married to Y/N. Both parties being frustrated with no means to give their stances up, explode in a world of dirty, nasty sex in their limo on the way to former president’s son Felix Ravinstill’s dinner.

Fic Type: Smut (NSFW) 18+ with angst, Arranged Marriage trope

Warnings: infidelity, cum licking, heavy kiss, degrading but also lots of praise, lmk if there’s anything I missed but this is vvv nasty

Word Count: 2.6k

Inspo: Heavily inspired by Chapter 27 of King of Wrath by Ana Huang (my FAVORITE book of all time) from the Kings of Sin Series and the song Partition by Beyonce (an absolute GEM of a song).

Disclaimer: About 90% of the sex scenes are directly from said chapter, so credits and the idea itself all go to Ana Huang and her team. The blowjob and first sex scene was from Ana Huang’s book and the last scene was a slightly altered version from me. This is basically an altered version of Ana Huang’s book idea turned into a version for Coriolanus and Y/N if they were in an arranged marriage.

I do not own Coriolanus Snow or Y/N Y/L/N (cuz it’s you, boo). All credits go to Suzanne Collins and her team. Song credits also go to Beyonce and her team.

I do not allow my works to be republished or translated under any circumstances. Any instances of this happening and YOU WILL BE BLOCKEDDD.

Also, ageless and empty blogs will be BLOCKED as this is a 18+ fic. Report my fics and you’re blocked cuz if u don’t like it, LEAVEEEE.

Y/D/N = Your Dad’s Name (so sorry to anyone with daddy issues cuz me too)

The marriage of Y/N Y/L/N and Coriolanus Snow was not one born out of love. Their fathers, Y/D/N Y/L/N and Crassus Snow planned for their union before fighting in the war to strengthen and unite the families in a pursuit for higher power. Both Y/N and Coriolanus grew up around similar environments, both being in the same friend group, meeting each other in birthday parties, visiting each other’s penthouses for playdates and as of late, running into each other in the Academy as they receive their degrees during graduation.

Now that both Y/N and Coriolanus are of marriage age, their fathers immediately drew up the arranged marriage with a contract, binding the two young adults for life, their families growing stronger as a result of their agreement. Coriolanus and Y/N have never disliked nor liked each other as they each had their own squad of people to hang out with, Y/N always being around Arachne Crane and Clemensia Dovecote while Coriolanus was closer with Felix Ravinstill and Festus Creed, to each their own being disgusted with the opposite sex in fear of cooties as that was common with young children, which was not a surprise in the way the two supposed love birds navigate their marriage in a meaningless way behind closed doors when it was the absolute opposite in public.

Y/N Y/L/N never felt that Coriolanus’s indifference was a severe one until he started to bring home mistresses not long after they’ve moved in during the late wave of his candidacy. He started to fuck his way through his female staff as Y/N was tortured with hearing the sound of his groans and the moaning of the women he summoned as a means to relieve his stress. Y/N was heartbroken as she felt that they had this mutual understanding that they would always be loyal to one another even through the circumstances of their relationship, Coriolanus clearly did not feel the same.

The couple usually kept their interactions minimal in their household as they live in seperate bedrooms, only to come down to eat dinner, choosing to have the rest of their meals seperate during the day. As Coriolanus’s relationship with these women grew to be more common, Y/N did not have the appetite to cater to Coriolanus’s ego further as she skipped her meals with him, instructing the staff to send her meals to her room instead as she laid on her large queen bed, heart breaking and face puffy with tears streaking down her face over his infidelity. Even though she did not exactly feel for him, she at least cared enough about him as a trusted partner throughout their arrangement.

The atmosphere between the two grew more and more tense each day as Y/N sobbed behind closed doors, trying her best to muffle her cries as Coriolanus worked next door. Coriolanus, oblivious to his wife’s muffled crying, doesn’t notice her strange behavior until that night where Y/N left her bedroom door ajar and Coriolanus was finally able to see how hurt Y/N had been over his infidelity. Coriolanus was shocked to see for himself how miserable his wife had been over his actions, him originally choosing to bring in mistresses to encourage her to confront him. He moved away, however, ensure of what to do next as he left her alone.

The next day, one of Y/N’s female staff, particularly one of Coriolanus’s women, had informed Y/N of an event she needed to attend that day, former president’s son Felix Ravinstill’s dinner. With her puffy face, she nodded as she started to get ready. Y/N felt dejected as she got ready, feeling as if she was going through the motions as several maids filed in to help her with her makeup and dress. Y/N wore a sullen frown on her face as she stared into the distance of her reflection in the vanity, wondering how and why she agreed to this marriage in the first place. “I will get out of this place once and for all…” she thought as she started to navigate a plan to be free of the ruse of a marriage.

Coriolanus waited for Y/N outside of their mansion as Y/N appeared, her eyes still puffy although covered with the power of makeup. He extended his arm as she took it with caution, both of them stepping in the limo silently. Once they got in, Y/N stared off to the window of the limo as they drove away from the mansion. Coriolanus, apprehensive over his wife’s indifference, suddenly speaks “You know, you could smile a little?” he said with a timid one of his own. Y/N’s mood suddenly darkened as she responded in an even more dejected and hoarse voice “How could I? Please, dear husband, demonstrate how I could smile when my only other partner in this joke of a marriage brings home other women and fucks them for me to hear.”

Coriolanus, taken aback by how dejected his wife’s voice was, responded, “Well I’m sorry if you feel offended by my lack of attention towards you as of late. We were never exclusive in the first place, our fathers planned this for us.” Y/N looked incredulously at her husband, “Exclusive?! What part of an arranged marriage and a contract doesn’t speak not exclusive?! Are you joking right now, Coriolanus? Because if you are, no ones laughing.” Y/N sighed, “I though you were smarter than this, Snow. I truly never imagined that my presence dissatisfies you so much that you had to turn to other women to satify your needs.” Y/N said as her eyes started to tear up again. She felt so exasperated, “There’s no point in crying now.. He clearly doesn’t care about me.” She thought as Coriolanus examines her face.

Coriolanus felt horrible that his wife felt like this towards him. He truly did not mean to go this far, only planning to give her a little push. He turned towards his wife, and suddenly grabbed both of her hands in his own, stroking them in a delicate way, as someone would with a precious porcelain doll. “I’ve never hated you, wife. I merely wanted to give you a push in this arrangement since we both did not agree to this. I wanted to encourage you to be closer to me, but how could I when you seem so distant all the time?” Coriolanus sighed before continuing, “I’ve loved you ever since I met you, but I’ve never been.. brave enough to confess that to you.”

Y/N was left astonished as she looked at Coriolanus, “Perhaps.. I’ve also fallen for you during our arrangement, yet I’ve been in denial of my own feelings for a while. I’ve always thought you were quiet handsome, husband.” Y/N said with a small smile of her own. Coriolanus looked at her, surprised by her confession, before Y/N suddenly pressed her lips to his in a rough, desperate kiss that had both of them clinging to each other for dear life. Coriolanus’s hands were soon entangled in her hair as Y/N clutched her hands on his blazer. Their mouths fought desperately against each other, teeth clashing and theirs tongues molding together like a perfect puzzle.

Their heavy makeout session resumed as the limo came to a stop. Traffic in the Capitol was not uncommon, but at this pace, they might as well reach Felix Ravinstill’s mansion at a time where cows are able to fly. The couple broke off after a while, Coriolanus staring down at Y/N’s V-cut dress as she straddled him and kissed his jaw before rising to give him a deep kiss. As they broke off from their kiss, Y/N’s hand trailed down Coriolanus’s stomach as she made her way towards his groin.

Coriolanus groaned as Y/N’s hand lightly touched his aching erection. Y/N continued to kiss his neck as she freed his erection from his pants. His cock was huge and hard, dripping with pre-cum and begging to be touched. Y/N slid off of her seat down to her knees, where she started to lick around the head of his cock while gripping the base with both her hands, working towards kneading his huge, hard balls.

As she gripped the base of his cock, she slid his dick down her throat until her mouth hit the point where her eyes watered. Her eyes started to tear up as Coriolanus stroked her head, encouraging her to go on. Even with her mouth engulfing his cock with desperate need, there was still a good two to three inches between her mouth and the base of his cock.

Coriolanus’s groans began to sound louder as Y/N tasted the salty sweetness of his pre-cum as she adjusted to a slow and steady pace. In and out. Slowly becoming faster, harder as she sucked and bobbed her head up and down his enormous length.

Coriolanus’s hand gripped her hair as the limo went over a bump in the road, forcing his cock to go deeper down her throat. Y/N spluttered as her chokes and gurgles filled the car’s sex driven atmosphere as her noises fluttered with his groans perfectly, creating a sex induced symphony.

“Fuck, Y/N.” Coriolanus groaned as Y/N looked up, her eyes blurry with tears from taking him so deep, “That feels so good.” Pride rushed through Y/N as she looked up to see Coriolanus’s face etched with pleasure.

As she looked up towards him, his eyes were closed as his head tipped back with pleasure, the column of his throat exposing one of the most sexy Adam’s apple she’s ever seen. His chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, his breathing shuddering as Y/N’s head bobbed up and down his dick faster. His hands buried in her hair as her tongue swept the underside of his cock.

She increased her pace, and just as she thought he was about to come, Coriolanus pulled her hair back and lifted her onto his lap as he crushed his mouth onto hers, their tongues clashing together in a never ending battle of sexual tension broken in a dam of hot, heavy sex.

As their mouths dominated against each other, his arousal met hers as she ground against it, desperate for more. Harsh groans echoed from the both of them, each groan vibrating down each other’s spine in a sex-induced fuel. “You’re going to be the death of me,” Coriolanus heaved as his mouth trailed a line of passionate kisses down Y/N’s neck.

He clenched his teeth on the strap of her dress and he gently pulled it down, exposing her chest as he then raised her hips so he could push her underwear to the side. Y/N didn’t have time to catch her breath as Coriolanus was inside her, filling her to the brim with only one thrust.

Y/N only had a few seconds to adjust before Coriolanus gripped her hips and slammed her down again on his cock, hard, as he drove into her like a beast in heat, slamming in and out of her, up and down. Again and again, faster and harder, until her toes curled, her knuckles white from how hard she was holding him to stay steady as the pressure built inside her and neared its breaking point.

She clung to him, her head thrown back in ecstasy as she trembled while trying to match his rhythm. Y/N bounced up and down, grinding her clit against him on every stroke.

“Just like that,” Coriolanus growled harshly as his teeth grazed across Y/N’s nipple, his breath making her shudder as it created goosebumps on her skin. “Bounce on that dick like the good girl I know you are.”

A loud moan emerged from Y/N’s throat as Coriolanus’s mouth closed on her pebbled nipple and sucked. A huge slick of wetness gushed around them as their arousal dripped everywhere, around her thighs, his leg, and onto the seat of the limo.

“You’re making such a big mess, darling.” Coriolanus groaned while looking at his wife with a lovestruck smile, tugging at her nipple with his teeth after. “Should I make you clean it up, hmm? Have you lick your own cum off the seat like a desperate little whore while I fuck you from behind?”

The fucking happening between them could only be described as rough and depraved, the two exploring each other ravenously as the tension between them exploded into a passionate cocoon of chambered sex in the limo.

His words triggered something inside her as Y/N felt her orgasm hit her a second later with a fiery velocity, making her back arch the highest it could go and her mouth to fall open with a silent scream.

Y/N was trembling from her previous orgasm as she heard her husband let out a chuckle, the sound vibrating throughout her skin as he laid little kisses across her shoulder. “Here I thought you were so prim and proper when I first met you.”

She felt too euphoric to care as his words didn’t really register in her mind when he suddenly moved her into a different position. One second, she was on his lap, and the next, she was facing the seat as he put her on all fours and tugged her hair into a makeshift ponytail and pulled her hair so that her back collided with his chest.

They shared a passionate, fiery kiss as he started thrusting into her with slow movements, pulling away until almost all of him was out before thrusting every inch of his cock into her tight, wet pussy. As she was enjoying the pleasure he was giving him, he suddenly said with a hoarse voice, “Clean up your mess, Y/N.”

She wanted to say no, she truly did but something about that moment made her want to please her husband as she started licking the seat clean while he watched her with a heated glance. “Good girl, Y/N. Such a good girl.” He groaned as she finished licking before he started fucking her again, this time more rough, hard and simply brutal as he pushed his cock in and out of her extremely wet pussy.

The only sound heard around the vehicle was the loud sound of skin slapping as the smell of sweat and sex mixed together beautifully along with her moans and his ravenous groans. As she got closer and closer to her second orgasm, he reached around and pinched her clit as he muttered, “You wanna cum, darling? Show me what a good girl you are and cum hard for me.”

Her moans were the loudest it’s ever been since he said that as her second orgasm hit her like a tidal wave as he loudly groaned while coming inside her sweet pussy.

Both Y/N and Coriolanus calmed down as they catched her breath, their faces close together as Coriolanus turned her back towards the seat and kissed her with all his might as they revelled in their love for each other.

“I love you.”, Y/N said as she gazed up at her husband with a dazed but content expression. Coriolanus looked down at her while heaving a huge sigh, “I love you too, sweetheart. So much, I hope you know that.” He said as he closed the gap between them as the limo arrived near the Ravinstill residence.

#husband!coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow #tbosas fanfiction #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #hunger games #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow arranged marriage smut #coriolanus snow arranged marriage angst #Spotify

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headmate-ideas · 3 days

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📺 build-a-headmate template 🧸

✦ Name(s): Ortrex, Lori, Gray ✦ Pronouns: it/its, they/them, tech/techs, x/xs/xself, e/em/eir/eirs/emself ✦ Species: TV object head ✦ Age: ageless adult ✦ Role(s): caretaker, comforter ✦ Labels: aroace, agender, kenochoric, presentationfluid ✦ Xenogenders: tech, nostalgia, cuteness ✦ Interests/likes: movies, solving problems, old technology ✦ Dislikes: large social situations, weather that is too hot OR too cold, noisy animals ✦ Music taste: vhs pop, slushwave, art pop ✦ Aesthetic(s): outrun, diner aesthetic ✦ Objectum attraction(s): technology, gemstones, plushes ✦ Kins: clouds, ghosts, smokey quartzes ✦ Emoji proxy: 📺🧸 ✦ Details:

Ortrex is a human-shaped being with an old television for a head. The screen of this TV can display different facial expressions and also play videos and music, and if the screen displays an object, x can reach into the screen and hand it to another headmate. Ortrex uses this ability to provide the rest of the system with positive distractions (seeking them in the outer world and extrapolating them in-space). They are very friendly to their fellow headmates but can be awkward with people outside the system. However, it is not unfriendly and will eventually warm up to friends of the system. Ortrex's friendliness to the other members of its system make it a good caretaker, particularly in the form of seeking out comforting distractions when other system members are upset. If there are syskids or age regressors in the system, x loves helping take care of them and showing them kids' shows on xs screen.

[These can be edited and changed as needed, and headmates will probably not turn out exactly as described.]

#templatepost #alter packs #headmate packs #build an alter #build a headmate #endo safe #willogenic #roles: caretaker #roles: comforter #age: ageless #age: adult #species: non human #this is the very first example post :D #idk if they're all going to be this detailed but this should give you an idea of what it would look like!#source: original #adult themes: no

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squishysoftmonsters · 9 months

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Mature +18 Sexual Themes Minors/Ageless DNI

💚Imagine Symbiote Tentacle hungers to breed,and comes across you,but you fight it away as it advances,but manages to get you to offer yourself to it as a breeding mate by putting a mind aletering aphrodisiac into your skin while touching you under your clothes. Sticky with it's altering effects,you get covered with an insatiable heat,stripping naked and begging it to breed and dump it's bound load into you. It screeches in happiness,while covering your body with it's inky black skin. The aphrodisiac stretches your booty hole enough for symbiote to fit all of it's full tentacles into you,shivering and moaning as it shrinks,while you fill up with it's pent up,hot cream.💚

#monster smut #squishylovers #tentacle fucker #terato #smut imagine #gay monster #gayhot #tentacle monster #monster breeding #teratophiliac #gay #monster fucker

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chosos-mascara · 1 year

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payback

𝙨𝙖𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙪 𝙜𝙤𝙟𝙤 𝙭 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 - after learning your boyfriend has been cheating on you, satoru devises a plan of payback.

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 - make out, love-bites, PiV, creampie, manipulative!Gojo, kinda yandere Gojo, kinda angsty to begin with, cheating!suguru, college au

minors + ageless dni 2k words

"He's not, he can't be-" Stuttered words fell from confused lips as you took a step backward, peering up to the blue eyes through tinted lenses. His mouth had been downturned, and the awkward body language had confirmed that the statement he'd spoken had been honest. But, you couldn't accept them. "He is." Satoru's confirmation caused your stomach to churn, head shaking in disbelief. The pair of them were playful, often pranking one another - this had to be a remnant of that. A prank.

Though, you'd entertained the idea nonetheless, following the white head of hair through the crowd of civilians and stopping by a nearby tree, eyes lingering over the outstretched finger before following the line of direction. Sure enough, it had been Suguru, sat in a cafe garden opposite another woman, smiling wide. There had been a painful twang within your chest as you witnessed the interaction, desperately attempting to extinguish the flame of jealousy and hurt within your chest, and to reason with yourself. He wouldn't do that to you - this was probably a friend.

But, as he'd leaned forward to place a kiss upon her glossy lips, there had been no explanation for his actions voiced within your head. Instead, mouth ajar, you watched through teary eyes. Satoru hadn't lied; Suguru had in fact been cheating on you. "Why-" You began, blinking eyes to allow tears to fall, instead of allowing sobs rake through you. "Why did you tell me?" Tearing your gaze from the couple, you instead landed upon Satoru once more, a look of genuine empathy etched over his features. It was an expression you hadn't seen until recently, catching glimpses of the countenance through the corner of your eye - always aimed toward you. Now, you understood why.

"It's wrong." The phrase, uttered quietly, had been enough explanation. Although they were best friends, Satoru always seemed to do the morally correct thing, abiding by his own compass. Suguru's thoughts had mattered, though he hadn't let them alter his own. "Do you want me to take you home?" Satoru questioned, and after some consideration, you agreed. The pair of you walked to the student accommodation nearby, the male stopping outside your door and waving good-bye, with the exchange of his number if you were to need anything.

it's over. A short, sweet text, one that would end ties between you and the brunette who'd broken you after a short year together. There hadn't needed to be further discourse, because he'd understood from the short message displayed over chat where he'd gone wrong.

When back in lectures, you'd avoided the pair. Not that you'd allow your head to hang low, instead sticking with friends and wearing a smile - you were confident no one would read further into the hurt you'd felt. Though, one friend, who'd frequented outings between yourself and your ex, present at the time of heartbreak, hadn't missed the way your smile would straighten out once Suguru had passed you around campus, lips turning downward and posture slackening. He'd listen to his friend speak of other women, yet watched as his eyes would wander to you, seeking your frame within every room they'd enter, or hall they'd pass through. Suguru was too proud to admit his faults, and that perhaps, he'd regretted his decision to cheat.

"I'm just saying," Satoru stirred the pot, two glasses of white wine sitting idly by the stove. "Red is for winter, white is for summer." You leaned against the counter, gaze fixed to his pale fingers wrapped around the wooden spoon, bolognese bubbling beneath. Through the skin, veins traversed and branched upward, arm flexing with each wrist movement. "I didn't know there was a time limit on when I could drink wine." You commented, finally putting one of the glasses to your lips and sipping the liquid. Satoru turned the heat down, moving to the spaghetti pot. He picked it up, moving toward the sink and draining the contents, before dishing out the pasta on two plates.

"I still can't believe this is your home." Looking past the male to the small, yet sleek kitchen he worked within, admiring the room while he picked the plates up, placing them on the breakfast bar. You smiled, taking a seat opposite him, the glass you'd held now being placed onto the granite. "My parents paid for it, didn't want me living in dorms." He commented, sipping his drink before his eyes wondered to meet your own. "Sometimes, I wish they'd just let me live like everyone else, though."

You nodded, fork pushing into the plate of food and twirling the spaghetti around the metal. "Dorms suck, plus you only have two months left." Trying to eat the long, sauce coated noodles in a way that doesn't create mess being difficult. Though, Satoru's actions are much like your own, tomato coating his chin as he sucked the pasta through his lips. "Then I'll be a business associate with no time to myself." He sighed, picking up the glass to take a sip between bites of food. "But, I didn't ask you here to talk about that." Wiping his face with the back of his hand, he sat himself straighter, the playful smirk you knew so well returning to his face. "I know how to make Suguru jealous."

"Oh, Satoru-" You began, frown forming over your cheeks as you placed the cutlery to rest on the plate. "I don't care about that. I'm fine." A half-lie. You had cared a little, even if not to regain the relationship, just to make him suffer for the actions he took. "Sure." He laughed. "Lucky for you, I am willing to sacrifice my free time and date you!" Satoru exclaimed, arms waving upward and grin wide enough to show the white teeth between his lips. You shifted in your seat, brow furrowing. "Satoru, I'm not fake-dating you." Crossing one arm over the other, you leaned back. But Satoru stood, walking to stand beside you.

As you were still seated, his height stood much taller than usual, head tilting downward as he leaned toward you, supported by an arm placed on the table. "How could I persuade you?" Voice low, he brought his lips to your ear, grazing over the skin. Conflicted, you moved away from the warmth, sight trailing from the vascular hand on the granite to the now uncovered blue eyes. "He's your friend, don't you care?" The question fell on deaf ears as Satoru furthered his proposition, a kiss planted at your jaw, another at your cheek, before his lips were inches from your own. "Nah."

A delicate kiss to test the waters, a deeper one once he'd felt you'd reciprocated the action. Satoru tasted like the wine you drank, and smelled sweet like candy. Of course, it had been his addiction, an insatiable sweet-tooth, paired with vanilla perfume. Satoru molded perfectly to your movements, pushing into you, spare hand cupping the base of your head to hold you in place. Even if he'd been Suguru's friend, and perhaps this was his way of using you - it had felt good. Satoru kissed with passion, tongue sliding across your lips before entering your mouth with a hum, flickering against your own. His fingers wrapped around the back of your neck, goosebumps pricking the skin he touched, his own white hair tickling your face when he'd grown closer. Pressed up against one another, not an inch of you had been left unconnected.

A light tug had you standing, lips finally pulling from one another with heavy breaths, Satoru's fingers now wrapping around your wrist to tug you toward his room. There hadn't been much time to appreciate the decoration in this space as you had with the others, his lips reconnecting with your neck, softly nipping over the skin. One spot in particular, you'd allowed a gasp through half open mouth and Satoru had taken notice, sucking over the skin to leave a bruise. His grip pulled at your shirt, moving the garment upward and tongue to the exposed skin, unclasping bra before pulling you toward his bed.

Both undressed, Satoru placed himself between your legs, lined up at the dripping hole before edging himself inside. Much like his frame, Satoru's cock was long, pale and vascular, curving toward his body. When he teased himself inside of you, your back had arched, the curve pressing at your walls and massaging into spots you hadn't felt touched before. "Fuck, 'Toru-" Cut off by a rampant thrust, balls slapping harshly against the curve of your ass, he bottomed out until his tip kissed your cervix before slowly pulling himself through you, to push back in at a gentler pace. "Bet he didn't feel this good." Through half lidded eyes, you watched his smile, hips rocking into yours. "Tell me how good I make you feel." His voice had been much rougher than when he'd spoken with you in the kitchen, fueled by lust and the feeling of your pussy hugging over him, sheathing himself within your walls while watching you squirm beneath him.

This was something Satoru had wanted since he'd first laid eyes on you, excitement bubbling within him as he'd stepped forward to speak to you - only to be interrupted by his friend. Since that moment, you'd allowed yourself to be captivated by Suguru, and all Satoru could do was watch. When he'd tease you, you'd bite back, a spark that Suguru had stolen with each passing month, even if you hadn't let on.

"I heard you last night." Satoru spoke, cigarette between lips. You looked to him with furrowed brows, frowning. "That's disgusting." He hadn't been spared a look of disappointment from you, an uncomfortable hand scratching at the sleeve of your shirt as you turned to return inside, but his firm grasp over your wrist had halted you. "I heard you crying." Voice lower, cigarette smoke drifting into the air, Satoru leaned downward to meet you at eye-level. "Just admit you're not okay." Perhaps his words had been meant as comfort, but you'd ripped yourself from his grasp and continued on your path nonetheless. A moment you felt reminded of when he'd led you to his bedroom, when his touch roamed your sides and squeezed over your hips.

And, that conversation had been the force he'd needed to bring him to the decision. He'd paid a Gojo intern to speak with Suguru, 'accidentally' sending him nude photos of herself over text. At first, the poor brunette had resisted, yet when fed every detail, conversations orchestrated by none other than Satoru, Suguru soon fell for the charm. To have you in his bed tonight, and around his arm tomorrow, Satoru had paid thousands, not to mention the hours of work put into manipulating Suguru. But, within this moment, he had been thankful to his past self, balls deep in the woman he'd pined over for months.

"Y-you make me feel good, 'Toru." Whines from your lips, his fingernails in the fat of your skin, grasping you while fucking himself deeper. Your pussy had sucked him in, the mewls from your lips as your back arched against his mattress causing his dick to twitch. He'd messed around with plenty of women before you, but no one looked quite as perfect as you. "Tell me," He grunted, teeth grazing over his lip as he'd felt you clench. "I'm the best you've had." Satoru enjoyed appraisal, especially from you.

"You're the best!" Shouted from your lips while he'd bullied into you, head tilted backward. "You're the best I've ever had, 'Toru, fuck-" His thumb met with your clit, rubbing over you in circles as you stuttered under him. "So much better than Suguru, hng-" The comment had him speeding up, growing closer to release. "Your cock's so much better, baby."

He grunted, animalistic grumbles through gritted teeth as he filled you with white ropes, shooting a load deep within the cunt he'd claimed. A moment he'd waited a year for, and hadn't let him down. He knew that he wouldn't let you go now, no matter what. Satoru understood the need to be beside you from this moment forward, an emotional pull known as love.

a/n: not proof read sorryyy!

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fic-over-cannon · 5 months

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Always and Forever

jason todd x f!reader

ao3 link

summary: jason tries to end things after a bad patrol. you won’t give him up without a fight.

tags: f!reader, smut, kissing, biting, piv sex, unprotected sex, fingering (mention) cock warming, orgasm denial (kind of), belly bulge, size kink (if you squint), overstimulation, creampie (if you think this is misproperly tagged please let me know) minors and ageless blogs do not interact

rated e (mdni) | wc: 5.5k

a/n: this is my first time writing smut (or a fic of this length) so please be gentle! if you find jason a little ooc, i’m still working on getting his ‘voice’ right, so just consider him one of the many versions we’ve all come to love. this started as a single smut scene and grew feelings and a bit of plot from there. this was definitely a labour of love so i hope you all enjoy it!

“We’re done. Us. All of it. You’re free to leave.”

The modulated voice of the Red Hood startles you. It’s nearly six in the morning, and you’ve been up since three when Jason didn’t return from patrol like he promised. He’s still in his Hood gear, hasn’t bothered to take off the helmet or even the boots crusted in who knows what. The leather jacket has taken a beating, and in the dim light of your apartment living room it glistens damply like he was caught in the earlier rain. He won’t even look in your direction, hands fisted at his sides, the darkened leather of his gloves taut across his knuckles. Jason didn’t come home like he promised and now he can’t even bear to look at you as he tears your heart in two. It’s understandable then, that when your voice returns to you and you can breathe around the lump in your throat, that your voice shatters the silence.

“Look at me. Look. At. Me.”

Only the way that his body locks up, somehow tenser than before, deflates you. A whole night’s worry and frustration drained away.

“Jay? Please take off the helmet and look at me.”

His black curls are matted to his forehead with sweat. His one white streak is dark with it,. Somewhere along the way he must have ditched the domino mask, because the sight of his bare face twists something tight in your chest. His beautiful eyes are red rimmed, tear tracks still staining his cheeks. His lips look bitten raw. He looks at you the way a dying man looks at salvation. Realization dawns slowly for you.

“You didn’t get caught in the rain, did you?”

A sharp nod, jaw clenching, but he doesn’t look away. Now you’ve noticed, you can’t stop. There’s a faint blood spray on the front of the helmet, barely visible from where Jason’s placed it on the counter. The leather jacket is soaked through with blood, darker splotches on his tac pants from where it’s followed gravity. The grime on his boots now looks rusty, though that might just be your imagination. Jason’s come home hours late covered in blood and is telling you to leave. This time, your voice is startlingly gentle.

“Jay we talked about this. You promised no life altering conversations when you’re covered in blood, remember?”

At the time, had been a joke. A promise made after a close call, when Jason was still loopy from sedation and painkillers and insisting he was going to duel Doc Leslie for your honour. Finally lucid, he had sheepishly promised no more dramatic ultimatums when he's covered in blood.

“But you need to—“

“No. You promised. What’s going to happen is you’re going to leave all your gear at the front door and we’ll deal with it tomorrow. You’re going to tell me if you’re injured and let me fix you up if you are. Then you’re going to shower. Then, and only then are we going to have this discussion.”

“I don’t—”

“Please.”

He caves at the way your whole body sags under the weight of one word. Carefully toes off his boots and socks, peels the stiff tac pants off, and lays his top and jacket on top of the whole pile. Reveals a smattering of bruises down his arms and along his rib cage. To get to the ensuite he has to walk past you and through your shared bedroom. The heat of him passing by has you turning after him, a star caught in his orbit, words curling to ash on your tongue. It’s only when he’s firmly out of sight that you allow yourself to collapse into the couch. Head lolling back, gaze fixed on the ceiling. Blankly you watch the headlights of passing cars loom and fade across the ceiling.

You do your best not to cry but wet trails burn down your face. You dash them away, but it does nothing to make you feel better. You don’t know if you’ll survive the coming conversation, a litany of “he doesn’t love me anymore, or at least not enough to keep me” is running through your head. Something is wrong, you think. Usually after a rough night, Jason can’t get enough of you. He comes home to your shared apartment and holds you, needs to feel the touch of your skin and the heat of your breath to truly know you’re alive. He's never the most talkative on the worst nights, but he always reaches out. Mumbles into your throat just to hear your replies, get you to distract him with chatter about your own day. He’ll act like he’s touch starved, press his split knuckles to the back of your hand, pull you into him until his nose is buried in the crook of your neck, pet and touch whatever bare skin is in reach. You're used to shaking off the vestiges of sleep to Jason between your thighs, fingers and tongue skillfully opening you up before he slides his cock inside, splitting you open just to feel you tighten around him. Tonight he hasn’t even reached out to hold your hand.

As if summoned by your thoughts, Jason stands in the doorway to your shared bedroom. Wet from his shower, the streetlight filtering through the curtains illuminating the water still beading on his skin. The bruises look less stark now. You look at him and feel love. You look at him and see the man you gave the most vulnerable parts of yourself to, ready to hand them back to you on a platter. Rolling your head to look at him properly, you notice he hasn't bothered to dress, wrapped in a towel like he couldn't wait to put off this conversation a moment longer. Your eyes meet, and it snaps whatever trance he's in. He shuffles over to you, eyes asking for permission to join you on the couch. The couch dips under his weight, and you turn on your side to face him, legs curling up to your chest.

"I'm glad you're home."

You reach out to brush his face, aching to remind yourself that's he's real but he shies back from the motion, denies you both the comfort of contact.

"Don’t. I'm not— I'm not good for you. We can't— I'm not gonna do this to you anymore."

"Do what to me Jason?" you ask, genuinely puzzled "Be us? I chose this, I chose you, and I have kept on choosing you from the beginning. I don't understand." By the end, you're truly pleading, begging with your voice and eyes and body for him to explain this to you. To explain why he's trying to make this choice for you.

"Bein' with me puts you in danger," he says slowly, carefully. "You think you know what you've signed up for but you don't. Not really. I painted a target on your back and now the worst of Gotham are gonna come sniffin’ at your door. You're never gonna be safe with me and I don't want to be the reason why you're hurt. You deserve better than me and a life of looking over your shoulder. I can't give you that, I'll never be able to give you that."

And oh, that hurts. The way he says it, dripping with self-loathing and certainty, cracks your heart open. It speaks of long held fears and convictions that he will never be good enough, that he is too broken and too dangerous to be loved.

"Did something happen tonight?" you ask, searching for a reason, anything, that would have brought old wounds to light.

"What?" Tension laces his body tight. There's a wild look in his eyes, shifting closer to green than blue.

"Jay, you made all of those risks clear to me before we were even real friends. So, what happened tonight to make you so sure that you'll be the death of me?"

Something about the way you state the question so matter of factly unsettles him enough to reply. "Heard some chatter down at docks about Black Mask setting up a new warehouse. Tonight was just supposed to be easy. Just about fuckin' with him, get B and Wing time to gather evidence on his new operation. He was waiting for us, probably set the whole thing up as a trap. Did a whole melodramatic monologue too 'bout how if we were gonna threaten his operation — the only thing that means anything to him — then turnabout’s fair play."

He's paused in his remembered anger, hands flexing against the couch cushions. You nod, trying to encourage him, not wanting to break the spell that got him talking in the first place. But you really don't like where this was headed. When he speaks again, its in a whisper.

"He knew your name. He knew who you are to me and he knew your fucking name."

The fear that jolts through you at that statement is matched by the intensity in his eyes. Distractedly you notice that you can’t feel your fingers. Heart racing, the only thing grounding you is the weave of the cushion under your cheek.

"Okay, we can— we can handle this. It'll be difficult but I can—"

"He's dead," Jason interrupts.

"He's what." All trains of thought come to a crashing stop.

"I killed him."

Its a confession and a plea for forgiveness wrapped in one. He can't quite look you in the eyes anymore, his whole demeanor screaming shame. Stunned and wide-eyed all you can do is drink him in, this incredible, ridiculous man. Car headlights cut through the shadows, lighting up the planes of his face and catching on the still too-green of his eyes. Somewhere along the way you've moved closer. His face is only a breath away and in the silence it feels unbearably intimate.

You can't help blurting out, "Can I kiss you?" The thought of being unable to touch him any longer is utterly unthinkable. Not when he's right in front of you, lips parted and waiting for you to pronounce judgement over him. He nods, shyly, and then you're in his lap. His face is cradled in your hands, eyes wide as he looks up at you. His lips are warm when you finally give in to the urge to taste him. They're rough from where he's bitten them but they're pliant against yours. Drawing back, you rest your forehead on his, unwilling to be any further apart.

"He had your name in his fuckin' mouth and I couldn't let him live for that. So yeah, I killed him. Him and every one a his lieutenants in the room that heard." Jason pauses, tries to gauge your reaction, continues on more self-consciously. "B and Wing couldn’t stop me and I didn’t want them to. He was a threat to you and I didn't know. You could have died and I wouldn't even've known what to protect you from." He tries to pull back from you, but you don't let him. Lets his motion pull you along with him, hands still cradling his face.

"Is that where all the blood is from? You're not hiding any injuries besides the bruises from me?" you ask worriedly. He's done it before, but you'd hoped he'd learned to trust you better. Jason goes to remove your hands from his face and you don't resist. He presses soft kisses to each of your palms before folding them to his bare chest right over his heart.

"Fuck sweetheart, I tell you that I've just killed a roomful of men and you want to know if I'm okay? You're not angry that I killed, again?" And oh he looks so ready for you to reject him. Waiting for you to turn away, to call him a monster, for your love to turn to horror.

When you speak, the words come out slowly, each syllable weighed out with care. "Am I bad person if I say that I'm grateful?" You can feel his heartbeat speeding up under your hands as you speak. "Because I am Jay, I'm so, so grateful. I'm grateful that I'll never have to worry about a bullet in the dark or getting taken off the street. Mostly I'm grateful that I won't be used to hurt you. But I'm also so very sorry Jay that you had to kill again." He shudders at that, closes his eyes and squeezes your hands tight tight tight. "I know that you were trying so, so hard not to kill, to live by your family's rules and I'm so sorry that you had to break that promise to yourself. Can you forgive me for putting you in that impossible position?"

"I— I don't need your forgiveness, not for this. But don't you see? I'm the reason you were danger. If I hadn't a been quick enough, if there's ever a day when I'm not fast enough, then you'd've died." At that he stops, swallows thickly, like he's considering a world where he doesn't save you. "This doesn’t end just ‘cause Black Mask’s dead. It’s every enemy the Hood has ever made knowing that my heart’s walking around outside my body.” And that, that makes your breath catch in your throat. Stuns you enough that you’re not fully prepared for what he says next. “So this, you and me, it's gotta be done. I'll move out tomorrow, pack things up later. I won't leave you unprotected, I'll— I'll still patrol but you won't have to see me again. You can have a clean start."

Now, now you are angry. Pushing off his chest you lever yourself upright, forcing him to look up at you. Straddled across his lap your balance is precarious at best but you need him to see you, to realize that what you say next is what you mean with every wretched part of you.

"No."

"No?" He's looking up at you, glazed eyes and mouth open wide with shock.

"No. Jason Peter Todd you do not get to make this decision for me." With every word you push your finger into his chest for emphasis, your whole body shaking with the force you're putting behind your words. "I knew the risks because you told me about them. I decided that I could live with them if it meant having you. I told you always and forever. I meant it then and I mean it now. So this, you and me, it’s over when I agree it is. I gave you my fucking heart and this is me not accepting it back. You tell me I’m free to leave anytime, well I’m not.” His hands have fallen to your hips where they clench and unclench. “You haven’t been able to keep me out of your sight lines for more than three minutes tonight. You can’t go a day without touching me, feeling me up and getting your cock wet. I know you don’t sleep half so well if I’m not in your bed and neither can I. I know the way you look when you think nothing you’ve done has ever been good enough and the face you make when you feel like a hero. I know you to your bones and you know me. You want me to live a life that you’re not a part of, well I won’t." Suddenly fed up with the chafing of the towel on your poor inner thighs you try to shift, when you feel him hard under the thin layer of the bath towel. You feel Jason freeze up, time crystallizing around you before speeding back up like a poorly wound tape.

“Off. Off now” You start pawing at the blasted towel unsuccessfully, before giving up and going for your own sleep pants. You’re half way through wiggling them off before Jason’s brain catches up with you and then he’s scrabbling to tear the towel off and get you bare. You grab his hardening cock and guide it to the entrance of your cunt. You’re still not slick enough for this, didn’t spend ages getting opened up on fingers first, but you’re desperate enough to make it work. His hands around your thighs are like iron, clinging to you like a life preserver. You take it slow, letting gravity do the work of spearing you open on his cock, unable to take him to the hilt in one swift motion the way you ache to. Jason’s a big man, always towering over you in size, and his cock is perfectly large to match. Already the stretch is just the other side of painful, the thickness of him cleaving you in two. You gasp like you’ve been punched with every inch downwards. By the time your hips meet his pelvis his stomach muscles are clenched and twitching from the effort of not just fucking up into you and taking what he wants. His fingers are buried in the couch cushions. Deliriously you wonder if the cushions will still be intact by the end of this conversation.

"So tell me again," you pant, "tell me why you think you can just walk away from me and all the love we have like it's nothing." Jason groans at your words, buries his face in your throat, hips still twitching with aborted thrusts.

"Please, please baby. Let me move— shit, let me make you feel good. God, sweetheart you're so fucking tight, so fuckin’ perfect for me." The growing roll of his hips is distracting. He's so fucking thick, this position making him feel like he's somewhere in your stomach, every flex of his muscles bullies him deeper, threatens to shake all the thoughts out of your head. That just won’t do. You take back control with a soft hand on his chest pushing him back until he's leaned right back against the couch cushions.

"You started this conversation Jay. It’s not done until you finish it. Besides, you’re the one that wants to put a stop to all this." You punctuate your words with a single calculated grind of your hips, make him claw at your hips with abandon. Revel at the weight of him inside of you. Trail your hand up his chest so you can thread your fingers into his damp curls. "Why should I let you move, hmm? Give me that list of reasons, and maybe I'll let you fuck me when we're done talking." His pupils are blown so wide you can barely see the colour of his eyes anymore.

It takes a few false starts before he can put a coherent thought together. "Being— being with me makes, oh god, makes you a target. People'll go through you, tryna hurt me. You're gonna get hurt cus'a me, could die fr'me." He's trembling all over now, words slurring together and gasping for air. He settles a little when you run your other hand down his chest to trace his y-shaped scar, lean in and kiss him slow and sweet. Nip and tease at his already abused bottom lip.

"Love that ship went and sailed the first time you talked to me," you say. "There's no putting that back in the box and hoping everyone will forget that we were us." Taking your time, you mouth along his jawline, feel his hand slide under your shirt to come settle on the small of your back. "Say we split up, what then? Doesn't matter how often you swing by, someone'll always try and find a way. Tonight was just a reminder. How does breaking both of our hearts make that go away?" Nuzzling into that sweet space below his jaw, you can feel the way his pulse races and cock twitches in you. All the while you keep your hips tortuously still, warming his cock with your cunt, enjoying the stretch of him. A tug of his hair gets him talking again.

"I'm not a— not a good man. I've killed a lot a people, don't even regret most a'em." He can't look at you as he says it, eyes fixed on a spot over your shoulder. His hand on your back flexes, fingers tightening around your hip bone.

"Didn't we just go over this? Jay I'm glad you killed those men, and if that makes you a bad person so am I." This time its him that goes in for a kiss, latches on to the plush of your lips, licks his way inside. Cradles your skull and pulls you closer, has to stop kissing you to gasp when that shifts his cock inside of you.

"Sweetheart, you're the best person damn person I know," he breathes into your mouth. Traces over your cheekbone with the tip of his nose. "You're the best fuckin' thing to happen to me. But you shouldn't hafta decide if you're okay with me killing people. Shouldn't be something you gotta think about at all." There it is again, that tinge of self-loathing. And that's what it’s really all about isn't it?

"You're not making me do anything. You think I didn't know who I was saying yes to when you asked me out to dinner? That I was unaware of Hood's brand of justice? That unlike your family, I didn’t already approve of your methods? Love, I was grateful for you before you'd even walked into my life." Its a confession you hadn't said out loud before, but maybe you should've. Something about your faith in him has Jason whining at the back of his throat like a wounded animal. He tries to buck his hips but freezes when the hand in his hair forcefully tugs his head back, exposes the vulnerable line of his throat.

"Can't just say that sweetheart. Can't just say that and not let me fuck you full." Another tug at his hair has him moaning, the cords of his throat standing out. "C'mon, c'mon. You're so wet and so warm for me. I'll make you feel— feel so good." On the last word he tries to thrust up but you were expecting this, dig your knees into the couch to leverage up off of him at the same time he moves forward. You bite down on the soft skin of his throat before pressing a kiss to the forming bruise. Let go of his hair to clasp the side of his neck, rub your thumb over the hinge of his jaw. Let his head fall forward to your chest, resting his brow on your collarbone.

"I said after our conversation, didn't I? And those aren't your only reasons, are they?" you tease. "You can fuck me whenever you want Jay, you just have to be honest first."

He’s torn, you can tell. Caught between chasing his pleasure at the steep price of his darkest fears, but also wanting to do right by you, as misguided as this attempt is. But he’s been so truthful so far, deserves a reward for how good he’s been. So you clamp down, hard, feel his cock brush against that soft part of your gut that makes you shiver with pleasure. Enjoy the punched out sound that wrings from him. Grind your hips down in a filthy circle, once, twice. Then just as suddenly stop. Let him pant and shake, breath warm in the contours of your throat.

When he finally speaks, his voice is so small you can barely hear him. "M'scared." He shudders as he says it. Something in the curve of his spine screams vulnerable, sparks an itch in your fingers to touch and so you do.

"Think 'm too broken for you to love. Think 'm too broken to love you right. Scared one day that the pit's gonna burn too bright and I'll hurt you." Like a broken dam, the words come tumbling out so quickly now. All you can do is keep stroking his back, this giant of a man rendered so small in your arms. "That I'll wake up one day and it'll be my hands covered in your blood." The hate and self-loathing is almost palpable, an oil slick shadow creeping along the floorboards. You could cry from the way his voice shakes and cracks.

“Oh, love.” And this time it’s your voice cracking. “I’ve never thought of you as broken. There’s never going to be a day where I think you’re too broken for me to love. If the day ever comes that you do break, I’ll pick up all the shiny pieces with my bare hands if I have to. I’ll put you back together again even if it cuts me open because that’s what we do Jason. You don’t think there aren’t parts of me I’d rather smooth out too? You don’t have to love me perfectly to love me right.” He’s straightening up now, trying to get a better view of your face, needs to see the truth of your words. His arms have moved around you like a vice, holding on as if you’ll disappear if he lets go. “You’ve never hurt me Jason. Scratch that, you’ve never hurt me before tonight and your stupid, noble attempt to break up with me. But not once have you laid your hands on me and not once have I been afraid of you.” He tries to interrupt, opens his mouth to speak but you’re not finished. You lay finger over his lips, force him to let you say your piece. “But I know that the problem isn’t my trust in you, it’s yours. Besides Black Mask and his thugs, did you hurt anyone else tonight?” At the shake of his head you continue. “There you have it. Even tonight, when you had every reason to spin out of control you didn’t hurt anyone you didn’t mean to. So talk to me. We’ll figure this out. Hell, we’ll find you a therapist if that’s what you want. So trust me, at least, even if you can’t trust yourself.”

You’d swear there were tears in his eyes if you didn’t already know never to trust the early morning light. It’s past dawn now and in the silence Jason looks like something out of a fairytale. The weak golden light makes him look so alive, so vibrant. He sits there still as stone, holding you tight in his lap, dumb with the weight of your love and acceptance. His grin, when it breaks over his face, is a little watery but possibly the most precious thing you’ve ever seen.

“There’s really no scaring you off, is there?” It’s a weak joke, but he’s trying.

“No. There isn’t.” If your words don’t convince him then the tone of satisfaction ringing through them would. Pushing at his shoulders you maneuver him as close to lying down as you can manage on your old couch. Tearing off your oversized sleep shirt (stolen from Jason of course), you’re finally as bare as he is. Perched over him, you enjoy the view of him splayed out like an offering. Reaching for his arm, you find his hand, place it on the curve below your belly and lace your fingers over the back of it. You push his palm down into you to feel the hard swell of where his cock is curving you out, carving out a place in your guts and moulding your cunt to the shape of his cock. You can see the exact moment his restraint snaps when he realizes he’s feeling himself through you. Let him jack knife up into you, feel the way his hardness moves under his palm. Enjoy the way it feels to finally have him drag his cock through you. But he’s trying to be respectful and you haven’t given him the go ahead yet. He restrains himself to shallow rocking motions, unable to stop himself completely, but the effort this is costing him is clear by his straining muscles and wide eyes.

“You paying attention Jay? This—” and this time you clench down on his cock as you press his hand to the shape of your womb just to hear him choke, “is yours. And you left it aching and empty for hours. You made such pretty promises earlier.” For this last part you lean down real close, brace yourself with an arm over his shoulder, wanting to make sure he doesn’t miss a thing. “And our conversation just ended.” He takes it as the permission it is and slams into you, deeper than before like you can feel him in you throat. Hands an iron grip around your waist, pulling you down to meet each sharp rolling thrust. Bullies his cock into you until he finds the angle that has sparks running under your skin, keeps hitting that angle with all the precision and aim of a sniper with his marksmanship. At this angle, his head’s at the perfect height to mouth at your breasts. You can feel him smiling around a nipple as he listens to you moan, only detaching to give the other breast the same kind of enthusiastic attention. Your arm finally gives out, falling down onto his bare chest. Limp, you let him manoeuvre him how he wants you, a rag-doll for your mutual pleasure. All the while he doesn’t stop fucking into you, any semblance of earlier control gone.

“Fuck, sweetheart you don’t know— don’t know what you do to me.” He’s gasping between each word, but the meaning of them still makes their way to your blissed out brain. The slick drag of his cock head along your clenching insides making everything else fade away. You can feel your orgasm building, heat pooling and growing with every thrust. Jason can feel you tightening up around him, knows the signs of your body so well. He starts circling your clit with his fingers, alternating pressure with his thrusts. The long drag and stretch of his cock, almost too much for you to take, never falters. It bumps up against your cervix, fills you up so completely that there’s room for nothing else but it and the pleasure it rips from you. Your release tears through you like wildfire, and for a moment dark spots cloud your vision. You know that you’ve clamped down, tight and hot and slick by the punched out groan from Jason, the way his head falls back onto the couch. But through it all he still keeps pumping into you.

He bites and sucks at your throat, a distraction from your over sensitivity. He leaves your clit alone, stops assaulting all your senses so viciously. Listens to you mewl from how sore and sensitive you are from having taken his cock nearly dry, having held it in you for so long before getting your cunt battered by it. “M so sorry sweetheart. Didn’t wanna hurt you. Gonna— gonna make it up to you. For the rest a m’life.” Now he’s rutting into you, all rhythm and finesse gone in pursuit of his own pleasure. Fire is running through your veins, gathering in your cunt and burning you whole. Your legs are weak and trembling where Jason’s placed them, hands trailing down your thighs to hook under your knees and pull your legs wider. Like this you’re trapped, pinned against him by the spread of your cunt, clit wet and grinding against his pubic bone every time he fucks back into you. You’re so close to another orgasm, quicker than you’ve ever been before.

“Please— Jay please, don’t— don’t stop. Need you. Need you har— harder. Jay. Jay” Jason being Jason, obliges. Your whole body jolts from the force of him inside you. You’re so frustratingly close, dancing on the knife’s edge of oblivion. Jay’s close too. You can tell by the way his breathing speeds up, the way he wraps one arm over your shoulder to keep you in place as he fucks your cunt raw. What sends you both over the edge is Jason taking his other hand and pushing down hard on the swell of your abdomen, the both of you feeling his cock kick and spurt inside of you. Heat paints your walls, and it’s that combined with all consuming pressure of his cock remaking you in his image that has you crying out your orgasm. Jason doesn’t pull out right away. Stays inside you and lets himself grow soft. Kisses featherlight over your face and eyelids. Strokes your flanks and combs his fingers through your hair. Soothes you into a light sleep.

When you wake up, it’s to full sunlight streaming into your bedroom. Turning your head, Jason meets your gaze, propped up on an elbow to watch over you. The both of you are still naked under the blankets but he must have cleaned up the mess between your legs. He pressed a kiss between your eyes before you can get too swept up by your thoughts.

“Hiya sweetheart.” The corners of his eyes crinkle up when he smiles like this. You think they’d make him look kind when he’s older. “I’m not going anywhere now, I promise.”

“Always?”

“Forever.”

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