#come plot with my bb

[sp0o0kylights]

Part One

The drive's short one. 

Steve gets out of his car, opening the passenger door for Chrissy and escorting her up to the house, quietly envisioning what Jason would look like if a real monster got him.

What would he say, staring down the crazy, five-starred head, filled with teeth and drool? Would he turn back? Or run?

(Steve swears he doesn't take great pleasure in imagining Carver getting eaten, but he'll admit to taking a little.)  

"Chrissy do you have any idea--oh." Mrs. Cunningham startles, grasping her robe at the front as she spots Steve standing next to her daughter.  

"Hi Miss Cunningham." He says.

"Hello." She says suspiciously. "And who are you?"

"I'm Steve Harrington, ma'am." He watches as her mother straightens immediately at his name, and sinks right into the ol' Harrington charm, knowing instantly it will work. "I know you were expecting Jason, but I'm afraid he wasn't able to drive Chrissy home." 

"Oh, Steve! It's so late I almost didn't recognize you." She titters, suspicion gone. "Your mother and I are on the same charity board." 

Of course they were.

"I thought you were dating that nice Nancy girl." She says with a squint that mimics Chrissy's, because even in the midst of a crisis he can't escape the gossip that is Hawkins upper echelon. 

"Nance is waiting in the car." Steve lies smoothly. "I just wanted to make sure Chrissy got home safe." 

"What happened?" Chrissy's father appears, ushering them both in while blatantly peering around them, eyes sweeping the street before closing the door.

Steve recognizes the move. He's checking for nosy neighbors. 

"Jason and I broke up." Chrissy admits.

"What?" 

"We..." She falters in front of her parents. 

"What happened to Jason?" Her father asks, tuning back in once they're safely away from peering eyes.

"I'm afraid Jason and some of his friends brought beer to the party." Steve steps in to explain.  

"Oh Chrissy, it's a high school party. That's no reason to break up with him." Her mother fusses, face flushing in embarrassment. Her eyes dart from her daughter to Steve and back, and Steve knows he needs to start damage control. 

If he plays it right he can burn Jason while he's at it. 

"He was horrible, mom. Just awful." Chrissy says, but Steve can tell she's shrinking under her mothers gaze. 

"He drank quite a lot, Miss Cunningham." With a theatrical wince, Steve turns to face Chrissy's dad, lowers his voice and says "I'm going to have to talk to Coach about it." 

He gets the intended response, which is a raised eyebrow. "That bad, huh?" 

Steve nods once, painting a pained smile on his face. "He made a real fool of himself tonight, Sir. The basketball team has a reputation to uphold." 

"Oh." Mrs. Cunningham says, hand fluttering in front of her face. "I never would have thought…"

"He's normally a good guy. I don't know what got into him." Steve has them both eating out of the palm of his hand, attention neatly off Chrissy and onto the story he's feeding them. 

Its worth it to see her shoulders relax. 

"I couldn't let him take Chrissy home in the state he was in Sir, and he got very…" 

Steve pauses. 

Fills his voice with tempered disappointment, channeling his dad. "Belligerent. Said some nasty things."  

"Really?" Mr. Cunningham says, with a low whistle, and Steve knows by his tone alone that he's bought in.

Hook, line, sinker.

Steve nods once. "I have to get back to my girlfriend, but Chrissy'" He turns earnestly here, to let her know he's not faking this next bit. "Let me know if Jason bothers you at school. I'll set him straight again if I have to." 

"Thank you Steve." Mr. Cunningham says, as Chrissy's mom hustles her daughter towards the kitchen. 

Steve shakes his hand, then waves at Crissy as she calls her own thank you over her shoulder, before disappearing out the door and back to his car.

The same one where Nancy very much isn't. 

That's a problem for tomorrow Steve.

xXx

Tomorrow Steve gets into an argument with Nancy. 

She can't recall that Jonathan took her home, or that he's bullshit, their whole relationship, bullshit--

But she also can't tell him she loves him.

So Steve snaps at her. Storms off.

 Play’s more basketball.

It takes less than two hours for him to get mopey and another three for him to spiral into deciding he was wrong somehow.

That's what his mom said all the time anyway, wasn't it? The man's always wrong Steven, and he's the man here so…

He gets flowers, chocolates, and fucking waylaid (by Dustin Henderson with his Grow a Monster) and things go sideways from there.

 Train tracks and a junkyard and demodogs make time speed up. An encounter with Billy and a dinner plate causes Steve's recollection of the evening to be fuzzy. 

He just knows that in the middle of dodging death, he has the realization that Nance wants to break up with him.

That he should let her. 

Even if it hurts, even if he doesn't want to. 

She wants to be let go.

So Steve does. He respects her, and when he has a moment after its all over, he tells her to go with Jonathan.

(At least he permanently gets the squirts out if this. Or at least everyone but Mike.

Even if most of them are shitheads and one of them's Hargrove's step sister.

It's--something.

But when Dustin keeps pestering him, demanding Steve drive him all over Hawkins and then drags him to the movies, well.

It might be the best something Steve's had in his life so far. )

xXx

"Oh shit. Is that from Caver?" Eddie asks, popping up near Steve's car like the clown in a jack in the box. 

"Carver can't hit for shit. This was Hargrove." Steve replies, attempting an eyeroll before remembering that his entire face is a bruise. 

One, giant, never ending bruise. 

"I guess his step sister gave him the slip to come hang out with these kids I watch sometimes. I didn't know she wasn't supposed to be there." Steve shrugs, because it's the technical truth. 

If you turn it sideways and squint anyway. 

"Asshole tried to threaten the kid Max is into by slamming him into a wall and screaming shit, so I stepped in, and--" He waves at his face. 

The same one he's already getting looks for. 

"I was winning." Steve sighs theatrically. "He broke a plate over my head."

The story seemed to freeze Eddie but he recovers with a quick shake of his head. 

"You poor thing." He tuts. "Let me guess--you were more worried about the hair than the wound?" 

Eddie's hands flutter like he's going to touch Steve's head but he seems to contain himself at the last minute.

The hospital threatened to buzz it for stitches." Steve says darkly, playing into the bit. 

(He had not gone to a hospital. 

None of them had.)  

"What would our King be without his crown of hair?" Eddie laments, in a falsetto that was half insult half oddly sincere. It was jarring in that it was hard to get a read on, but the more Steve was around the guy the less it seemed malicious and the more it came off  as just….goofy.

Eddie Munson, Steve decided, was not a freak.

 He was a dorky little weirdo, just like all the other kids Steve now hung out with. 

Just older, and with slightly better hair. 

"Hey Eddie." Another boy calls out, approaching cautiously. 

He's got a leather jacket on, and if Steve thinks hard enough he can sort of conjure up a memory of the guy at Eddie's lunch table, throwing a piece of bread at a pale sophomore decked out in plaid. "You good man?" 

"Yeah Jeff, just checkin' in on the Hair here." Eddie sticks a thumb towards Steve, who raises his hand and waves. 

The falsetto comes back, somehow higher as the older boy swoons over Steves arm. "Soothing his poor soul after that brute Hargrove almost killed him." 

"Has anyone ever told you you're a lot like Bugs Bunny?" Steve asks, the thought leaving his mouth the instant he had it.

(He doesn't care, it's a legitimate question.) 

It has the effect of making Munson look downright chuffed. "I have actually, but only by my Uncle." 

"Why are you checking in?" Jeff interrupts, before seeming to realize he said it out loud. " Ah, I mean--"

"Oh he didn't tell you?" Steve says, as casually as he can muster. "Eddie claimed me and Chrissy at a party last weekend." 

See Munson? Two people could play the weird bit game. 

They've attracted more of Eddie's friends now, two more boys in leather jackets edging closer like frightened deer. 

(One of which is the aforementioned younger man Jeff threw bread at, and Steve vaguely thinks the guy's name starts with a g.) 

"Apparently we're his minions now." Steve tells Jeff in a rather put upon manner. 

"It was just you, the fair maiden chose otherwise." Eddie counters dismissively, voice dropping down low. 

Steve snorts. Hums a sarcastic; "Like you'd let us choose." 

Eddie finally abandons whatever voice that was supposed to be (a villain, Steve thinks, and wonders if it hurts Eddies throat to drop from a false high to a deep low that quickly.)  to say:

 "Mock me all you like, Harrington, but you can't deny the bit worked." 

Steve automatically went for another eye roll, and gets a flash of pain for it. "Who said I was mocking you, you dork? Just stating facts." 

Yet again, Eddie reacts weird to the comment. He looks almost bashful for a second, before he recovers, tugging his hair in front of his face as he plays with it.

The bell rings once in warning, and Steve makes a face towards the doors. 

"I gotta go, Mrs Clicks out to fail me. See you around, Eddie. Jeff." The way his eyes are bruised up he can't quite make out the face Jeff makes at that, but Steve's pretty sure the guys mouth was open. 

"She's a nasty one, my minion, best stay on your toes around her." Eddie calls, and Steve waves a hand in the air to show he heard. 

"What just happened?" Jeff asks, far too loudly for how close Steve still is. 

It makes him chuckle a bit, even as one of the other guys says something in a far quieter voice that has Munson squawking and flapping his arms like a bird. 

The winding little feelings in his chest squeeze his heart, and Steve shakes his head, refusing to be fond of Eddie Munson. 

xXx

College rejection letters come in, one after the another.

Steve could have made it into a few schools he's certain, except he hadn't really applied to any.

Not that any college other than Penn Hurst mattered. His dad wanted him to be a legacy, come hell or high water.

Steve's punishment was hand picked by his parents, and he gets the sailor outfit his new minimum wage job requires is supposed to be a part of it--that his dad made him apply because it was the most embarrassing thing he could think to subject Steve too-- but honestly? 

It's not that bad. 

Not even with Robin, the manager he met yesterday, and who positively, completely and totally, hates Steve’s guts.  

He figures he has time to win her over. 

All the time in the world, now that demons aren't trying to eat his, or any of the kid's, faces. He can focus on the small things. Build himself back up.

Figure out the person he wants to be, now that he's no longer King Steve. 

It’s the thought that kept him from attending any graduation parties. To go felt like backsliding into old habits. 

‘If the kids--if it comes back again--’ 

Getting drunk at night in a random house seemed almost irresponsible.

Particularly not with people Steve has history with, without anyone he really cares about being present. Certainly not Nance and Jonathan, who he wishes he didn’t know are at some end-of-year game night one of Nancy’s friends is hosting. 

(Steve can’t think about that for a number of reasons. 

When he does--because of course he does-- he makes sure to focus on the weirdness that is Jonathan Byers being someone he cares about, instead of the fact he can’t seem to kill his love for Nancy. 

Or that he's horrifically jealous of their relationship. 

That the best sleep he had ever had was between them, two nights after the lab, when they crammed themselves into Jonathan's bed because they all couldn't quite believe it was over.

That night had been so incredibly weird, but grouping together felt safer. Smarter.

Better.

Not in a way Steve wants to put into words. 

Not in a way he wants to confront at all.) 

His parents hadn’t been able to make it home to watch him walk at his graduation--his father landing a last minute meeting with some important person or other. 

Faked apologies were given, money transferred, and Steve, not wanting to sit in his too-huge house, had meandered to Family Video. 

Tried to forget his father’s cold voice in the background of his mother’s call, loudly announcing he’d have made it a priority to see Steve graduate-- if he’d gotten into Penn Hurst. 

Steve just shakes his head. Pushes those thoughts into the back of his head, into the same place all his other weird thoughts live.

The glare he gets from the tall, pimple-ridden guy working the rental counter was expected.

Chrissy Cunningham, was not. 

"I thought you’d be at one of the parties.” He tells her, when he turns down the romance aisle and finds her staring blankly at a shelf. 

She startles, before recognition flits over her face and a warm smile is directed his way. 

“I'm honestly not a fan of parties." She confides in him, hand clutching a tape in her hands."Not those kinds, anyway.” 

"More slumber parties, less keg stands your speed?" Steve guessed, blatantly turning his head sideways in order to read the title.

She awards him with a wider smile. "Exactly." 

"Chrissy Cunningham. Are you renting Jaws?" He teases, leaning in just a touch.

She flushes, but turns and squares up to him. Steve's delighted to see it. 

"Why yes I am. I'll do you one better and even admit it's one of my favorite movies." 

Steve grins at her, and sees the way she lights up on response, eyes bright. 

This is the Chrissy that Carver had tried to kill. The strength and pure fun that radiates off her enhances the beauty she has to something almost otherworldly. 

Steve has seen enough beauty in his life to recognize when it will stay. That Chrissy wil one day be 80 years old, with gray hair and knit sweaters, and she'll still be able to light up a room. 

"Like sharks killing people that much huh?” He teases. And it’s easy, slipping into this part of himself around her. The part he’s been trying to get back. 

The confidence that he walked with, before monsters crawled out of the ground, and Nancy put a hole in his heart.

"I'll let you in on a secret. ." Chrissy leans in, dropping her voice low enough that Steve has to lean in a bit too to hear. "My favorite character is the shark." 

Steve playfully gapes at her, and for the first  time in a long time, feels like things will be okay. 

He’ll be okay.

He won’t be King Steve. He’s not Nancy's Boyfriend Steve either--but someone else. Himself.

A Steve who exists outside of Hawkins High, outside his family name. 

He likes it.

"I told you that was his car. Steve!" A too familiar voice calls and Steve can't mask the despair that hits him as he turns to his (now least) favorite shithead, whose storming through Family Video’s doors. 

"Dustin." He identifies, with an edge to his voice he can only pray Chrissy doesn't pick up on. "Other brats. What are you doing?" 

Mike stands stubbornly at Dustin's right, Lucas nervous at his left. 

Will Byers is situated next to Mike but Steve's not as familiar with him, and has no idea how to interpret the kid. 

If he had to guess based on the face he’s being sent, Will’s more nervous then the rest--but equally determined. 

(This does not make Steve feel better. It in fact, somewhat convinces them they’ve run headfirst back into trouble.) 

"Well we were going to go to Lucas’s, but now, we're bumming a ride from you!" 

"I'm busy." He says flatly. 

"Ste~eeeve!" 

"I didn't know you had a brother." Chrissy says, hand covering her mouth. 

Looking back at her, Steve's pretty sure she's trying to physically hold back laughter. 

If one could shoot lasers with their eyes, Steve would be nailing Dustin for ruining--whatever it was that was happening here. 

"He's a rescue" Steve says flatly. "It’s not working out though. We're planning on returning him to the shelter.” 

"Wow Steve." Dustin returns, offended. "First of all, if anyone's rescuing anyone I rescued you, or did you suddenly forget that you show up to family dinner every Thursday at my house like a sad orpha--mmpphh!" 

‘Mmpphh’ because Steve had taken several long strides across the store to smack his hand over Dustin's mouth. 

"Sorry Chrissy, it would appear the asshole children I am paid to babysit escaped whoever is supposed to be watching them." He shakes Dustins head, in lue of strangling him. “Hit me up later we’ll discuss the shark’s best kills.” 

“Will do.” Chrissy says, as Steve begins the process of shoving his four smaller friends out the door. “Drive safe!” 

“No you don’t, and you’re gonna prove it by swinging through McDonalds for us.” Dustin sing-songs, swinging himself into the passenger side of the Beemer. 

“You assholes owe me, big time.” Steve hisses, as Lucas and Mike instantly begin making kissy faces the second they’re out into the parking lot. "I had plans tonight!"

“Do you have McDonalds money?” Steve asks, only to immediately wince at himself because fuck did he just sound like a soccer mom. 

“I have money I took out of my mom’s wallet.” Mike says as he settles into the car with his friends.

“Fine.” Steve sighs in defeat, starting the car. 

He determinedly does not ask if the idiots walked here, because there is a suspicious lack of bicycles, if only because he hit his mom quota for the day and Steve refuses to say anything else that might edge out his cool persona.

The one he swears he still has.

Supposedly. 

("Does my mom really pay you to watch me?" Dustin asks a while later, when the other brats are distracted. His voice is painfully honest, and softer than it normally is. 

"In food, yes." Steve says, because he’s not that much of an asshole--and maybe, because Dustin is truly his only friend right now.

Steve honestly looks forward to those Thursday dinners, helping Ma Henderson and having her fuss over him in a way his parents never had. 

In a way no one ever had. 

Dustin lands a solid kick to his ankle, making Steve curse. "That's not payment you ass!"

"Ow, God Dustin--" 

"Just admit you're my actual friend, you dick!" 

"Language! I swear your mom stole you from wolves, you animal--" Steve swatted at him. 

Maybe, possibly later, he will go on to admit that yes, Dustin is his friend. 

He will even agree to making up a stupid handshake for it. 

It involves lightsabers and gore at least, which Steve insists is very cool.)

[emi-gelfling]

Epitome of "if he wanted to, he would." That's it; that's the tweet.

LINK TO "yours was the first face that i saw:"

https://archiveofourown.org/works/36604159

[xohalseyx]

I can't believe that a week from today, my baby boy will be three years old. Where the hell does the time go? Because it feels like just yesterday he was still growing in my belly and now suddenly he's three?! Anyway, Ender is going through a bit of a shark phase—not like the cute Baby Shark kind of shark phase. I'm talking more like a Jaws kind of shark phase. I take full responsibility since, he wandered into my bedroom when I was watching the movie and since then his obsession has begun. So if anyone wants to come to a Jaws party for a three year old next weekend, put your RSVP in now. @exposedfmstart

[pass3ra]

cressida's storyline was genuinely shameful tbhhh it's like they started rewriting it in the first half of the season then completely forgot about the changes they'd made to make it fit the book plot and it just ends up making everyone else look bad😐 every character in the second half got a "penelope did nothing wrong" lobotomy so we ended up with eloise completely ignoring cressida being sold off to an horrible man (when she made every effort to support her in the first half of the season) and for some reason resenting her for pretending to be lady whistledown? Then they somehow frame her ignoring colin's offensively bad pleas as it being her turning away from redemption when all she's trying to do is escape being trapped in the country with her likely abusive aunt... and it ends with her meeting her horrible fate and it still being framed as tragic only to immediately juxtapose it with the bridgerton family winning the idgaf war while gleefully seeing off francesca and her future dead husband. The bridgertons were the villains of the season frfr

[luckyyyduckyyy]

Late night epiphanies I love you

Replacing original plot points with banger ideas that fix everything my beloved

[tsuchinokoroyale]

I’d like to reward your KH knowledge with an all-out, godless salad-tossing.

I’d also just like to reward you in general for being a funny, nerdy, and sexy little caked-up phone man, but it is what it is. 😊

Yippee!!!! I knew doing multiple replays of tetsuya nomura’s wild ride would get my ass ate one day 🥳

Just don’t ask me about the phone games.

[moafleco]

thanks god that our human memory can just forget anything and everything,, look at me now looking at the evil within screens and getting good old happy warm nostalgia feeling (i fucking hated this game when i played it all the way to the end and it didn't quite fullfilled my expectations on the plot that had so much potential (to be in a way more mysterious i guess, i just don't like the sci-fi stuff and would have prefered it to be not that rushed in the plot and scene sequences in the end). the frustration was so HIGH i tried to block any memory of it but.. visually and some other aspects are still appealing to me.. and now the memory is reoccuring and wow!! the first impression of TEW from the first anounncements + trailers when there was a little info about it + half the part of some chapters that i remembered and liked, the ones i felt pretty intense when playing or liked visually what impression it left on me... and as those little facts started to unveil a little from my memory, all the ones that got positive response from, like made me feel something like a thrill or admiration, as it stared to create a certain imagery/impression from memory (for TEW as a concept), that is most appealing to me and had stuck into it ideas that i liked about it the most.......... yeah i love when you can draw the line between the original work and your impression of it and not smudge them together and then be disappointed that much so you discard your own personal impression that actually built upon the original and made it bloom for you and had your vision.. you know, same as impressions and interpretations from poems where you will imagine completely diffrent imagery or reinterpretation based on your understanding (and filling in the gaps in knowledge with age) or perception (based on your current feeling, life situations, focus on a certain things or themes at the moment) or even more wild imagination (taking the imagery even higher))

[flowering-darkness]

If you would like to answer for Aqua:

🐶: Any pet names?

and/or

💕: Who confessed first?

(-dragonsmooch)

I would certainly like to, dear dragon, and I’m happy to have a go at both! Thank you kindly for sending this in!~

(question source: “Fluffy selfship asks!” by aceselfshippers)

🐶: Any pet names? - The first one to come to mind is “bluebird”, which is a pet name I’ve written Aria using for Aqua in the past. To speak generally of both of us, I think we’re both the type to moreso use general pet names/nicknames that aren’t specifically derivatives of our actual names for one another, though Aqua has had some examples of the latter (such as calling Ventus “Ven” as a shortening). Aria particularly uses these as a way of referring to those around her, essentially conveying her observations of them as people in doing so - but her epithets in this fashion take on a more affectionate tone when used for Aqua, because she means so much to her! Calling her "bluebird" is a reference to her blue hair and eyes, but also slightly to the concept of the "bluebird of happiness", which is a motif I've always been rather attached to. I think I've also written us using "darling", but I can't remember which way around that was used, haha - so maybe we both use it!~

💕: Who confessed first? - Hmm.. You would think I had an answer to this one, given how many years I’ve been selfshipping with Aqua, but as per usual, I do not. I think I can imagine it being either way around..? Since, Aqua confessing first becomes a demonstration of the extent to which she now feels able to trust and confide in Aria, and I think she would only confess once she did feel confident in how close the two had come (and thus do so in a fairly confident way). However, I can also potentially envision Aria being the one to confess depending on how hesitant we’re both being. I think it would happen while we're still in the realm of darkness, maybe a few years before 0.2 - since we're definitely very close by the time that game takes place, and the amount of time we have spent in the dark together by that point has definitely done a lot to bring us closer together. But in terms of the actual details.. yep, it's tricky for me to come up with these, I'm afraid. Particularly when a confession isn't tied to any particular moment in canon, which it probably wouldn't be in this case due to it happening between games.

I hope that these answers are alright, friend! Sorry if they're a bit vague, but, thank you once again for sending this ask in~

[gojorgeous]

"creature of myth."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, my lady?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you like them?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course… Satoru.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not tonight.” 

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

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

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

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

~  

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I hope Thomas treated you well yesterday?” 

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

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

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

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

~

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

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

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

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

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

“It was… good.”

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

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

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

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

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

You nod eagerly. “I’m sure I will.” 

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

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

“You’re not… eating?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You smile lightly. “Perfect. Thank you.” 

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

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

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

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

He chuckles. “My pleasure.” 

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

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

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

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

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

~

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

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

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

~

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

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

~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You skip ahead again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No, no, no. 

“(See next page for only existing portrait)”

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

You flip the page and Satoru stares back at you. 

Knock! Knock! Knock!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“About the estate?” he asks. 

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

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

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

“Anything interesting?” he presses.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhm?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes. Yes. Give it to me.” 

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

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

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

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

“S-Satoru–”

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

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

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

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

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

“Satoru, p-please! It’s–” 

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

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

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

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

“Yes,” you whisper. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Lily pleaseeee share your favorite ot7 hybrid fics, i can’t find any 😭😭😭😭

OMGGGG BB YOUVE COME TO THE RIGHT PLACE OKIEEE I LOVE OT7 FICS REAL BAD

I’ve been reading hybrid fics p much since I started reading bts fanfics so… I can hook u up dastardly style 🤩 links under the cut <33

so before I start listing ima be so fr and say I like most of my hybrid fics verryy formulaic. i p much only ready hybrid bts x human reader and I really enjoy the whole plot of ‘y/n inherits bts and doesn’t know what to do!’ Or ‘y/n sees 7 hybrids at the shelter who need help and doesn’t know what to do!’. It feels sooo chicken noodle soup to me and it feels good for my soul <33 so I hope these fics feel like chicken noodle soup for u too and that you love them as much as I do <33

Series

Abundance ✰ @angelicyoongie

HYBRID CLASSIC FICCCC actually one of the first hybrid fics I think I ever read?? Def the first hybrid ot7 which is kinda crazy 😭 perfect chicken soup for the soul <33 probably the basis for the way I like hybrid fics I read formatted now!! you can really see how the authors writing grew with this fic. Was the fic that made me fall in love with hybrids, actually. I love all of her work so bad man [last updated: 10/4/24]

Trouvaille ✰ @spookyserenades

on my main recs list for a REASON!!! MODERN OT7 CLASSIC FIC!!! if you like the slowest of burns… you’ll enjoy this fic heavily. once again my favourite chicken-soup style so I can’t help but recommend it <33 I have… so many words id like to say about coyote jimin and hoseok… but I will remain silent for my own dignity 😔love all of her work terribly <33 [last updated: 8/17/24]

SeVen Uncaged ✰ @/missing_min_meowmeow (ao3) and @/polaritae (ao3)

two part series (first half completed, second half not) detailing the difficulties of adopting 7 hybrids reader was completely unprepared for 🙂‍↕️ YESSS MA’AM!!! LOVE LOVE LOVE!!!! I love how this fic goes into the details of how difficult mentally and physically this kind of change would be for the hybrids. I love the characterisation of each of the boys. I LOVE IT!!!! pls give this series a chance it is so definitely worth it even though it’s unfinished. A love it terribly, in its entirety. I LOVE FLAWED CHARACTERS!!! [last updated: 9/11/23]

Restitution ✰ @/cloudtea (ao3) @cloudteawrites (tumblr)

like I said I REALLY like fanfics where reader comes into a bunch of hybrids and has to deal with the consequences 😭 that being said, this has exactly everything I love in a hybrid fic, I absolutely love the concept, and the stories of where each of the guys came from before. THIS is exactly what I mean when I say a chicken soup fic— warm and comforting. Hopefully the author will come back to it someday <33 it’s so good even though it’s just the beginning [last updated: 4/19/21 — permanent hiatus]

Loving You Isn’t Hard to Learn ✰ @/arduouslove (ao3) @arduouslove (tumblr)

MANNN ITS SO WARM AND COMFORTING!!! like,, i know i keep saying chicken soup and IM SORRY BUT THATS WHAT THESE ARE FOR ME!!! I absolutely adore the concept of a motel for hybrids to go when they need help. And I really love the development we’ve seen so far between Hoseok and jimin. Another fic that was left at the beginning, but truly lovely. Another one I hope the author updates again someday <33 [last updated: 03/07/23]

Still Life ✰ @/king_myg (ao3)

OKAY NO YOU DONT UNDERSTAND THIS IS ACTUALLY LIKE,,, ONE OF MY FAVOURITE HYBRID FICS IVE READ!! The concept behind it is just so,, intriguing. It’s a yandere fic, so it has that edge to it but the way jungkook just *is* is so…. No you actually just have to read it to understand. I love this fic sooo bad actually. And Yoongi who pretends not to be a hybrid… and!! I really can’t express in words how exciting this was for me to read. I can’t wait to see how the rest of the guys relationships develop with the reader. [last updated: 5/22/24]

Home Calls the Heart ✰ @anonnie-in-wonderland

verryyy cute ot7 fic <33 the first chapter just feels very warm and soft. its adorable how tae wants to 'adopt' a human for his family even though he doesn't quite understand the repercussions of it [last updated: 12/17/22]

About love ✰ @mochiimac

One of my favourite tropes of reader coming into hybrids and them all hating each other right off the bat!! The writing style feels so safe too <33 [last updated: 04/24/3]

A Hundred Percent Human ✰ @/wrienne (ao3) @wrienne (tumblr)

Another CLASSIC ot7 hybrid fic!! I remember reading the first few chapters before I took a break from fanfics back in the day. Each of the characters (bts memebers) are so interesting and I love the personalities the author made around them as well as all the world building they did within the fic. The class system was so interesting to me and TAEHYUNG??? God, such a fun and dynamic story!! Highly recommend you check it out [last updated: 7/24/23]

Daddy’s Money Makes the World Go Round ✰ @/That_Author (ao3)

SOOO warm and comfortable. Guarddog Namjoon rlly just wants to keep the reader safe even though her parents are mean. Their relationship (as well as the rest of the guys that come into the home) is just SO sweet n gentle <3 [last updated: 10/28/22]

Oneshots

Secret Story of the Swan ✰ @purpleyoonn

one of the few yandere fics on the list and oh so sweet <33 the way they gently lure reader is so 🥺 and she gives in easily to their charms 🥺 v cute little oneshot <33 love her a lot

Beastly Gods ✰ @lemonjoonah

A CLASSICCCCCC one of the only (other) yandere fics on this list. mostly taehyung x reader w/ implied ot7 x reader ++ drabbles featuring ot7 x reader. I love this fic so much actually you don’t understand. It holds such a special place in my heart PLS READ IT!!

Tangled Hearts ✰ @writersrealmbts

Adorable look into readers life with 7 hybrids <33 truly love how this fic played out and the interactions the members had with eachother and the reader. ITS JUST REAL CUTE OKAY!!!! Makes me all soft nd gushy!! Very cute <33 i love it.

To Be Read / Currently Reading

Kindness ✰ @/angelaronin (ao3)

Stray Cat Strut ✰ @/typhloticharuspex (ao3)

Meritocracy ✰ @/saylilirose (ao3)

The Dog Days are Over ✰ @/mintedmango (ao3)

Redamancy ✰ @/dalgi_jungoo (ao3)

A Sweet Change ✰ @/kagsii (ao3)

Peculiar Pack ✰ @/dollremi (ao3)

If anyone has any reads I didn’t mention comment them or message me them!!

** I’ll update this as I read more / find more fics I’ve read in the past that I enjoyed!! By no means is it complete, these are just the fics I’ve read/reread recently nd enjoyed <33 Currently going through my tumblr likes to see if I’ve missed any <33 ✰ last updated: 01/19/25

Main Rec List | individual/poly hybrid rec list (coming soon)

[ebodebo]

TWO HEADS ARE BETTER THAN ONE...

PAIR⁀➷ dr. jack abbot x fem!reader x dr. michael robinavitch

WC⁀➷ 3.9k+

CONTAINS⁀➷ 18+ SMUT MDNI, fem!reader, threesome (i know that's right), dub-con themes because you're drunk, dirty talk, p in v, drunk sex, vaginal fingering, teasing, so much porn, so little plot, age-gap, reader is in her late 20s and jack and robby are... how old they are..., unprotected sex (they would never, but i certainly would), alcohol consumption, multiple orgasms happening simultaneously, slight weird vibes, but we persevere, ooc i fear, but still hot, power imbalance (they're attendings and you’re a resident,) & no use of y/n.

ANON ASKED⁀➷ hi bb! could we pretty please get a robbyxabbotxyou where the boys take you home after the monthly resident bar crawl. they both wanna make sure you get home safe, but all bets are off when they get in your apartment...

AUTHOR'S NOTE⁀➷ i love you anon... thank you for making my dreams of this two man come to life. you’re a real one! i actually need these men carnivorously and also like why have one when you could have two? anyways, enjoy this horny mess!

Jack and Robby take such good care of their best resident...

The small bar, the third one of the night, felt sweltering, with bodies dancing and sweating, creating a foggy atmosphere.

The music was deafening, and the floors were slightly sticky from what you assumed were remnants of spilled beer and forgotten shots.

Your head was pounding, and you could feel the blood rushing through your veins as you sat on the edge of the booth next to Frank, across from Samira and Mel. The cool leather of the seat offered some comfort as your fingers curled around its edge.

It was perfect.

"Safe to say, I'm a god," Frank said confidently, taking a sip of his beer. He winced when you elbowed his side, and you rolled your eyes at him.

"Might want to wipe the spit off your chin from sucking your own balls, Frank," you commented, watching as Samira and Mel burst into laughter.

"Ha, ha. So hilarious," Frank replied sarcastically, narrowing his eyes and shaking his head from side to side with mock laughter. He then looked around the room, scanning it clearly for someone. "Where the hell are Robby and Abbot? I'm outnumbered here," he sighed.

“I didn’t know they were coming,” you say through a fit of laughter that makes Samira giggle.

“They said they were,” Frank shrugs as his lip quips at your apparent drunkenness. “Sober up, will you. They’ll get mad at me for letting their favorite resident get shit-faced,” he gruffs.

You cock a brow, face warm. “Shut up. I am not their favorite,” you protest, unable to believe it.

Frank lets out a chuckle. “You definitely are,” he says, adding a touch of humor.

“Frank, you are full of shit,” you retort, pushing his shoulder in.

He looks across the table. “Samira? Mel? Care to chime in?”

You look at them, eyes hazy, to see an awkward smile grow on Samira’s face while Mel avoids eye contact. “Is it true?”

Samira tries to evade the question before Frank urges her. “Yeah… I’d say so.”

You narrow your eyes in thought, trying to adjust to the bright lights hanging above you and look at Mel. “Mel?”

She avoids your gaze, focusing instead on the ketchup bottle on the table. “Look, there are five grams of sugar in a single serving of this ketchup,” she remarks while reading the label.

“Mel?” you prompt, hoping to steer the conversation back to the original topic.

She sets the bottle down with a slight huff. “Frank’s… right.”  

“It’s not a negative,” Samira assures you, her voice calm and soothing. “Just an observation.”

You don't know how to express that you didn't take it negatively. 

In fact, you wanted it to be true.

Jack and Robby were two of the most experienced and exceptional doctors you had ever encountered. Each of them possessed a unique set of distinguishable qualities and strengths.

It didn't hurt that they were also among the most attractive doctors you had ever met.

You often heard the new interns and nurses gush about them, and the idea that they might favor you over the other residents sent a thrilling chill down your spine, even with the alcohol coursing through your system.

"Robby, Jack! Over here," Frank called out, gesturing his hand out to signal them to come over to you all.

You look up to see them approaching, and you could vomit, and not just from the alcohol.

"Be right back. Restroom," your words are slightly slurred as you stumble up and to the bathroom.

Once you reach the single bathroom, lock the door behind you before stumbling further into the room. You opt to lean against the inside wall, gently sliding down it to sink onto the ground, your skin blistering to the touch.

You don't know what's come over you.

Your thoughts are a jumble, unable to form a coherent train of thought, and you're fixated on Jack and Robby.

The new revelation of being their favorite doing more to your psyche than you’d like to admit.

You hear a faint knock on the bathroom door across the dimly lit room, the sound echoing off the walls. With a sigh and determination, you stand, almost tripping over nothing as you head to the wooden door, carefully unlocking the door before pulling it open to see Robby.

“Robby?” you ask, voice hoarse.

“Came to check on you,” he shrugs, observing your dilated pupils and disheveled hair.

You take a gulp, your vulnerability palpable. “I’m… I’m alright.”

“You look drunk,” he shakes his head, raising his brows knowingly.

“We’re at a bar,” you say. “What the hell else am I supposed to be?”

“Safe, for one,” his eyes flick between yours. “How much did you drink?”

You roll your eyes with an irritated sigh; your frustration is evident. “Not enough, apparently.”

"Are you upset?" he prompts lightly before his eyes go dark. "Did something happen?"

"No," you immediately assure, feeling slightly embarrassed. "It's… nothing," you shake your head fervently. "God, I need another drink," you try to take another step past him before you trip over nothing. His arms reach around you with ease, helping you stand.

"Yeah, no. You’re going home and going to bed," he gruffs, gripping you tighter. 

"I'm off the clock, Robby," you slur, trying to escape his grasp. "I'm not yours to boss around."

"What's going on?" Jack's voice comes from around the corner.

Of course.

When one lingers, you can count on the other being shortly behind.

"I would like you to get home in one piece, so right now, you are," Robby says with frustration as he holds you still. 

You shake your head, feeling your head spin, which makes you think he's definitely right, but you would never give the satisfaction. You manage to shake out of his grasp, attempting to go back around the corner before Jack's hand comes out to gently grab your forearm as you slump against him. 

"Come on, just listen to him, kid," he tilts his head to the side. 

"Oh… Jack," you look up at him. "Do you ever get tired of riding Robby's dick?"

“It’s good exercise,” he mutters, curious eyes boring into your stubborn ones. He wanted to catch you off guard and keep you on your toes. He levels with you now that he has your attention. “Now listen, stubborn,” he starts, eyes flicking, between yours. “Let us take you home. Make sure you’re safe. Get you to that bed, yeah?” He nods as he speaks, eyebrows raising.

You nod in agreement after a moment, too drunk and tired to put up a bigger fight you know you’d lose. Plus, his offer of your bed sounded too enticing to pass up.

“Can you walk for us?” Robby questions, reaching for your other hand to try and steady you.

“I think I might break my nose if I tried,” you breathe out, grasping Robby’s hand with your own, not bothering to acknowledge the swarm of butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

“Easy steps,” Robby mumbles as you move off of Jack to stand by yourself.

You grab Jack’s hand with your other hand and take a step forward. “Atta girl,” Jack praises, which makes your skin burn up even hotter. “Let’s get you to the car.” You nod, taking small steps until you manage to make it around the corner until you reach Frank, Samira, and Mel.

“We’re taking her home,” Robby raises his brow, which makes Frank’s lip quip.

“My purse,” you murmur as you rest your cheek against Jack’s arm.

Before Robby has to ask, Samira hands over your purse, which he holds with the tips of his fingers. They issue their goodbyes, and you manage to mumble a goodbye of your own before they haul you to the door to leave.

"See, I told you!" Frank yells as Jack pushes open the door for you to step through.

You roll your eyes, but you can't help the cheeky smile that spreads across your face as you feel the warmth from their helpful gestures.

It got worse when you finally settled into the car, and Robby leaned over your lap, pressing into your lower stomach to secure your seatbelt.

You felt a deep ache from where he had laid on you the entire drive home.

You craved more—a taste of what your body throbbed for, what it pleaded for.

A voracious hunger within you that couldn't be satisfied by just one touch.

“You’re both just… going to leave,” you mumble as Jack gets your front door open with the key you handed him, and you lean against Robby for stability.

“That’s the plan,” Jack mumbles before an irritated sigh slips through his mouth at the key in the keyhole, which seems to be stuck. “Jesus. This fucking door. I’ll come by tomorrow to fix this,” he says with intent, giving the key a hard twist, making it unlock before pushing it open.

Your heart sinks as it opens, already feeling the loneliness consume you which makes you sober up slightly. “Wait. I just, ah, remembered my sink has been giving me problems,” you say quickly as Jack turns around. “Do you guys mind checking it out?” Your eyes flick between them as they glance at each other. “Pretty please?” 

Robby gazes down at you, his resolve wavering. He looks up and nods towards Jack, a silent command for him to enter. Jack complies, swinging the door open wide, allowing Robby to slip inside with you by his side.

“Which sink?” Jack asks once Robby slips you down on your couch.

You sit up, your face a mix of surprise and confusion. “What?”

Jack’s eyebrow arches. “You said there was a problem with your sink? Which one is it?”

Your mouth drops open a little in remembrance. “Oh. Shit. Yeah, sorry. Uh, the kitchen one,” you hurriedly say, hoping he doesn’t see the crack in your facade.

He nods, moving towards it.

You’re not sure what you’ll say when he doesn’t find any problems, but you’re hoping you’ll have them both in bed before then.

"So… that was some bar crawl, huh?" you chuckle, trying to break the silence with a playful jab. 

"Didn't really get to enjoy it because we had to drag your ass out of the one bar we could make it to," Robby gruffs, though his tone carries a hint of amusement.

You look back at him, his hands over his chest, as Jack kneels to look under the sink. "I'm excellent company," you assure, putting your hand over your chest. "Plus, a little birdie told me I was both of your guys' favorite resident," you lay your cheek on your arm, pressed onto the top of the couch, still looking at him. "So it couldn't have been that bad." 

Jack lets out a deep chuckle, his voice echoing in the cabinet. "Yeah? Who told you that?"

"A little birdie," you confirm, a mischievous glint in your eye as you look at Robby, unwilling to reveal who told you, adding to the mystery. “Am I your favorite, Robby?”

“Don’t answer that, Robby. It’s a trap,” Jack snickers, still occupied with the pipes under the sink, unaware that you have moved from off the couch and now stand in front of Robby, leaning against the sofa, a seductive edge in your tone. 

“I… you’re an excellent doctor,” Robby tries to keep his tone steady.

“Yeah… I think you’re a good doctor, too. One of my favorites,” you move forward, seeing his brown eyes widen in surprise, and yet he doesn’t step away from you, his breath catching in his throat instead. 

“Rude,” Jack voices, moving to stand up, finally facing you and Robby. He tilts his head back as he sees you so close to Robby. “What about… me?” He finishes his sentence, his mouth dry. 

“I said one of my favorites. You’re my other favorite. I would never leave you out, Jack,” you assure, flicking your finger across Robby’s chest, a mischievous glint in your eye as you playfully tease Jack.

Jack crosses his arms over his chest, rocking on his heels. "What kind of game are you playing?" His voice is rough, lower than usual.

You throw your hands up, neglecting the spin of your head as you let go of Robby. "No game," you say honestly. "Just… thinking."

"Thinking about what?" he asks, watching a drunken smirk play on your lips as you glance at Robby in front of you.

You purse your lips, tilting your head towards Jack and then to Robby. "You boys ever share?"  

"What are you getting at?" Jack narrows his eyes.

"I think you should stay… both of you," you lick your lips.

"You're drunk," Robby finally voices, his tone a mix of concern and frustration. 

"You think I wouldn't fuck you sober?" You laugh. "The alcohol just gives me more courage.”

"We're your superiors," Jack shakes his head, his voice carrying a weight of responsibility. "This is messy territory."

"Nothing's fun unless you get a little dirty," you say, flicking your nail across Robby's chest again, making him shudder. "Isn’t that right, Robby?" 

Robby's eyes drift to your glistening lips; you only pull your eyes away from him to look at Jack, his voice echoing around the room.

“Both got scrubs older than you, sweetheart,” Jack reasons, though you can see a slight crack in his resolve.

“Is it supposed to deter me?” You prompt, edging close to where he stands. “Because that just makes you both even sexier in my book,” you stand toe to toe with him, so close he could smell the sweet wine coming off your breath.

“This is inappropriate,” Jack mutters, his voice a low whisper as his eyes flick to your tongue, licking your lips.

You lean in closer to him, hovering your lips over his ear. “Tell me to stop, Jack,” you begin, your hot breath fanning across his skin. “Tell me you don’t want a taste of me,” your tongue darts to run across the helix. “Or a feel of me squirming on your cock,” your hand drifts to rest on his erect cock confined by his jeans. “If you don’t want it… tell me.”

Jack’s head lulls back at your touch as he releases a shallow breath.

“The poor girl is starving, Jack,” Robby mumbles from where he stands. “Don’t leave her hungry,” he tilts his head back, eyes hanging lazily when you look over your shoulder at him. 

You turn to face Jack, and before you can speak, he leans in, pressing a deep kiss to your lips, his frustration rolling off him in sheets. You can feel his body close to yours, the warmth of his breath mingling with yours.

He’s hungry, too.

“Knew you needed it, Jackie,” you mumble into his lips. His hands move to grip the fat of your hips, his lips humming against yours with an intensity you yearned for.

You can hear Robby release a sharp breath before you hear his steps on the vinyl edging, closing in closer and closer until he stands behind you. His fingers move across your neck, fanning the hair away so he can press his lips to your skin.

“Taste so sweet,” Robby mutters into your skin as his tongue skims across your flesh, leaving a strip of saliva in its wake. You shiver at the feeling as Jack nips at your lips, coaxing your mouth to open.

Jack’s tongue slips into your mouth, prompting a small whimper to escape your mouth as he lets out a groan at the taste of the sweet liquor coating your tongue. “Mhm. He’s right. Taste so sweet,” Jack gruffs, hands greedily pressing into your lower thigh.

“Should we… move this to my room?” you ask, as Jack’s hand massages one thigh and Robby massages the other.

Robby pats your thigh lightly. “Lead the way, baby.”

It takes everything in you to pull away, but you do only because you know the reward that lies just ahead. You fidget with your fingers as you walk through the hall and shove open your bedroom door, Jack and Robby hot on your heels.

“Cute,” Jack comments as he sees various knick-knacks and trinkets displayed all around your room. He moves over to you, wrapping his arms around your waist. “You’re sure about this?”

“I am,” you bend up to press a sweet kiss to his lips. “I need you both.”

Jack lets out a dry laugh, holding you tighter. “Greedy girl.”

Robby slides behind you, eyeing Jack. “You heard the girl, Abbot,” his hands slide down your back before he squeezes your ass. “She needs us.”

You release a shallow moan that makes Jack’s pupils dilate. “Need it now, Jack,” you moan as Robby’s hand moves up to grope your breast. Instantly, Jack surges forward, his hand gripping your chin to kiss you needily before he walks backward, his hands still on you, to the edge of your bed, where he sits.

You stand in between his legs with Robby to your side. You pull away slightly, but Jack’s fingers find your belt loops on the front of your denim shorts, pulling you back towards him. “You come on me, yeah?” His voice is low, rumbling.

You can feel warm arousal already pooling between your thighs at his command, a soft swirl of your stomach as you nod. He shakes his head, unsatisfied. “Use your words,” he says, fingers tight around your belt loops.

“Yes,” your voice comes out as a strained moan.

He nods along, glancing at Robby. “You want to get her ready, or should I?”

“You do it, Abbot. She’s taking a liking to your theatrics,” the rumbling laugh Robby lets out shoots straight to your core. “Aren’t you, sweetheart?” he asks, moving behind you, his breath fanning across your neck. “Can see you squeezing your thighs every time he breathes. You got it bad for him, huh?” His lips press against your skin as your head rolls to the side, giving him more access.

“You got it bad for me?” Jack teases, fingers moving to unbutton your denim shorts, slipping them down with ease. “Think Robby’s got it bad for you.”

“How could I not?” Robby mumbles, fingers playing with the hem of your shirt before he slips it off your head. “Good God, look at you. So fuckin’ perfect,” he curses as he leans over you to get a look at you.

“Robby, you were right. She’s fuckin’ soaked,” Jack’s fingers drag across the wet spot already formed in your panties.

“Jack,” you mewled, body aching forward at his touch.

Jack tilts his head back cockily. “You like that?” He sucks his teeth before his fingers press back into you.

“Fuck, yes,” you brace your hand on Jack’s shoulder, reaching behind you to grab Robby’s hand to rest it on your stomach. 

Jack gives you a lazy smile, pulling your panties down with a swipe, leaving you bare. “Barely touched you, and you’re glistening,” Jack remarks, catching Robby’s eyes as he presses his fingers into your soaked cunt. 

You squirm on his fingers, cursing Jack when he pulls them out.

Robby runs his fingers up your stomach before picking his hand up to brush his fingers against your pouting lips. “Don’t torture the poor girl, Jack.”

Jack’s lip quips quickly, brushing your arousal, his finger on his jeans before he slips them down, along with his boxers, making his cock spring up. “Turn around,” he instructs, giving himself a nice tuck.

You oblige, Robby’s hand moving down to rest back on your stomach, helping you spin around. Jack pulls you back, slipping his fingers across your slit from behind, making you arch towards Robby. “Open up for me, sweetheart,” Jack mutters, beads of sweat forming on his forehead as he nudges himself into your slit.

He hisses as you sink down on him and lets out a loud moan, gripping Robby’s shoulders for support. “You alright?” Jack asks, gripping your waist tight.

“Yes,” you choke out, turning your head to rest on your shoulder to look at him.

“Don’t look at me. Look at him,” Jack groans, grabbing your chin and turning your face to look at Robby, looking at you through half lids.

“Robby… take your, take your pants off,” you manage to sputter as Jack pounds into you.

Robby unzips his pants and slides his boxers off in a smooth motion. Your greedy hands reach out to stroke him as Jack holds onto your waist tighter, sliding into your deeper.

“Shit, sweetheart,” Robby chokes as your hand tightens around him, stroking with his purpose. His hand threads through your hair, massaging your scalp. “That’s a good girl.”

You moan at the endearment and rock yourself against Jack to stimulate your clit.

“Robby,” Jack pants, still moving inside you.

“Yeah.”  Robby doesn’t even have to ask. He brings his fingers to his tongue, coating them in a slick layer of his salvia before he presses them against your clit, giving you more stimulation. “Didn’t even need the spit, huh? You’re drenched,” he rasps as you pump faster, tossing your head back at the hoard of stimulation.

You don't have any breath in you to retort. You can't even think straight, and not even just for the alcohol. Hell, you're sure Jack fucked the booze out of the system. The sheer amount of pleasure running coursing through your veins leaves you almost paralyzed by pleasure, and with each pound of Jack's cock and swirl of Robby's fingers, you're sure you're going to lose it. 

Lose yourself. 

"Fuck, Abbot," Robby curses, watching you squirm, glossy eyes and jaw wide open, his head tipping back as he feels himself edge closer to release. "She's gonna lose it."

Jack lets out a dry laugh, grabbing your jaw. "That true, sweetheart? You want to come?"

"Please! Fuck… I'm so close, Jack," you can feel the heat rushing to your stomach, an impending orgasm looming over your head.

"Come, sweet girl," he murmurs as he feels his body release.

Your body convulses on his lap as a raging orgasm takes over. Robby grunts as he comes not too far behind, head hunched forward as his finger moves directly across your clit, easing you through your climax. 

Jack gives you no time before he taps your thigh, signaling for you to stand. "Let me taste you, sweet girl." You're breathing hard as you stand, grabbing Robby's helping hand to lay on the bed as Jack leans down, licking a stripe of your cunt, collecting your sweet arousal on his tongue. You arch your back, going threading through his curls. 

"Mhm. Sweet," he comments, tongue gleaming. "Come on, Robby. Give our girl a taste."

Robby nods, leaning down to lick your cunt, making you tip your head back, shutting your eyes promptly.

"She's sweet, alright. Think she wants a taste, Jack?" Robby glances at Jack, chest still heaving, his come still fresh on his cock.

"Let me ask her," Jack says, voice low, eyeing you. "You want a taste, baby?" 

Your head flicks up to see their hungry eyes on you. You lick your lips, nodding eagerly. 

Jack shakes his head. "No. Tell him."

"I want to taste you, Robby," you pant, chewing on your lip.

Jack gives you a nod of affirmation as Robby gives you a lopsided smile. You muster up the force to move and bend forward, sitting on your knees and carefully swiping your tongue across his cock, his come coating your tongue and the corners of your mouth.

“Christ,” Robby and Jack both mutter.

You pull away from him, swiping your tongue to clean the corners of your mouth.

“You’ve ruined us,” Jack shakes his head, admiration written all over his face.

“Maybe that’s what you needed,” you retort, looking between them.

“Maybe it is,” Robby mumbles.

MINI AUTHOR'S NOTES⁀➷ i never claimed this would be character accurate, but it was hot, right? dividers by @saradika-graphics

[madelynraemunson]

up for the challenge

professor!eddie x adult!student!fem!reader

the semester's over. the grades are in. and with nothing left to hold him back, your favorite professor is ready to go from blurring the lines between you two, to making them non-existent.

a/n: long time no see, friends ;) coming in hot! this is inspired by my bb @mediocredreams ' prof eddie au! i hope i did it justice.

cw: p*rn with plot (in true maddy fashion), professor/student dynamic, dom!eddie, sub!reader, established age gap (eddie is probably early 40s, reader is mid 20s), p in v sex (protected), hair-pulling, fingering, orgasm denial, that rough and passionate shittt, briefly mentions drinking

It starts with a pat on the back.

Til it lingers and becomes a shoulder squeeze. And before you know it, your papers are being returned to you, heavily marked with suggestive feedback, allowing just enough real estate for plausible deniability, but also enough room to where the lines start to blur.

“Why do you always do this?” you’d roll your eyes playfully.

And he’d meet you right where you are. “Because I like challenging you.”

It becomes a dance, this little secret of yours. The sneaky glances during lecture. The double entendres of, "I like how determined you are" and "Looking forward to seeing you next week". The extended office hours disguised as mentorship, only for him to barely acknowledge you when class is in session.

You two have been intimate in every way possible except sexually. It’s electrifying. Professor Munson's got his craft — and you — all mapped out. Which is why he waits until you are no longer his student to begin his pursuit.

Layla's Tavern?

It isn't out of the ordinary for professors to go out to eat with their pupils. But doing so at a rooftop bar in the metropolis — alone and strategically away from campus?

Oh yeah. He’s done his research. Just as you knew he would.

You reply almost instantly.

I'll be there. 6pm?

“You were so wrong for that,” you say between giggles. “I thought about it for a whole week.”

You and Professor Munson are on the rooftop of Layla’s Tavern, a couple drinks in and laughing like cheeky, rebellious teenagers. You’re shoulder to shoulder, debriefing the semester while the patio heater casts warmth over you both.

It all felt so liberating, finally being able to say out loud what your eyes have been whispering for months.

“Hey, no pitchforks now,” Professor Munson says with a chuckle. He tosses his hands in the air. “The rubric clearly stated three academic articles — two of them peer-reviewed — and all published within the last five years. Your third one was SIX.”

You reject Munson's theatrical surrender, grabbing his large hands and pressing them back onto the booth. He smiles mischievously into you, enabling this quiet, deliberate moment of affection — a crack in the dam that would’ve held firm just a few months earlier. His eyes stay locked on yours as your hands hover above his lap.

“Ugh,” you gaze up at him through beady, flirtatious eyes. "Why do you always have to follow the rules?"

“I don’t always follow them,” he shakes his head in amusement. “Sometimes there are exceptions.”

You feel yourself flush as blood rushes to your face. It’s then that you start to wonder if it’s even the heater doing the warming. After all, his dark brown eyes and sultry stare have never failed to melt you into a puddle before. Amongst other things.

He bumps you with his knee.

"You ready to head out?"

Aged cigars and smoked whiskey greet you at Professor Munson's high-end condo.

You find yourself perched politely on his leather couch as he sifts through his vinyls —  aged and seductively rugged, much like himself — set on cultivating the best mood possible for the occasion.

You both knew what you came here for. But there was still a need for feigned naiveity, a scripted buffer to preserve the illusion of its organic unfolding, despite how carefully orchestrated this all was.

"You do your class eval yet?"

"I did," you smile.

"Oh yeah?” he smirks, settling beside you with practiced ease. “How'd I do?"

You eye him up and down, tugging a heavy and restrained sigh out of him as he primally traces your gaze.

The thrill of it all feels like mid-semester still; but with a lot less limitations.

"10 out of 10.”

"BO-RING," he roars.

"What?!" you stumble back in shock.

"C'mon,” he cackles. “If I could do ONE thing better, what would you like me to do?"

"I can't think of anything!" you offer a smiley pout, the soft pitch of your voice getting higher with every syllable. "Your class is fine the way it is."

"Seriously? I don't believe that."

Now you’re challenging him.

"Tell me why you care so much, Munson."

You find yourself tracing his stubble with your delicate fingers, simply out of adoration, and he watches this like a favorite film that he forgot existed.

Munson shifts in his seat, matching this energy by reeling you closer to him by your waist, with nothing left but his conditioned restraint to hold him back. But the dam is straining now, against the pressure of this rising flood.

"I care," he says in the deepest register you've ever heard from him, his hand settling on your knee, "Cuz I'm always striving to better my craft."

He exhales, breath low and calibrated, as if a single breath alone might just set off the very desire threatening to unravel him. The desire of unraveling you. You and those beady doe eyes, that perky bust, and that mouth designed for sin. You, with that laugh and your barely-appropriate skirts. You and those not-so-accidental touches during didactic that made getting caught look like the objective. Munson’s eyes drop to your mouth, then snap back, clinging to control by the tiniest thread.

"Well,” you inch closer to him. “I don't think it can get any better than this."

And the floodgates have opened. With his impulse control gone awry, Munson initiates his long awaited leap into you.

"Mm."

It all happens so quick, so naturally, that before you know it your soft lips are pressed against his, submitting to his passionate tongue as he cups your face and lowers you onto the couch.

“Fuck.”

His stiff, growing bulge probes at your stomach as you moan into his touch, palming him needily as he glides his thick fingers across your folds. 

And he does this as he’s kissing your jawline softly, smiling into you as he savors the scent of your floral body oil, a fragrance that brings him back to the butterflies — the new, profound excitement of syllabus week.

He’s wanted to bend you over his podium, and fuck you senseless since day one.

"You don't know how long I've waited for this," he breathes as your lips part temporarily.

"Oh, I KNOW," you tease. “Professor Munson.”

He looks at you through his hooded, enchanted eyelids.

"You do realize you can call me Eddie..."

"I know that too," you say. "It's just…I've been calling you Professor Munson all semester."

"That's fair," he nods. "Too long of a semester..."

Your breath catches suddenly, causing your lips to separate as Eddie introduces two fingers into your needy cunt, already soaked to the base of his knuckles with your arousal. There’s an immediate braveness with his pacing, steady yet unforgiving, your desire for him trickling onto your soft, black lace panties. Mindful of this, Eddie then eases them down to the hem of your mini dress.

“You don’t need this.” You giggle up at him. “You always used to say that.” “It lands a little differently now, yeah?” he quips, pulsing in further. “So…. much differently,” you muster, attempting a smile towards him. “Very…” he smiles back, his lips curling ever-so-connivingly. “VERY differently.”

Get rid of this. Get rid of that. You don’t need this. You don’t need that.

Eddie Munson — with his unwavering rubric-slash-doctrine — always used to make you work for every inch of praise you earned.

But when that praise came? That seal of approval in the form of a “well done” wink, and a little extra 1:1 time with him? It was a dopamine high you couldn’t help but chase.

And when you finally earned the full credit he’d been dangling in front of you — almost mockingly…like a carrot just out of reach — the payoff became addictive. 

Translation: You want it? Better work for it, baby. I know you can. And I know you WILL.

So yeah, it lands differently now. But a part of you wonders if it was the meaning all along.

God, if admin saw this...

"Eddie..." you chant, whimpering into his ear. "Eddie... Eddie... Eddie… Fuck. Fuck, FUCK!"

His pace had quickened and you're a mewling mess beneath him, the profanities he’d normally disapprove of being all that you were shouting. 

But he grins widely at this instead (surprisingly), satisfied by the notion that he was able to undo you so intimately, pushing your buttons further by inserting another digit. 

Desperately trying to keep yourself contained, you tug at his hair, eyelids closing, brain numbing, your core hot and tight when…

Suddenly, he retreats.

"Why's it look like you wanna cum right now?" Eddie scorns.

You're thrown by the shift in demeanor. A stammering wreck, you rush to your own defense.

"I-I..." blood rushes back to your face. "I don't. Not yet at least."

"Good," he smirks. "Got a lot more where that came from."

Eddie pauses to skim your body, sifting through his mental catalogue of fantasies best suited for this very moment. Suddenly, his gaze ignites.

"Get on top."

Without any extra thought, you reposition yourself to perch upon the very lap you had been fantasizing about all semester. You await Eddie’s cue as he scrambles for a condom, taking this moment to collect yourself and stare around the estate that — indeed — belongs to your former professor. 

You’re actually here. You’re actually doing this. This isn’t a one-sided ordeal either. Eddie Munson wants you just the same. Perhaps even more.

The sound of an opening wooden drawer, and snapping of some rubber brings you back. Out on a prowl — and painstakingly erect — Eddie eyes you carnivorously as you take the sight of him in. “Ready for the REAL test?” he winks. 

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” you respond coyly.

“You've got it,” he insists, fixing your position so that you were hovering right above him. His voice darkens. “Go on, now… Bounce on it for me.”

There’s no going back after this point. Sinking yourself onto his ruinous shaft, a silent gasp escapes you as you lower yourself onto him. Eddie grunts pleasurably, tossing his head back, slowly snaking himself inside you and pumping in and out of you balls deep, ensuring you felt every nerve of that initial sting, every intentional stroke, every highway of his thick veins, and every bout of praise that had spilled carelessly out of his mouth as he fawned up at your beauty. 

“Oh god…” you breathe.

Gauging you intently, Eddie stops when he senses you’ve accommodated him, allowing you to take the reigns any which way you wanted. And to your shock, you could only watch as he reaches for your hands, assertively pinning them behind your back before fastening them in place with the belt that was initially around his trousers. He grins at your subtle uncertainty.

“You've got it,” he repeats, whispering you through it as you whimper softly. “’s nothin’ you can’t handle.”

“You sure?” you bite your lip seductively as you ride, causing him to grow even more inside of you. 

“Yeah,” he tuts, his lazy eye devouring you at the sight. “I’ve seen you challenge yourself before. You can do it, sweetheart.”

So you keep bouncing, all while he calls you “gorgeous” and “stunning” through it. But the euphoric minutes slowly begin to feel like hours, your legs wobbling like jelly, though you’re determined to stick it through. 

But Eddie’s watching… studying you. And no matter how much you try to hide it, he sees through you more than you realize.

You’re tired – and spoiled – and he knows it.

"So used to being a pillow princess, aren't you?" he tsks as you ride him needily. "Gonna have to work for THIS one, my dear.”

He watches with the smuggest look on his face, taking note of just how blissfully your eyes roll to the back of your head as you ride him out. You’re tempted to use his chest for leverage with your palm, but he gives his belt a tug, tightening how snug they felt around your wrists. 

“She loooves a challenge,” he observes, pupils nearly blown from how pussy drunk he had become. He is but a slave to your moans.  "Both inside the classroom and out, don’t you baby?"

You illicit a high-pitched grunt in confirmation, knuckles white against the confinement of his grasp, fixated on delaying your climax for as long as possible while your pussy encloses itself around his perfect cock.

Is it really a ‘power-play’ if you both knew the rules and still chose to break them? If the tension was mutual, electric, and stimulating in every sense? You didn’t just provoke him — you matched his energy, and well, neither of you retreated. Off limits, yes. But the door was always unlocked. 

God, you’re obsessed with how he feels. He’s ruining you.

"Don't wanna fucking stop," you whine. "Feels too good."

Eddie chuckles at this, amused and impressed by how far you’re willing to go to get to your reward.

“Yeah? I feel that good?”

“Mhm,” you nod.

“I‘m sure I do.”

He draws it on for a while longer, just before you’re about to tap yourself out when he continues to speak.

“Alright. Move your hands.”

He’s released the belt now at this point, and once again you can only watch as Eddie begins to take control. 

Once more, before you could register it, Eddie’s effortlessly flipped you onto your back, manually arching your spine with a moderate press to your lower hips. You beam up at him with lust, and he responds with a firm smack to your ass, before proceeding to tease your folds with the head of his greedy cock.

The challenge is everything you wanted. He’s deeper — and somehow feels fuller — when he rails you from the back, causing you to see stars from just the first few pummeling thrusts.

“Holy FUCK!” 

Eddie chuckles — low and knowing — at the way your composure slips as he ruthlessly fucks himself into you, hips pistoning themselves into your ravaged cunt while your slick echoes off the walls of his glass house. You’ve reached a new threshold now.

“More,” you beg. “More, E-Eddie. Just don’t fucking stop!” 

Eddie digs his thumbs into the small of your back for leverage, the exhilarating wet smacks of your bodies crashing into one another incentivizing him further. With a free hand, he gets a loaded grip of your hair, twisting it in his grasp before yanking your gaze upwards towards the ceiling, continuously — effortlessly — drilling you into the couch.

"Wish you could see how hot you look right now," he grunts. "Been needing you like this ever since class started."

How can a man — who’s barely even touched you as til now — who only just now began exploring the hidden crevices of your body — already know EXACTLY what to do?

It’s enough to send you over the edge. Your, pornographic cries sloppy, his thrusts even sloppier. 

“Wanna cum, Eddie. I need to.” 

"I know, I know," he soothes you, the cockiness of his tone slightly patronizing. “You can cum now sweetheart, don’t be shy.”

Just as promised, Eddie catches you when you allow yourself to surrender. His arms wrap around you instinctively, grounding you to the aftershocks. He rubs gentle circles along your arm, lips brushing against your shoulder in soft, repetitive kisses. Eddie then tenderly tucks loose strands of hair away from your damp, flushed face, murmuring quiet reassurances as you melt into him.

“Gooood girl,” he softly chuckles one last time. “That’s my good girl.”

--

You’re practically skipping around his abode afterwards, given the fact that Eddie essentially wined, dined, and fucked you right into summer break. As you help him tidy up, your ex-professor is back to his regular, joking self.

“Not bad for an old man, huh?” he tuts, issuing you a teasing, triumphant elbow.

“Not bad at all,” you giggle.

You shyly toss your clothes back on as he proceeds to give the area a proper wipe down. He sneaks another quick glance your way. 

“If you wanna shower, you can use the bathroom upstairs,” Eddie offers. “I can get you some fresh towels and a t-shirt too if you’d like.”

“Cool,” you blush. “Thank you, Eddie.”

He blushes at this too, elated with how well his informal name melts onto your tongue. You glide your way back over to him, mind heavy with a proposal you’ve been rehearsing for weeks on end. 

"So," you smile angelically. "Heard you're gonna be off for two whole months!"

earth toned divider from @saradika-graphics bow divider from @strangergraphics

taglist: @mediocredreams , @airandyeah bc they knew what i had up my sleeve hehehehe

[milktrician]

Hello hello! :D

SQH-SY siblings au for the ask game, please?

I'm pretty sure I wrote this after someone wrote a text post about the idea but idk if I would be able to track that down, or if it existed at all and I'm misremembering. Anyway, I didn't really have a set plot in mind after I wrote this short snippet other than it would be very funny for Shen Yuan to try and actively sabotague Shang Qinghua's efforts to become head disciple of An Ding while looking as innocent as possible. I don't think I'm going to write anymore for this idea as I have other wips I want to focus on but feel free anyone to write out their own interpretation! Anyways, here's what I wrote a few weeks back:

[ Activation code: “Dumbfuck author, dumbfuck novel.” System automatically triggered ]

What? What the fuck is this?

[ Host is in the midst of transmigration! ]

No—what? This is a dream, Airplane’s stupid fucking writing must have made me pass out!

Rrgh! I need to punch the fucker IRL!

[ Host would like to see Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky? ]

YES!

[ Beginning transmigration… ]

What?

“Oh! It’s a boy!”

“W-Wait what? Doctor, didn’t you say it was going to be a girl?”

What the hell?

He feels himself get wrapped within a cloth, and suddenly he's enveloped in warmth. He’s being…held?

Any attempt to move his limbs is caught by the cloth wrapped around him. His tongue presses against toothless gums, and his vision is too blurry to make out anything.

No…

“Haha, well surprises always happen! Did you have a name in mind if you two had another son?”

“Ah, well I suppose we never gave any thought to it. A-Yu, you’re always good at coming up with names with your little stories, how about you name your little brother?”

No…

“You…ah, shouldn’t it be up to you two? Like erm. Tradition or something? Like this is a whole baby I sh-shouldn’t be responsible for the name he’ll be called for the rest of his life!”

A woman then laughs above him, 

“A-Yu, I think I’m much too tired to think right now. You’re a smart boy, any name you come up with I’m sure he’ll appreciate it.”

He…died. 

Transmigration’s real!?

AND HE’S A BABY!

Oh—whoever this person is, please don’t name him something stupid.

[ Don’t worry Host! This System has you covered! ]

“…Yuan?” Whoever “A-Yu” is, he said that like he wasn’t even sure of it himself! Thank god he still has his old name in this life at least.

“Shang Yuan…I like that.”

System…where have I transmigrated?

[ This System operates in line with the design concept “YOU CAN YOU UP, NO CAN NO BB”; we hope to provide you with the best possible experience. It is our sincere wish that during your time, you can fulfill your desires and, in accordance to your wish, ‘see Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky’ ]

[ Congratulations! Congratulations! Congratulations! Important things must be said three times! ]

What now?!

[ User has completed his wish! ]

I…did?

[ Entering Limited Sandbox Mode! Feel free to explore within the constraints of the plot! ]

[ We hope you enjoy the world of Proud Immortal Demon Way! ]

WHAT?

“Ah! He’s crying, give him here.”

“Ahh. You’re so cute lil bro! Cutest baby in the whole wide world!”

A-Yu, or Shang Hongyu, is his new older brother in this life and is maybe eight or nine years older than him. He’s apparently very smart for his age, and their parents are already tutoring him to take over their father’s business.

He hears his older brother sniffle,

“Too bad you’ll probably never see me again in a few years.” he says, “I’ve gotta head to Cang Qiong and make my way up An Ding in the next few years.”

Hold on a second.

His older brother holds him tight against his chest, and from here he can feel his breath shudder.

“I’ve never had a sibling by blood before.”

He’s brought to his sibling’s bed and his brother lays next to him lazily.

“Just a few more years and you guys won’t have to see me again.” his brother says to noone, “They’re…surprisingly good parents, didi. Once they don’t have me to worry about, they can spoil you as much as you want.”

Geez, what kind of weird complex do you have?

Though. Shang surely is a common surname right? Lots of Shangs to go to An Ding!

System where in the timeline are we?

[ System is currently in maintenance for future updates! ]

Fine. He’ll figure it out his own way!

His own chubby fingers are able to grab onto his brother’s robe.

“Gege.” He says, to the best of his ability with his shitty little baby mouth.

He doesn’t expect his brother to burst out crying and start to hug him tight.

[deathofacupid]

hi! i just wanted to say i really love your writing! it never fails to make me laugh (or cry) do you have any author/fic recs?

grrr thank u bb !! im glad i could make u laugh (or cry) !! im going to take this opportunity to rec the shit outta my moots !! these aren't in any particular order check them all out (make sure to read rules n such) (u also sent a follow up that it was for jjk so here u go) 💕

@salsakiyoomi; i instantly eat up what ever she posts when she posts it !! i've been meaning to read her drummer!sukuna series !! the way she writes for sukuna is just grrr... my favorites is this one for sure !! (love u soulmate)

@indiewritesxoxo; is what GOT me into jjk... very moving pieces !! snapshots has my heart and soul i believe, but i need to catch up !! i love the way she characterizes, just yum. her fics always have the perfect amount of everything !!

@cuntyji / @kashverse; im trying to think of my favorite work but EVERYTHING leaves me foaming at the mouth... kashs smut is so perfect in every way, im always giggling at the funny part. her crack? impeccable. her work never ever fails to make me smileee

@loveyislost; all her smaus are on point !! literally like crazy. work wife had me GAGGED and so did just a pretty face which i haven't finished yet !! (can u tell the tbr list is long) but check her out !!

@gojosoups; what do i even say here. i should start off by saying i STILL am thinking ab burglar!toji and that sneak peak of hey mister police man i am SO excited for words wont aid me here. and this ?? gojo royalty au ?? i was on my knees i fear.

@naomigojo / @naomi-main; two words... forbidden fruit. two more words... zombie husband. i genuinely want to kiss ur brain so bad bc WHERE do u come up with these ?? the way she writes gojo just just just bro

@unabletonotlovesatoru; i drool every time u post okay. u warm my heart. everything is a freaking hit. i cant pick a favorite theyre all perfect im barking. the fluff is just its fluffing SO good. this ?? dropped my assignments to read. made me want to write fluff so i did that instead and i have NO regrets it was so cute im gonna bite u

@yanderenightmare; dont mind me stalking your masterlist and eating everything up pretend like im not there turn the other cheek or blind eye ykykyk but seriously. i always get shivers. this yuta smut ?? made me realize i was missing something my entire life i think about it so often dpwm

@stxrysnow; bro. cmon. has beautiful pieces and is far too underrated i fear. fought not to gatekeep this cutie. bc. what. her pieces are so poetic and i just love the writing so much. the imagery has me sobbing always. this satosugu work made me fall in love w u

@mia-can-yap-too; i know u just started writing but this megumi work does wonders for the soul. its so cute (thank u mia i say to the shrine)

other writers that deserve all the love they can get ever !!

@nanamiskentos; i think ab this very often ?? smut was insanely jaw-dropping and the entire time gojo was just so gojo and i loved it.

@reignpage; nawt ashamed to say i check the page multiple times a day and giggle when i see updates. this queen both can write smaus and fics and both EAT. not over wolf!toji btw tho that was so heartwrenching and lovely. the smut was top tier and so was the angst. that was the best 20k journey i have been on. first time i read a fic that long in one sitting like ?? v v good

@fushitoru; spiderman!gojo ilysm... lit my fav two fandoms squished together. i cried and laughed and the entire plot was just so amazing kissing ur brain.

@baepsays; this drabble is honestly just so everything like i think ab this too often for my own good...

i just KNOW that there are so many more amazing authors out there, and theres no way i could ever list them all. these are just my recs, and i hope u love them as much as i do !! <33

[macbethsymphony]

CHARLOU!!!!! BB!!!! I'm so glad you're doing this! As you know it's my bday in 2 days! Can I request something small, a drabble or something with my boy? You know the one, the prettiest scientist out there, my beautiful gas giant! THE ONE AND ONLY CAESAR CLOWN!!! Pretty please~ (Again, so fucking proud bb ily)

-M✨

MILLIE!!!!! BB!!! Anything for you my love! I'm a day late but you already knew that! Happy birthday 💕 It... ahem... evolved into a full fic, cause I love you like that. I know you hate y/n so 'little one' it is for you! Barely proofread and finished it high on Nyquil, so forgive the mistakes. Hope you enjoy, you horndog!!!

Choke

Caesar Clown x Female Reader

wc: 3.4k

warnings: NSFW, 18+, MDNI, pure smut, nonexistent plot, handjob, oral, face riding, choking, p in v intercourse, size difference, not proofread, no beta, just good old scientific brilliance and bad decisions

Summary: You knew your taste in men was questionable at best, downright bad most of the time. But Caesar fucking Clown, now that was an all-time low, even for you. Still, how could you resist the pretty scientist? It was truly an impossible task.

You knew your taste in men was questionable at best, downright bad most of the time. But Caesar fucking Clown, now that was an all-time low, even for you. You were willing to acknowledge your shoddy track record, unashamed of it really, but the unequivocal stares of disapproval Nami shot your way every time your eyes traveled to the scientist most definitely stung your ego.

You flipped a page of his research, trying your best to understand the complex jargon neatly written down. It surpassed your knowledge and not only by a small margin. The man was a genius, an overdramatic morally bankrupt asshole too, yes, but a genius nonetheless.

Scientist to scientist, you had to admit you understood the reasoning behind his actions, the incessant red tape of ethics was, after all, often a deterrent to progress. But still… those test subjects… children? You’d never stoop so low.

Or so you liked to think. Maybe you were putting yourself on a moral pedestal. Who knew, you guessed. After all, it was not like your research had ever been important enough for a warlord to hover over you. Who knew to what lengths you’d go to if that’d happen? Though you still hoped you would never go so far.

Your tired stare left the complex equations for a second, looking at the man in question, sitting on the floor next to you. You leaned back in your chair, gaze studying the bored expression on his face.

Despite your better judgment, you couldn’t help but notice how pretty he was in the afternoon sun. The softness of his features was an interesting contrast to his usual boastful condescending smile. It was a rare moment where you could look at him in the eyes. He usually neck-breakingly towered over you. Hell, even sitting at your feet he was still considerably taller than you.

With a sigh, you went back to the incomprehensible data. You didn’t understand shit.

“Caesar.” You swallowed down your pride. “Care to explain this part to me?” You surveyed the deck, noting the incessant activity. “Perhaps away from this circus.”

You watched as he processed your words, his gaze shifting from boredom to mild interest as he considered. Then his manic laughter hit your ears softly.

“What is it?” He asked, cocking his head to the side, condescension thick in his voice. “Too complicated for you, little one?”

Your heart skipped a beat. Skipped a fucking beat.

You suddenly stood. Fucking beautiful bastard. You felt your cheeks heat up slightly at the sight. The way his hair flowed and framed his face, the easy smile on his lips, the amusement in his amber eyes. You quickly hit his head with the papers in your hands in reproach, an impulsive attempt to hide the pink plastering your face.

“You know damn well you’re smarter than I, Caesar Clown,” you shouted over your shoulder as you stomped to the privacy of the aquarium. “Are you coming or not?” You held open the door impatiently.

His laughter redoubled, but nonetheless, he stood up and followed. As he passed you, bending over to pass the doorframe, the floating fabric of his coat brushed against you, sending a shiver you desperately tried to suppress right to your core.

Caesar's towering frame dominated the small room as you headed to the hidden bar at its center. The soft ambient light from the aquarium’s large windows cast a serene glow over the glasses you retrieved, filling them with amber liquid. You downed the contents, letting the alcohol burn its way down your throat, washing away the chaos of your thoughts temporarily. You filled it back up before settling yourself on the banquette.

You observed the scientist as he leaned against the wall, crossing his arms with a smug grin, thinly veiling his excitement. "So, what part of my brilliant work is baffling you?" he asked, his tone dripping with self-satisfaction.

You rolled your eyes, but the corners of your mouth betrayed a hint of a smile. It was cute, how thrilled he was to talk about his research. "This section here," you said, pointing to the page filled with complex equations and chemical notations. "Your derivations seem to assume certain constants that I don't recognize. Care to enlighten me?"

Caesar's grin widened as he sauntered next to you, peering over at the page in your hands. You could sense the heat radiating from his body, he smelled like a laboratory, almost antiseptic. You liked it, it was somehow comforting and it took all your willpower to maintain your composure.

"Ah, I see," he murmured, his voice low and close. The seriousness of his tone surprised you. You’d expected condescending laughter, not an actual answer. It made your heart beat. Fast. You could feel his breath on your skin as he explained. "These constants are unique to the gas properties I've synthesized. They're not something you'd find in standard scientific literature."

You peered up at him, your gaze bright with a million questions. "And why is that? What makes them so special?"

Caesar's eyes sparkled with excitement. "Because, little one, they are the result of my own genius. A proprietary blend of compounds that I alone have perfected."

Despite yourself, you couldn't help but be drawn in by his passion for his work. It was clear that, beneath his arrogant exterior, Caesar was deeply committed to his research. And, in a way, you admired that.

Hours had dragged on, he was still speaking, lost in complex arrays of numbers that no longer meant anything to you. You were barely listening anymore. Hell, who were you kidding, you’d lost track of his explanations ages ago. He was so pretty, the excitement in his eyes made his whole face light up.

You downed the remnants of your glass, trying to come back to reality.

“Say, Caesar, do you like women?” The words left your mouth without your mind registering. Fucking liquid courage. Your heart sank as you awaited his teasing, the unsteady rhythm loud in your ears.

He froze.

Oh.

That was a nice expression on his face. Blushing and wide-eyed. You wondered if it would be the same if you made him cum. Would he whimper and beg as your fingers tightened around his cock? Gods, now you just HAD to know.

“M-me?” He stuttered instinctively slumping to the floor, the chains at his wrists rattling as he pointed to himself.

Your mouth curved into a sly smirk. You leaned forward, then stood up. For once you towered over him. You reached out to his jawline in a fleeting touch, tracing his chin, tilting his face so he looked at you. You stepped closer, feet between his legs, eyes blown by lust as you met his gaze, impulse taking over your very being. You knew this was a shitty idea, but who cared.

“I don’t see anyone else here, Caesar,” you were close now, your breath almost mingling with each other’s. “You can stop me if you want.” Your hand danced lower, his throat bobbing against cool fingers. “I won’t mind.”

But he didn’t stop you.

You placed a chaste kiss against his cheek, then his lips, giving him all the time in the world to oppose.

“What do you say, Caesar?” You cocked your head to the side, inviting him in.

His breath hitched, then his laughter started to nervously echo off the walls, gaining confidence with each chuckle. He leaned into you, his whispery laughter touching your mouth as the glint in his gaze slowly matched your hunger.

Your lips met his once again, silencing him with a yearning you hadn't realized was simmering beneath the surface. His laughter melted into a raspy moan as he responded eagerly, moving against you in a desperate dance of desire. Your tongue dragged along him, teeth sinking into the soft flesh of his lower lip, begging for more.

Your tongues tangled. You lost yourself in the heat of the moment, the taste of him intoxicating, a heady blend of scientific brilliance and bad decisions. Everything about him was massive in comparison to you, he was filling your mouth in ways that were unknown to you. It was nearly overwhelming, and it would be were he not so hesitant.

Your fingers tangled in his hair almost roughly as you leaned into him. The chains at his wrists rattled as his hands went to your waist, gloved digits inching up your shirt. That wouldn’t do. You wanted, no, needed, to feel his skin against yours. You pulled away, lidded gaze tracking the strand of saliva that connected the both of you for a moment.

“So pretty,” you whispered, your hands leaving his hair, traveling down his chest, pushing aside fabric, his coat dropping off of his shoulders, catching at the crease of his elbows. Your hands went to his, still at your side, and brought them to your face. They were so fucking big, long fingers dwarfing your own. You placed a soft kiss to his palm before biting on the tip of his glove and tugging it off.

His gaze never strayed from yours, his pupils blowing larger with each passing moment. You tugged off the second glove and settled them back to where they’d been, flesh finally meeting flesh. It made you want to roll your eyes in satisfaction, melt into him. But gods, you needed more. So much more.

The tips of your fingers slowly teased the hem of your shirt up before discarding it in a quick motion, your bra unashamedly following suit.

You dropped to your knees. You silently cursed the sea stone shackles preventing you from stripping him fully. Your hand traveled up his thigh, fabric bunching as your nails dug in slightly. He gasped, eyes blown with lust as you roamed closer to the extremely obvious tightness in his jumpsuit. Your other hand settled on his heart for a fleeting moment, savoring the subtle beat beneath your palm. Ever so slowly your fingers wrapped against the zipper tab, dragging it down and revealing pale skin.

You looked up at him through your lashes as you traced along his v-line, relishing the shudder in his breath as you palmed his hard-on through his underwear.

“Already so hard?” You teased, inching the elastic of his boxers down, freeing his cock. The hand you had on his thigh went to his hand and guided it to your breast, urging him to pinch and squeeze. “Who knew you were so desperate, Caesar Clown?” You brushed a bead of precum over his tip before wrapping your fingers around him.

Fuck he was big. Your fingers couldn’t close around him. You brought your other hand to his cock, twisting in opposite directions as you worked him up and down tantalizingly slow.

“Fuck,” he moaned, arching his back and bucking his hips in a frantic attempt for more.

The blush on his cheeks, his parted lips, the way his body steadily unraveled beneath your touch, it all sent an intense desire between your legs. You smiled, squeezing a little harder as you traveled to his tip. A whimper escaped him and it tasted sweeter than honey to your ears. His hand dropped from your breast to your waist, then to your thigh and to your core. The tips of his fingers found your soaked underwear, pushing it to the side and meeting your slick.

You felt him trace your slit, the pad of his thumb circling your clit as he entered two fingers into you, pumping in and out slowly. For an instant your eyes rolled to the back of your skull, your breath catching in pleasure. They felt so different from yours, stretching you and reaching to places you couldn’t. Your hands stuttered in their movement.

His laughter touched your ears. “You’re quite desperate yourself, little one,” he stated between two grunts.

You smirked, your attention brought back to him. The cheeky bastard. You picked a faster pace, each stroke precise as you sought to make him eat his words.

He broke into a wanton moan, his fingers stopping inside of you at the overwhelming sensation. Your hips rolled in tandem, instinctively searching for your own release. It wasn’t enough to get you off but the way your clit grazed on his palm, smearing arousal all over his hand made your breath shudder along his.

“So good for me.” You brushed against his tip, gathering more precum still leaking from him, coating him, your palms slick as you continued with more fervor.

His hips thrust up, trying to match your pace, mewls and incomprehensible begs escaping his lips. His body convulsed as he came, thick ropes of cum spilling onto his abdomen. You didn’t stop, maintaining the strokes up and down his cock, prolonging his orgasm. One of your hands left him to rejoin his hand at your core, increasing the pressure of his palm against your clit as you rutted against him.

He was still in his high as you bent down, slowly licking the cum from his stomach, hips rolling against his hand, fucking yourself shamelessly. “You’re unusually silent, Caesar,” you said as you moved up, cleaning ever so thoroughly, cum salty on your tongue. “Who knew it was this easy to shut you up.”

It seemed to flip a switch in him as he finally came back to reality. His fingers picked up their work, his laughter strong as he rejoiced in the needy mewls escaping your lips. You didn’t mind, if it brought him the illusion of control, you’d let him indulge.

He was so big, and while you were already dripping you’d need to be wetter for this to work. You eyed the way his mouth twisted into a condescending smile, your walls twitching around his fingers at the sight. “Is that pretty mouth of yours good at something other than explaining your research?” You hinted none too subtly at what you wanted.

His laughter became manic at your suggestion. His tongue passed his lips and you mewled and bucked against him, desperately trying to chase your high. Two of your fingers joined his inside you, the stretch so divine that your other hand shot to his chest, nails digging into him looking for purchase.

“Why don’t you explain to me exactly what you want, little one.” He increased the pressure against your clit, fingers inside you working in a come-hither motion. You were so fucking close. You pushed against his chest, instructing him to lie down and he did, leaning back unto his elbow.

“I want your tongue, Caesar,” you panted, your vision feeling blown out from pleasure. “I want your face between my thighs as I ride that clever tongue of yours.”

The speed of his thumb against the bundle of nerves increased as he felt the rhythm of your hips stutter. “Is that all you want? How about you come on my fingers first, little one, then I’ll drink from that pretty cunt of yours.”

Oh gods, that sounded heavenly. You hadn’t expected such words out of him, his hesitation entirely gone. Your hand left his at your core, plastering itself on your mouth in an attempt to muffle the moans escaping you.

“Please,” you begged ever so close, hips stuttering. He laughed, the sound sending you over the edge. Your body went taut as you came, thighs closing tightly around his hand.

His fingers left your heat when it became too much. You looked at him as he picked you up by the waist, dragging you close to his face as he settled himself down on the wooden floor.

You took him on the invitation, quickly discarding your ruined panties to the side and straddling him, grip tangling in his hair as you eagerly awaited the feeling of his mouth. The metal of his cuffs was cold against your flushed skin as he wrapped his hands around your thighs, your skirt rising to your waist as he lowered you slowly to him.

His tongue circled your clit leisurely at first, the sensation slightly too sharp after your orgasm. Then his lips enveloped the bundle of nerves and he began to suck and the moan that you let out was so loud that you prayed that everyone on board was well and asleep in their bunks by now. Your hands shifted, looking for balance as your thighs trembled, fingers gripping the base of his horns.

The moan he let out at the sensation was just as loud and depraved as yours. You heard his hips buck into nothing as you started fucking his face brashly. His tongue darted in you and you felt so full. You hadn’t realized it was so long and thick. He was hitting all the right places, drinking you in desperately. His nose caught on your clit and your thighs instinctively sought to close at the overstimulation, but his hands held you steady and he redoubled his pace.

Everything seemed shaky and blurry around you, your breathing uneven and struggling between the mewls and begging flowing out of your lips.

“Caesar,” you chanted, your eyes rolling at the back of your head. Your toes curled as your high approached dangerously. “I’m going to come, please.”

And you came. Hard. He continued to lick and suck as your vision filled with white and you cried in ecstasy. As the movements of his tongue bordered into overstimulation you backed away, sitting on his heaving chest, his own pants matching yours.

Your gazes met and you smiled, satisfaction clear on your expression. “Are you going to be a good boy and let me fuck you, Caesar?” You asked, shifting down slowly. You grabbed his cock, lining yourself to him. His lips parted in a shaky exhale, thick with anticipation. “Caesar?” You demanded again when he didn’t answer.

“Gods, yes, little one,” he breathed out in a shaking voice.

You smirked, lowering yourself, the tip of his cock stretching you out. “So good,” you whimpered, your head rolling back, taking him further and further.

His hips twitched, and you pressed down on him, stopping the movement and giving him a warning look. “Be patient for me, Caesar,” you moaned as his hands found your thighs, nails digging into plush flesh in restraint.

He was so big, the stretch was almost painful but the ecstasy of having him sheathed inside you was addictive. “Fuck, Caesar,” you mewled as you rolled you hips. “I wish those shackles were off.” You found a steady rhythm, pace quickening in search of rapture. “I bet you could control so much, control the oxygen around,” you stuttered in pleasure. “Choke me just enough as you’d fuck me good, hm?”

He groaned at the idea, his moans matching yours, the heat in his gaze blazing hot at the words spilling out of your mouth. He brought his hands to your throat, answering your desperate pleas. He was speechless as he watched you fuck yourself on his cock, the sight divine as his fingers tightened perfectly around you.

You keened and mewled, lightheaded and oh so close to your release.

So good.

It was so fucking good.

“That’s right, little one,” you heard him encourage you through the curtains of pleasure dominating your mind. His hips met yours, chasing his own pleasure.

Your walls twitched around him and you sobbed out him name, tears staining your flushed cheeks as you came around him. The world was slowly disappearing, darkness on the edge of your vision as rapture took over your very being.

You distantly felt him come inside you, thick hot spurts against your womb. His thrusts became shallow and his hold on you slackened, letting you fall over his chest, damp skin meeting damp skin.

It took you a while to come back to reality, the steady rhythm of his heart almost bringing you to slumber. You slowly shifted, hot seed dripping down your thigh but his arms wrapped around you and brought you back against him.

You giggled, feeling giddy as his fingers gently traced the curve of your spine. His laughter mixed with yours and all seemed perfect in that moment.

Fuck that was good. You thanked the gods above that you had quite the voyage before you. There was no way you could ever get enough of this.

Masterlist

[matt-murdockk]

Killshot

series | ongoing matt murdock x avenger!reader (technically matt murdock x black widow!reader)

Synopsis

After God knows how long of running, fighting, and a whole lot of winning, you had put down your mantle once and for all as the only other resident black widow of the Avengers. It was time for change, for peace, solitude, and tranquillity. At least, that's what you thought until you moved to Hell's Kitchen (out of all places). Boy, this place was a mess.

Back story

While Natasha was the face of the operation more often than not, you'd operate in the shadows. Your cover was intact for years, and still is, actually, except for a select few who have had the privilege of finding out your real name and actually getting to know the real you. Some of them, naturally, were your colleagues turned friends turned almost family— the Avengers, along with some other people who stumbled upon your identity, much to your chagrin. All things considered, when the dust had finally settled in on the aftermath of the consequences of the fight with Thanos, having lost Tony and Nat, you needed a fresh start. You decided that the time had come to say goodbye to that life, that it was time to finally settle down, for real this time, not for an undercover op, posing as a family, or for a covert surveillance mission, no, this was all real. The time had come to let go of Killshot.

Interview with Killshot — The BB Report

Never really liked that name— Killshot. So negative, you know? Sure, it sounds cool, you'd think, but what's so cool about taking the lives of horrifyingly bad people who deserve what's coming and looking very awesome doing it? Wait, you know what? I kinda see the appeal now. Too late to contemplate anyway, I don't go by that name anymore. I'm just regular ol' Shot now. No Kill. That's a horrible name, I'm so sorry, my actual, real, legal name is (Y/n) (Y/l/n). That's what it says on my birth certificate and other government documents that are definitely not forged because who would do something like that, yikes. People call this city all kinds of things. The Big Apple, the City That Never Sleeps, Empire City, the City of Love and whatnot. What's that? The last one is Paris? Ah, okay. The point is, this is the city where anyone can be anything. That's Zootopia? Oh, fuck off. Never mind. What I'm trying to say is, New York forgives. She accepts you with open arms regardless of all the skeletons in your closet. And god knows that I have plenty of. This city is probably my one chance to finally experience an ounce of normalcy in life. With no one waiting to take me out when I come home. As in, kill me. Not, like a date, or anything. That I'm very open to, actually. Extremely dry love life. You get it. Why Hell's Kitchen? Cheap rent. Avenging has a surprisingly low pay if you don't do endorsements. I made it clear to Fury, I don't care about S.H.I.E.L.D's CSR, I am not doing one of those PSA videos. Ew. What next? I've always loved bookstores. Real peaceful, cozy, you know? One of the last places you'd expect to get jumped. Just, really great, all things considered, I'd say. I think I want to run a bookstore.

a/n: Alright, so I realize that this is very confusing and all over the place so I'll explain a tiny bit. I'm starting a new series, Matt x black widow!reader. Reader's Avenger name is Killshot, and well the synopsis and back story cover most of her plot until where I'm planning to start the series. The Interview with BB Report is simply a fun thing I wrote for no reason, a little get-to-know Killshot thing, it is NOT CANON in the Killshot au, it's just a little something for us. Enjoy!