I have seen a lot of only anime fans (and even some manga readers, too) complain that Gon overreacted with Kite's death. They claim that Gon barely knew him, and it just came out of nowhere. Now, as a HxH fan who watched the anime first, then read the manga, I have to say that I'm not someone who thought Gon overreacted when I first watched the show. But I didn't understand the extent of Kite's true importance to Gons' character. It makes much more sense, and it is better storytelling overall even if the anime wasn't necessarily terrible either. After reading the manga for the first time, I have to say that Kite was done dirty in the anime and, to a lesser degree, Gon as well.
You see, Kite is the entire reason why Gon wants to become a hunter and meet his dad. In the anime, Gon seems to be oddly obsessed with Ging, and he is to an extent in the manga, but only because he admires Kite so much. He admires him so much that that admiration extends to Ging. Because Kite admires him so. I mean, it's only natural, right? Gon knew nothing about his parents, then one day he got saved by this random man and found out about hunters and that his dad is one of the best. Almost everyone that Gon has met who knows about Ging only says good things about him, except for Mito. So, of course, Gon is going to have some idealized version of Ging.
The anime does such a disservice to Kite and Gons relationship. They do not include Kite telling him about hunters and about his dad even though that was the entire reason why Gon went on a journey, they didn't even include Kite in the first episode, which is one of the worst decision the anime made. I guess Gon just already knows that information from Mito? I guess that means she didn't lie to him about Ging? Also the anime completely fucks up the reunion between the two. Gon never forgot about Kite and the same thing with Kite. Gon talks about Kite multiple times throughout the story, so we see how much Kite means to Gon. Kite changed his life, quite literally changed his life. And you don't get that feeling in the anime. That's one reason why his death broke Gon mentally.
Let's also bring up that Gon and Killua didn't travel with Kite for only a couple of days. It was months. 2-3 months, I believe. That's actually a lot of time to get to know someone, especially if you're traveling around.
Another reason that his death hit hard for Gon is that Kite saved Gons life twice. Once from the foxbear mother and then later from Pitou. So because of that, Gon copes with this terribly. He feels completely helpless, and he blames himself because of it. He can't do anything, and that bothers him because he was the one who was supposed to save Kite, but he failed. That also means he failed Ging. And because of all this that's happening, Gon literally becomes suicidal.
Now, we don't get much of Gons' internal monolog during the CAA, but I also interpreted his frustration with his failure to save Kite as him disappointing everyone else and himself, of course. Like Gon felt like he wasn't worthy to the people around him and that they may even leave him because of how weak he is. Because almost everyone in his life prioritized strength. And if my interpretation does get confirmed to be true later when Gon returns, then Killua and Gons separation would be even sadder because his fear would've come true. Do y'all even understand what I'm trying to say? I don't even know if I'm making sense at this point. This is why Gon is my favorite character of all time. He is so interesting and is actually so complex.
Anyways, I'm trying to explain how Kite is one of the most important person in Gons life, and people downplay it to make Gon seem like he's a crazy person when in reality he is a child who is experiencing grief for the first time. Gon was 100% valid for feeling the way he felt.
Man, this post was a bit of a mess, but I had so many thoughts about Kites' importance, so I'm sorry if this was hard to understand.
hi can someone genuinely write a fratjo! fic where were just rejecting him beceuse we genuinly think he has stds and he gets butthurt end it however you want i just wanna read a line like “no you probably have 12 stds” aka i guess you could say prude reader x fratjo
Summary: A high achieving student at TokyoTech whose grades start slipping in her physics class: PHYS 341 - Quantum Mechanics & Field Theory. After receiving a C on her latest exam, she reaches out to Satoru Gojo on a peer tutoring website to have him as her tutor.
A/N: Hi guys! This is kinda written for self indulgence because I'm a STEM student who almost just died from taking a bunch of physics classes. But if you like nerdjo the way I do, you'll probably enjoy this too. Just a note--this isn't proofread, revised, etc... I just spat this out for 2 nights at midnight on a Google Doc and called it good. Word count for this is roughly 4.4k. Also, I don't plan to make this a super long series but I am having so much fun being back on Tumblr and back to writing. I love you all so much and thank you for all the support when I was gone!
Love,
Still. (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)
“Holy fuck, I seriously think I failed that last exam.” One of your friends, Jane, complained to you while you two walked campus together, leaving the physics lecture hall with a collective, unspoken sense of anticipation for a big, fat F. You could feel a heavy weight pounding in your eyes after spending the last two hours staring blankly at that blaring white screen doused with evil little formulas you’d grown only vaguely familiar with. At one point, you stared for so long that they morphed into some ancient language you couldn't decipher—and even you, the perfectionist, had eventually just given up.
Being the overachiever you were, the moment you graduated high school you applied to TokyoTech—one of the most prestigious universities not only in Japan, but globally—and set yourself on the trajectory of one of the hardest majors known to man. Astrophysics. You thought it would be fun. Japan, new people, some semblance of independence. But instead of spending your nights underneath attractive men with powerful abs and sweet alcoholic beverages, you spent them underneath a blank ceiling with dangerously caffeinated cans of literal death, staring at absolute nonsense on your laptop screen—which might as well have been your boyfriend at this point, given how many tears it had witnessed.
"What the fuck is quantum field theory, why did the professor never once mention it, and why did I decide to take this stupid class," you groaned, dragging a hand down your face like it might restore some sense of being back into your body. It didn't. Your soul was already halfway out the door. You always did this to yourself, tortured yourself with the heaviest concepts in the world and then complained about it, knowing full well it had been entirely your choice.
“I don’t know, something about particles?”
“Everything in physics is about particles…”
"Oh. Yeah." Your friend laughed softly as you reached her bus stop. "I'll just study from the textbook for four hours. Again." She paused, then lit up. "After I find myself a hot tutor!"
You scoffed. She would do absolutely jack shit with an attractive tutor and you both knew it. She was the type to spend an entire lecture doodling in the margins and calling it multitasking, saying something about how doodling actually increases focus.
"We don't have hot tutors here," you said flatly, already pulling out your phone to find a tutoring service like a functioning adult who needed desperate help. "We have nerdy, scrawny losers who think they're better than everyone else."
“Nerdy, scrawny, hot losers who think they’re better than everyone else. Once I cop one, I’m never gonna live it down!” she exclaimed before getting onto the bus. You responded with a half-hearted, tired sigh, waving goodbye to her as the doors closed shut.
Tonight was going to be a long, long night.
Back in your dorm room, you cracked open those thick textbooks that contained nothing short of the devil's own scripture, lined up a small army of energy cans on your desk, and got to work. You read. You studied. You watched YouTube videos sped up. You worked through practice problems that were unreasonably, deliberately, almost personally lengthy and complicated and when you finally checked your answers against the key, your stomach dropped.
You tallied what you got right against what you got wrong twice, just to be sure. Then you circled the number at the bottom of the page and leaned back in your chair.
68%.
That’s a C.
Barely passing.
You stared at that circled number for a long, long time.
It stared back at you, unapologetic, almost smug. Like it knew exactly what it was doing to your GPA, to your ego, to the carefully constructed image of yourself that you'd been maintaining since the third grade. You had never—never—gotten anything below a B+ in your entire academic career and even that had felt like a personal failing. This? This was a war crime.
Your throat tightened in that specific, humiliating way that meant your body had decided it was going to be dramatic about this whether you cooperated or not. You pressed your lips together. Blinked once. Twice. You tried to hold it back, you really did. But you were sleep deprived, running on cheap energy instead of actual sleep and actual hearty meals. You felt your lips press hard enough it almost hurt. No, it did hurt.
Nope.
Your eyes welled up anyway, hot and completely unwelcome, and you hated yourself a little for it because it was physics, it was one practice test, it was not—objectively speaking—worth the single tear that escaped down your cheek before you could stop it. And then another. And then, against every instinct you had, you were fully, genuinely crying at your desk at whatever ungodly hour this was, textbook still open in front of you, a half-empty energy can sweating onto your notes.
You weren't even sad, exactly. You were tired. Tired and frustrated and a little bit scared, because you had worked so hard to get here. To this school, this major, this version of yourself, and the idea that it might just be too much, that you might have finally reached the ceiling of what sheer stubbornness could carry you through, was not something you were remotely prepared to sit with. So you cried about it for approximately four minutes, decided that was enough, wiped your face with the sleeve of your hoodie, and got back to studying.
You were fine. Completely fine. But before you got back to the actual work, your phone buzzed on the desk.
jane: how'd the practice problems go!!!
You looked at the text. You looked at the circled 68%. You looked back at the text.
you: fine, i think i'm getting it.
A lie. A bold, blatant, completely unhinged lie that you almost believed yourself.
Almost.
Because here was the thing about studying for six hours straight. At a certain point, your brain stopped absorbing information and started simply performing the idea of learning. You'd watched four YouTube videos, reread the same chapter three times, filled half a notebook with formulas you couldn't quite explain but could write very confidently, and somewhere around hour five you had tipped over into a kind of delirious, caffeinated peace. A false summit. You thought you understood quantum field theory. You thought you were fine.
You were not fine. You were actually the furthest thing from fine. Not only did you not fully understand the content, you were actively losing sleep and energy for tomorrow’s lecture.
jane: ok but just in case. i found this tutoring site and there's literally a guy on here who looks like he was sculpted by god himself. like. y/n. Y/N.
jane: [link]
you: dude i do not need a fucking male pornstar as my physics tutor jane
jane: more for me!
you: goodnight.
You let the notification sit there unread, closed your textbook with the quiet, dignified composure of someone who had everything completely under control, and went to bed.
The next day, your professor handed back the graded exams with the kind of casual indifference that only someone who had never emotionally suffered could manage. You watched the paper slide onto your desk face-down and felt your stomach do something unpleasant. You were absolutely petrified. If you had gotten a 68% doing a practice test with that much effort last night, what could your score possibly be if you had given up halfway through the exam when you were actually testing?
You flipped the paper over anyway.
A 71%.
A C.
A literal, whopping, C.
You sat with that for a moment. Counted to five. Stared at the red ink like it might rearrange itself into something more acceptable if you gave it enough time. It didn't. You looked through every single page, every single sentence, every single mark, staring, reading, looking back at the professor every now and then like you were trying to shoot bullets through their head. You could already feel your guts twisting at the mere idea of your GPA shooting down after this term if you didn’t pick up the score. You grabbed your phone, decisively but impulsively opened your messages with Jane, and finally tapped the link she had sent you the night before.
Fine.
Fine.
A tutor it was.
You walked out of that lecture hall with the energy of someone who had just received genuinely life-altering news, which, to be fair, you had. You were a smart girl. A smart, high achieving girl! It was absolutely ridiculous and unfathomable that you had ever gotten a C on any sort of exam, whether it was stupid marketing or PhD level physics! A C?! A C. You had gotten a C on an exam at one of the most prestigious universities in the world and you had to just walk around with that information in your body like a normal person. Like it wasn't actively rotting you from the inside out.
You found a bench outside, dropped onto it unceremoniously, and opened the link Jane had sent.
TokyoTech Peer Tutoring — Find Your Match.
The site was clean enough. Filter by subject, by availability, by rating. You tapped Physics without letting yourself think too hard about it, because if you thought too hard about it you were going to talk yourself out of it again and end up back at your desk at 2am crying into an energy can, and you simply could not do that twice. It was embarrassing enough crying alone in your room every night over physics, it was worse that there was a possibility that would happen tonight again.
A handful of profiles loaded.
You scrolled past the first one. Then the second. They were fine—perfectly capable looking, good ratings, available on weekdays. Normal. Exactly what you had described to Jane: nerdy, harmless, nonthreatening to your ego in every way.
You stared at the profile picture for a second longer than was strictly necessary. Jane had not been exaggerating, which was annoying, because Jane always exaggerated and you had built your entire rejection of this plan on the assumption that she had been exaggerating. He was– okay. Fine. Objectively, empirically, he was unfairly good looking. White hair, sharp jaw, the kind of easy, unbothered smile that belonged on someone who had never once stressed about an exam in his life. Round glasses that should have looked awkward and somehow didn't.
You scrolled down to his reviews.
"Explained three weeks of content in one session, actually insane."
"I went from failing to a 91 on my final. I don't know how he does it but he does it."
"Weirdly funny for a physics tutor. Came for the grade, stayed for the bit."
You chewed the inside of your cheek.
This was fine. This was a completely normal, practical, academically motivated decision. You were not choosing him because Jane had sent you his profile with five separate Y/N's in caps lock. You were choosing him because he had a perfect rating and forty-seven reviews and you desperately, humiliatingly needed help. Not because his smile was deathly charming.
You clicked Request a Session before you could change your mind.
You typed the message out three times before you sent it.
you: Hello, my name is Y/N. I found your profile on the TokyoTech tutoring site. I'm currently enrolled in PHYS 341 (Quantum Mechanics & Field Theory) and I'm looking for consistent tutoring sessions. Are you available, and if so, what does your schedule look like?
You reread it once. Professional. Concise. Completely normal and not at all the message of someone who had cried at their desk four days ago over a practice test score. But for some reason your cheeks were burning and your throat was tightening. You have never, and I mean, never asked for help before. This was weird. This was unreal. You hated your brain for not having the intelligence of Einstein right about now.
You hit send.
His response came maybe four minutes later. Not that you were counting. (You were).
gojo: Oh yeah, PHYS 341. Good class. I can do that
gojo: My availability is pretty open—Tuesdays and Thursdays after 4, Saturdays before noon if you need extra time. Library study rooms are easiest for me, third floor
gojo: How often are you thinking
You stared at the texts for a second. No punctuation. Completely unbothered. The academic equivalent of someone showing up to a job interview in a t-shirt and still getting hired on the spot. But you liked it. It was easy, simple, and made you feel a little bit less nervous.
you: Twice a week would be ideal. Tuesdays and Thursdays work for me. How’s 4:30?
gojo: Sure. See you Tuesday, Y/N
And that was it. No "looking forward to it," no formalities, no nothing. Just sure and your name typed out like he'd already filed you somewhere in his brain under handled.
You locked your phone and stared at the wall for a second.
This was going to be interesting. No, this was going to be fucking horrendous.
Tuesday arrived faster than you would have liked.
You had exactly one hour before you had to be on the third floor of the library and you were spending it doing what any reasonable, well-adjusted person would do—standing in the middle of your dorm room holding a highlighter you hadn't put down in ten minutes, staring at nothing.
You were overthinking. You knew you were overthinking. Knowing did not stop you from overthinking.
What if he's an asshole?
Some people were like that. Brilliant and completely insufferable about it, the type to sigh at your questions like the mere act of not knowing something was a personal offense. You'd met the type before. You had survived the type before. But this was different. Technically, you were vulnerable. You were in the mercy of their hands. If someone had treated you like some sort of idiot liability, you’d simply crumble and remove yourself from existence.
What if he thinks I'm stupid?
You set the highlighter down. Picked it back up.
I mean. You weren't stupid. That was a fact. You had graduated top of your class, you had gotten into TokyoTech, you had maintained a GPA that most people would have wept over and called it a victory. You were not stupid. You were simply—temporarily—struggling with one very specific, very evil subset of theoretical physics that had been designed, you were now convinced, specifically to humble people like you.
But if you were so smart, you wouldn't have barely passed that exam.
You put the highlighter down again.
Okay but that's different. That's one exam. That doesn't define—
A 71, Y/N.
A literal C.
You picked the highlighter back up.
Okay. Fine. So maybe you needed a little help. That didn't mean anything. Plenty of smart people asked for help. Asking for help was actually the intelligent thing to do, which meant that by getting a tutor you were, in fact, proving how smart you were. Just not to your professor and to a tall, white haired nerd that you knew nothing about. That was just logic.
You nodded to yourself in the mirror. Okay. You were smart. You were capable. And if Gojo Satoru showed up and had even a single ounce of condescension in his body, you would collect your things, your dignity, and your highlighters and leave without a second thought because you did not need–
You thought about the 2am crying. The energy can sweating onto your notes. The red ink on that exam paper that had just sat there, unbothered, while your GPA quietly threatened to deteriorate.
You exhaled slowly through your nose.
Okay. Fine. You'd give him a chance.
You stuffed your textbook into your bag, grabbed three different colored highlighters because you simply were not capable of going anywhere with just one, and headed for the door.
You were smart. You were prepared. You were absolutely not nervous.
You were a little nervous.
The third floor of the library was quiet in that specific, sacred way that academic spaces got on weekday afternoons. The sun was starting to dip outside the tall windows, bleeding warm amber and gold across the floors in long, lazy streaks beneath the green of the trees. The lamps on each table were already on, casting everything in that soft, honey-toned light that made even textbooks look romantic. It smelled like old paper and something faintly woody, the kind of smell that had no business being as comforting as it was. A few students were scattered across the room, heads down, unbothered. The occasional turn of a page. The distant tap of a keyboard.
You found him immediately, sitting alone at a desk as he adjusted a textbook.
Which was—okay. That was not what you had prepared for.
He was already set up at one of the larger tables near the window, textbook open, a neat stack of papers beside it, pen in hand like he'd been there long enough to already be doing something productive. His white hair caught the light in a way that felt almost deliberate, slightly messy in that aggravating way that took either zero effort or enormous effort and you genuinely could not tell which. The glasses were there—just like the profile picture — except somehow worse in person, sitting low on his nose while he looked down at whatever he was writing.
And the shirt.
The shirt was a Digimon shirt. A Digimon shirt. Worn soft at the edges, short sleeved, and fitting him in a way that should have been completely at odds with the textbook and the problem sets and the studious little setup he had going. The fabric pulled just enough across his biceps that it felt almost inconsiderate. His arms were delicately pale, the kind of pale that looked almost luminous under warm lamplight, and he had the sort of forearms that had absolutely no business being visible in a library setting, the thick, lean muscle rippling as he held a thick textbook with ease. Veins ran along his biceps beneath his skin in faint, lazy lines that disappeared beneath his rolled up sleeve, and he had one hand wrapped loosely around his pen and the whole thing was just—it was a lot. For a Tuesday. For a physics tutoring session. For a Digimon shirt.
You had maybe two seconds to process all of this before he looked up.
Direct eye contact. Immediate, unhesitating, like he'd felt you walk in before he'd seen you.
For a moment he just looked at you. Nothing strange about it, nothing overdone, just a fraction of a second where something shifted behind those glasses and he sat up a little straighter without seeming to realize he'd done it.
You crossed the room anyway because you were a functioning adult and you had a GPA to save.
"Hi," you said, stopping at the edge of the table. "I'm Y/N."
Something moved across his face; a quick, almost imperceptible recalibration, like two things he hadn't expected to be related had just suddenly connected. His eyes flicked to your bag, your textbook poking out of the top, and then back up to you.
"Oh," he said. And then, like he was catching up with himself in real time, "You're Y/N."
"...Yes."
"Right." He straightened up properly now, blinking once, and then this smile broke across his face. Easy and a little crooked and entirely too natural for someone who had just been visibly caught off guard. He extended a hand across the table. "Gojo. Satoru Gojo. Sorry, I just–you didn't have a picture. On the profile."
"Oh, yeah. I'm aware."
"Right. Yeah. Obviously." He laughed quietly at himself, just once, and gestured to the seat across from him. "Sit down, sit down. I've got the problem sets ready."
You sat. You placed your textbook on the table with the careful, composed energy of someone who was absolutely not internally screaming.
He was already uncapping his pen, pulling a sheet toward you, back to business like that little moment hadn't just happened. Like he hadn't just been cute about it, accidentally, without even trying.
What the fuck, you thought very privately.
Fifteen minutes in, you had decided that Gojo Satoru was, at the very least, not an asshole.
He'd started simple. Handed you a short diagnostic test, told you to just do what you could, no pressure, which you had taken as a personal challenge and attacked with the full force of someone who had something to prove. You finished in eleven minutes. You even let yourself revise over your work entirely, your eyes rapidly skimming over every single detail and answer. You handed it back. He looked it over with the kind of quiet, unhurried focus that made you feel like you were being read rather than graded, pen tracing absently down the page. Despite the lack of tension and judgment he was offering, you couldn’t be more horrified of what he was about to possibly say or mention.
Then he set it down and looked at you over the rim of his glasses.
"Okay," he said. "79."
"That's–okay, that’s…not horrible," you shrugged.
"It's not bad," he agreed, in a tone that meant and also it's not good, which you appreciated and resented equally. He tapped the pen against a specific cluster of questions near the bottom of the page. "Your math is fine. Your foundational stuff is mostly there. It's the conceptual framework where things are falling apart." He slid the paper back toward you and pointed. "Can you tell me what a quantum state actually is? Not the formula. Just—what is it."
You opened your mouth.
You closed it.
Quantum state? It’s fundamental. Well, of course it is. Everything in physics is “fundamental”, Y/N. Think harder. Your mind drifted to the YouTube videos, the textbook definitions, the notes.
You don’t remember ever actually writing or watching anything about quantum state. What the fuck was a quantum state?
"It's..." you started. "It's the... the state. Of a quantum. System."
Gojo looked at you.
You looked back at him, your cheeks flushing all rosy, your lips pressing like you knew you just fucked up. Because you did.
"That's circular," he said, not unkindly.
"I know," you said, with great suffering.
He moved to the next one. "Okay. Wave function collapse—what's physically happening? In your own words."
Your own words. Your own words were, at this particular moment, completely failing you. You knew this. You had read about wave function collapse. You had watched a twenty minute YouTube video about wave function collapse at 1am and felt briefly enlightened about wave function collapse. And yet, sitting here under the warm lamplight with Gojo Satoru looking at you with that patient, unhurried expression, with those painfully gorgeous blue eyes–which by the way, how was that color of blue even possible–anyway, every single thing you thought you knew about wave function collapse evacuated your brain entirely.
The silence stretched approximately three seconds too long.
And then something in you just—cracked. Because you’ve never felt more humiliated in your life that you couldn’t do something, let alone in front of another student at this school.
"Okay," you said, and your voice came out slightly higher than intended. "Okay, I—I don't know. I genuinely don't know, okay? And I know that's bad, I know that's bad, I just—" you pressed your fingers to your temple— "I got a 68% on the practice test I took two nights ago and a 71% on the actual exam and I have maintained a perfect GPA since I was literally like, eight years old and I cannot believe that this is the class that's going to be my villain origin story because I always thought this would come easy to me the way everything else did,"
"Hey—"
"—and I watched four YouTube videos, I reread the chapter, I did the practice problems, and I still barely passed, which means either I am not as smart as I thought I was or quantum mechanics is genuinely broken as a field and either way I'm the one suffering, and so are you because I am so stupid—"
"Y/N—""—and I'm so, so, so, so sorry, I know you probably think I'm an idiot, you probably took one look at that diagnostic and thought oh great, another student who doesn't know anything, and honestly? Fair. Completely fair. I don't blame you. I actually don’t blame you at all if you hate me already. I don't know anything. I got a 71% on an exam at TokyoTech and I have to just live with that and apparently also tell a stranger about it—"
"Hey." His voice was calm. Not sharp, not loud, just steady enough to actually cut through. You stopped.
Looked at him.
He was leaning forward slightly, elbow on the table, and he had this expression on his face that you couldn't quite categorize. Not pity. Not judgment. Something softer than both, which also terrified you, but it held just the faintest trace of amusement at the corners of his mouth that he was very clearly trying to keep in check.
"I don't think you're an idiot," he said.
"I don't say things I don't mean." He tapped the diagnostic with one finger. "You got a 79% on that cold, no prep, first session. Your problem isn't that you're not smart. Your problem is that you've been memorizing without understanding." He tilted his head slightly. "There's a difference."
You stared at him.
He stared back, perfectly unbothered, waiting.
"...okay," you said quietly, your voice shrinking into a lenient, open-minded sort of way that told him you were shy about actually having him help you. But it was fine. He thought it was cute. He thought it was charming.
"Okay." He uncapped his pen. "So let's fix it."
And somewhere in the back of his mind, in a place he absolutely was not going to examine right now, Gojo Satoru made a small, private note that you were–when flustered—incredibly adorable.
He did not write that down on the problem set.
He refocused. Professionally.
"Wave function collapse," he said. "From the top."
It was a normal, summer evening. Megumi had stayed after class to cleanup the classroom since it was his role. The shimmering streaks of gold illuminate the class gently while he silently cleans until his work is done. The school is quiet. Crisp air fills the ground as soft footsteps patters out the classroom. 'click' the door shuts. He then walks to his locker to take home a few things but that was when he stopped at the corner. It's Your voice. It's 3:25, why is she still here?
Megumi had intended to meetup with you after he had finished cleaning up his class and had told you not to wait for him but there you are. But you weren't waiting. You were speaking to another guy.
"Yes! There's a 7-11 just a 5 minute walk from here and they actually have delicious and cheap food." you say kindly. The guy nods, looking down at you.
"Well, would you like to come?" he asks calmly but you shake your head.
"Ah, sorry but I actually have plans with my boyfriend.. Megumi!" you say happily. You look around, knowing he should'e finished by now. "He should be here any minute.." you mumble to yourself, not meaning to say it aloud. The corner of your eye then catches a slight shadow, which makes you turn around and see your boyfriend, Megumi. "Hi gumi!" you say happily, and you run up to him but he avoids you which was like a rough claw to your soft heart.
You follow behind him, as he walks at a faster pace.
"Gumi?" you call out to him but he continues walking. "Gumi what did I do?" you felt stressed. He had that frown on his face. Not his usual deadpan look but the one when he's mad? Upset? You couldn't put your finger on it.
You followed him all the way to his dorm and right when you were about to enter, he slams the door shut right in front of you. You were so confused. You've been looking forward to this sleepover all week just for it to end like this? You stand at his door for a good 5 minutes until you let out a cry.
On the other side, Megumi was standing there. He couldn't believe himself that he had shut the door in your face. The one thing he valued so much, his precious girl. Just for him to treat you like this. He was about to walk back into his room, thinking you'd probabaly left until your silent sniffle brought him out of his thoughts. His chest dropped. The person he loves and shares intimacy with is upset. because of him. He wants to open the door, but he wasn't able to get himself to do it. Until he heard another cry as his body started moving automatically. He opens the door swiftly and hugs you.
"I'm sorry." he mumbles into the top of your head, trying to bring you into his dorm but you stood there, now loudly crying into his chest. Your cries were muffled. You felt so upset and confused while Megumi felt disappointed. Not in you. In himself.
"Gumi why did you?" your voice trembles as you were crying, he lifts you up and brings you to his bed so you were in a comfortable position.
"I'm so sorry." he tells you, feeling ashamed. "I was upset. Upset you talked to another guy like that and.. and I told you not to wait for me." he says, slightly annoyed as he tries to wipe off the river of tears streaming down your face.
"I-I was just trying to be nice and i wanted to walk with you!" you justify yourself, continuing to cry. Your feelings had been hurt deeply.
"Shhhh." he says calmly. "I know.." he lets you cry into his chest while he pats your head softly.
౨ৎ ⋆｡˚
Eventually, the both of you makeup quietly. You end-up in his hoodie, snuggled under his blankets and resting on his chest while the both of you watch some cartoons. He had been patting your head soothingly for god knows how long but he had definitely learnt from this situation; That he hates to be the reason you're upset.
Being a girl is: wanting to go to bed early but deciding to just get on tumblr/wattpad/Ao3 for a little bit and then end up finding a fic series that you really like and read until well past your usual bedtime then keeping on because it’s already past your bedtime. Then being mad when you wake up in the morning because you overslept your timer.
pairing: vampire!gojo x fem!human!reader
summary: when you receive an offer of marriage from a mysterious wealthy lord, it’s too good a deal for your family to turn down. but nothing could be so perfect... right?
content: MDNI (18+ ONLY), dark content, nsfw, gets dubcon/noncon in some spots, yandere behavior from gojo, implied death/k*lling of a character (not reader or gojo), arranged marriage, victorian au, plot that ends with porn lmao, spooky dooky vibes, blood, blood sucking/eating, praise, biting, unprotected sex, creampie, virgin!reader, discussion of virginity, cherry popping, pain, pet names (princess/love), reader is highkey clueless about sex, discussion of masturbation, ideas of masturbation as “sinful”, very minor religious themes, fated “mates”, gojo is highkey insane, coercion and manipulation, like SO much neck kissing, ooc gojo??? (had to alter his character to match a victorian vampire lord LMAO).
a/n: PLEASE READ THE CONTENT WARNINGS. THERE IS DARK CONTENT AHEAD. is this a gojo fic or a twilight fic?? Going back to my roots fr fr. straight down to the “SAY IT, SAY IT”. this fic is also way too long my apologies bbs. i hope you like a hefty side of plot with your porn. parts of this fic feel way too cheesy to me but sometimes i eat that up, yk?? this fic was inspired by this amazing work by @rice5x ! and, finally, thank you all for the support on my most recent fics. i'm just getting back into being active on this blog and it's been amazing reading each and every comment/reblog/ask. they genuinely fill me with so much joy. keep them coming hehe. anyway, i hope you enjoy and remember, ALL AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED.
credits: dividers by @cafekitsune. banner art by @ndsoda on twitter.
wc: 11.6k (sowwy)
You remember perfectly the way your mother’s jaw dropped when Satoru Gojo proposed to you. You’d never seen the man, and you still hadn’t. He’d asked to marry you via messenger, a simple letter delivered by hand with a list of all the things he’d be willing to pay for your hand. Offers of money, land, protection, connection- anything so long as he got you. You’d thought it was a joke. Your father nearly took a shovel to the head of the poor messenger, thinking the letter was some kind of cruel prank, some sort of targeted disrespect. You’d only started to believe when you really looked- saw the Gojo crest embroidered on the man’s suit, the fine leather of his boots. If it was a prank, somebody had spent a great deal of money and effort to pull it off.
You’d asked for proof nonetheless, and you’d gotten it. Documents signed and sealed with a well-known waxen crest, gifts that could only have been purchased by a wealthy lord. The one thing you never got was the lord himself. He refused to see you, to come down from his mysterious castle on the hill. It didn’t surprise you. He rarely deemed town worthy of his presence. He had a reputation as a recluse, as a man who only ever liked to see and never be seen. What little glimpses people got of him were usually through the dark window of his carriage. Still, his appearance preceded him. White hair, light eyes… “haunting” said those who had the luck to see him. Those who went to work for the lord tended to return… changed— if they returned at all.
You accepted, of course. How could you not? You were a peasant family with no status or wealth to your name. The promises Lord Gojo had made would make your parents into aristocrats all on their own. But that left you wondering… why did he want you? You offered him no benefit. If anything, you sullied his bloodline. The question scratched at the back of your mind. It came to you while you ate breakfast, while you washed your clothes, while you weeded in the garden. Some part of you told you that you needed the answer before you ever stepped foot in that castle. You needed that answer, but you’d never get it.
Your wedding wasn’t even a wedding- just a piece of paper that had already been signed and witnessed, once again delivered by a familiar messenger. You signed at your dining room table and… that was that. You were married.
Later that night the carriages arrive. Men flood your home, all dressed in blue velvet, the Gojo crest embroidered on their chests. They seem puzzled when you tell them you’ve packed all your belongings into a measly three bags.
You say a quick goodbye to your parents, drawing them into stiff embraces. You love them, and they love you, but you can’t bear to see their faces as they send you away to a man who couldn’t even show his face for your wedding.
The carriage ride is somehow longer than you’d thought it would be- apparently, the castle’s size makes it seem deceptively close. The trip is rocky and twisty and altogether unpleasant as you steadily make your way toward the castle gates. By the time you reach them you think you’ve probably dozed in and out of consciousness at least half a dozen times.
The castle is even more intimidating up close. Spires that swirl into the clouds, sculptures that stare, doors that look more suited to being locked than opened. It’s… terrifying.
When you finally roll to a stop, you move for the door. When you swing it open you get your fair share of strange looks from your attendants and remember that you should have waited for the footman. Your face heats as you climb out anyway, unwilling to subject yourself to the further humiliation of waiting for assistance.
Your feet hit gravel and all you can do is stare- up, up, up, to where the castle’s peaks disappear into the fog. When your eye flashes to a window on the east side of the manor you think you see a swaying curtain. You tuck your arms around yourself and shiver, but it’s not from the cold.
You nearly stumble over your feet on your first step inside. The entrance hall is larger than your former house, with ceilings that stretch so high you can hardly make out the figures on the frescoes that adorn it. Silver and blue drape everywhere, the Gojo family colors. You swallow when you see a chair that is most definitely worth more than your family’s annual income.
The floors are marble and when your worn heels clack against it, you only feel reminded that you don’t belong here. That question pricks in your mind again as you pass portraits of every Gojo heir to have lived in the last three hundred years. Why me? Why me? Why me?
Your footman deposits you in your room, a place more lavish than you’ve ever seen. You have a four poster bed with a canopy of blue velvet, a window that overlooks a sprawling estate, and more square footage than you’ve ever dreamed of.
“Pull this if you need any sort of assistance, ma’am.”
You turn to see your footman referencing a silver cord at your bedside. You assume it’s one of those contraptions that rings a bell in the servants’ quarters. You try to hide your amazement- you’ve never seen one in real life before.
You clear your throat and give your most ladylike nod. “Thank you, um-” you pause, your brow furrowing. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I asked your name.”
Your footman appears stunned to silence, like he’d never expected you to care about his existence, much less his name. He recovers quickly, though, and forces a small smile. “Thomas, ma’am.”
You smile and it’s genuine. “Thank you, Thomas.”He bows and makes a beeline for the door, but you have one more question. “Oh, um, Thomas-” He freezes, turning slowly on his heel to face you.
“Yes, my lady?”
You cringe at the title. The sound of it creeps across your skin, foreign and… wrong. Why me? Why me? Why me?
You clear your throat again. “Do you know, um, well-” You shift, trying to word your question properly. “Do you know when I might see the Lord?”
There is a pause, a moment of tension and silence, and then an answer. “No, my lady.”
Thomas does not stick around for more questioning. The door clicks shut behind him and then you're left with only the sound of retreating footsteps.
You’re stunned to say the least, mouth still halfway open, more questions on the tip of your tongue. Should you seek him out? Was that proper? Would he come to you? Would he meet you for dinner, perhaps? Surely he would come to your room tonight to… consummate. Would that be the first time you lay eyes on him? When he’s over you?
You sigh. There’s nothing much to be done about it now. You find your way to the bed and sit down hesitantly. It feels like a crime to rumple such primped and polished cotton. You do it anyway- it’s going to happen sometime, right? You fall back against the mattress and don’t fail to notice how utterly comfortable it is. The silvery patterns on your canopy swirl and bend together. You’re tired. You didn’t sleep much last night, anxious for the morning… and it’s only mid-afternoon now. You had time for a nap, right? Your eyes are closing before you can convince yourself it’s a bad idea and then you’re swept away into a world of warm darkness.
You wake with a start. Your first thought is that it’s dark now. Your room is pitch black except for the stream of moonlight passing through your stupidly large window. Your mouth feels dry and your skin is cold, like you’ve just woken from a nightmare. If you have, you don’t remember it. Perhaps that’s a blessing.
You sit up, combing a finger through your hair and laughing pitifully when you realize that you left your shoes on as you slept. You hope Thomas didn’t walk in to find you in yet another unladylike position. A glance at the foot of the bed reveals he might have. Your bags have arrived- all three of them. You eye them with a combination of longing and contempt. They don't match this place. They’re worn and used- everything here is shiny and new. Still, they’re all you have, and all you have left of your life before. All you have left of home.
You stretch your arms above your head, nearly groaning at the burn in your muscles. The carriage ride did your body no favors and you suspect you’ll be sore for many days to come.
You rise, no longer content to lie in bed. You’ve had your rest and, from the state of darkness outside, you suspect your new husband might be joining you soon. The thought twists a certain tightness into your gut, but you push it aside. If that was the price you paid for all he gave your family… then you’d pay it gladly.
You start with candles, finding a box of matches at your bedside. You light every candelabra you can find. The room, the castle, seems so perpetually… black- like it soaks up every ray of light it touches. Even when you’ve finished it doesn’t feel like enough. You make a note to ask Thomas for more in the morning.
You find a meal, carefully prepared and preserved, on a table near your dresser. Judging by the fact that it’s still warm, you conclude that it can’t be much past mid-evening. You originally intend to pick at the food as you unpack, but one bite has your mouth watering. It is the most delicious thing to ever touch your lips, complete with dessert waiting on the side. You clean your plate before moving onto your bags.
You lay your clothes out on the bed. A few dresses, riding pants, undergarments, an assortment of ribbons and bows. At one time these items had been the finest things you owned- now you owned a castle.
You find an armoire that looks like a master sculptor carved its edges and grab a dress, intending to hang it. Instead, your dress hits the floor when you part the doors to find the hangers already full. Your lips part. Luxury dresses of silk and satin line the rack, fading into some that appear more casual outfits of cotton and linen. You stretch a hand out, curious and utterly… amazed. To think your new husband had gone to all the effort… Your hand brushes purple silk and-
“Do you like them?”
You screech, jumping to face the voice at your back. It takes a moment for your eyes to find him, leaning casually against one post of your bed. Your breath is stolen for a second time. Snow white hair, piercingly blue eyes, pale soft skin… you know who he is even without looking at his dress, at the air of authority he claims. He’s your husband… and he is the most devastatingly beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.
He laughs, then, and it’s a warmer sound than you’d thought it would be- rich and full. A sound that seeps into your bones and settles in your soul.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, but the twinkle in his eyes makes you think that perhaps that’s a lie.
Your heart pounds and your eyes flash to the door. It’s shut. You didn’t hear it open, nor did you hear it close behind him. You also didn’t hear footsteps, didn’t hear breaths, didn’t hear him.
He follows your gaze and laughs again, though it sounds a bit… strained?
“I have a habit of being unintentionally lightfooted. I apologize.”
Your heart is still pounding but you find it in yourself to have some decorum. You snap your jaw shut and bow your head slightly in respect. “You must be Lord Gojo. Forgive me for my insolence.”
There’s a beat, and then footsteps– ones you actually hear this time. You clench your jaw when he stops before you and then nearly gasp when he takes your hand and brings it to his lips.
“Satoru, please,” he winks and you think you might stop breathing. “I am your husband after all.”
You force yourself to nod, to swallow, to act normal. But how can you in the presence of a man that looks like… that? There’s something too unreal about him, too perfect. It’s almost… unsettling.
“Of course… Satoru.”
He straightens and shows you a close-lipped smile that digs a dimple into his left cheek. You have to look away to avoid stumbling over your own feet.
“So, do you like them?” Your brows furrow- “The dresses,” he clarifies.
“O-oh.” Your features relax into an easy smile. You turn back to your armoire, running a hand along another gown. You don’t think you’ve ever touched something so… finely made. “I like them very much. I don’t know how to thank you.”
There’s a little chuckle as you turn to face him again and you have to steel yourself before you meet his eyes. He’s mesmerizing, too mesmerizing. You think you could probably lose yourself in those eyes forever…
“No need to thank me. If they don’t fit, we’ll call for the seamstress in the morning.”
You nod softly, still lost to the situation. There’s a beat of silence in which your husband does nothing but… look at you. His eyes roam freely and the hair on your arms stands under his gaze. He traces the lines of your nose and jaw and lingers on your pulse. Can he see just how fast your heart is pounding?
“Did you… get dinner?” It’s a stupid question, you know, but you don’t think you can bear another second of that look he’s giving you. “I fell asleep and found a plate. I hope I didn’t prevent a proper meal…” You trail off. Perhaps you shouldn’t have pointed out your own shortcoming?
He gives you another smile and you swear he inches just a little closer. “You did no such thing. I’m… perfectly satisfied.”
You nod, glad that he doesn’t seem upset at the very least. Your lips press together, unsure of what to do or say. You’ve never had a husband before. Wasn’t he supposed to just sort of… put you on the bed and… do it?
Your eyes flit to said bed and your husband must see because he hurries to continue.
“Well, I’ll see you in the morning then, hm?” His eyes flit to your armoire and back again. “Wear the blue dress with the lace to breakfast, yeah? Been dying to see it on you.” He chuckles like he’s just told some sort of amusing joke.
Your brows furrow. That was… not the topic you’d been expecting. “You’re not…” You feel your cheeks heat and tighten your jaw. “Not staying the night?”
His lashes lower a fraction and those eyes pierce you again. You don’t think you could move even if you wanted to, even with him prowling closer, each step eating up the space between you. He doesn’t stop until you’re nose to nose and you can feel his breath fanning over your cheeks. It’s cold somehow, chilling, and you shiver. He smirks.
“Not tonight.”
His head dips and for a moment you think he’s going to kiss you, but then he’s bypassing your mouth altogether and- his lips connect to your pulse. His mouth is cool, just like his breath, and you shiver uncontrollably under his touch.
His touch is just a fleeting moment, just a wrinkle in time, and then he’s gone. His footsteps are quiet brushes on the hardwood and the creak of the door even seems tamed in his presence.
“Goodnight,” is all he says, and then he’s gone.
You climb into your bed an hour later wondering what in the world just happened.
~
You do wear the blue dress to breakfast and you can only gape in the mirror when you realize that it fits perfectly. It has you second-guessing yourself. Had you sent your measurements in advance and forgotten about it? No, you’d only sent a handful of pieces of information to the Lord prior to your marriage and you remembered all of them very clearly. Everything had gone through a messenger, everything had been clear and direct– you would have remembered sending your measurements– you didn’t. So had he just… guessed?
That seemed impossible with how everything fit you like a glove, but it was the only explanation you had. The only one that made sense.
When you join Satoru for breakfast it’s in a sitting room as lavishly decorated as the rest of the castle, but perhaps organized to be a bit more… liveable. He has no plate in front of him, only a tin cup that hides the contents of whatever he’s drinking. You assume coffee or juice. Perhaps he’s just not a breakfast person.
“It fits!” he says. His hands clasp together in front of him and he smiles again, dimples and all.
You nod and fight the heat that bubbles beneath your cheeks as you take your seat. “Yes, perfectly.”
A plate is set before you and a glance up reveals it’s Thomas serving your breakfast. You smile, hoping for some acknowledgement from him, for a small piece of comfort. Instead, you get his averted gaze and quick retreat. Your brows furrow, but before you can say anything, Satoru is back to speaking.
“I hope Thomas treated you well yesterday?”
You glance up, but Satoru’s eyes aren’t on you, they’re on your footman. His smile is bright, but it’s anything but friendly. You fight a shiver.
You glance at Thomas. He’s perfectly still, perfectly straight, but you think you see a muscle clench in his jaw. You clear your throat. “Y-Yes. Thomas was very helpful.” When Satoru keeps staring the boy down you add, “-and very respectful.”
That seems to satisfy. Satoru breaks his stare and some of the tension in the air instantly eases. He shoots you another dimpled smile, this one with a little more warmth. “Perfect.”
There’s a beat and then he’s standing, draining whatever he has in his cup and then straightening his jacket. “Well, I have some work to do. I’ll see you for dinner?” He’s grinning again, like it’s so normal for a man to abandon his bride on their wedding night and then again the morning after. All you can do is nod. He chuckles. “See you then, princess.” And then he’s gone.
~
If this is to be your life you don't know how you will survive it. You spend the day milling about. Through the gardens, through the castle, through the stables. Thomas is never far behind, but any attempt at conversation is nipped in the bud by hit shortness. It’s like he fears coming too close. He’s never closer than a couple paces except when he has to bring you something, only to retreat again as soon as possible. The other servants barely pay you any mind apart from giving you a respectful greeting and then immediately averting their eyes. There is no work to be done, no guests to be had, no parties to plan… and no Satoru. You don’t see your husband once on tour around the grounds. You ask Thomas where his office is only for him to vaguely point out a window in the east tower. You don’t see so much as a ripple in the curtains.
Dinner comes around at the pace of a snail. When it’s finally time to get dressed a lady’s maid whose name you don’t even catch arrives to help you lace your dress. As soon as your corset is deemed tight enough she’s back out the door with a curtsy. Thomas leads you to the dining room and your eyes roam the whole way. Even after having spent the whole day exploring, there are halls and corridors that you’ve yet to step foot in.
The dining room is just as gorgeous as the rest of the place– filled with singular items that could feed entire families for years. Somehow, you think you’ve already grown accustomed to such things, since the only thing you truly care to look at is your husband. Satoru’s already seated, but he stands when you enter, looping around the table to pull a chair out for you.
You give him your most genuine smile, accepting a kiss to your knuckles in greeting before you settle. “How was your day?” you ask as he takes his seat again.
He chuckles. “Perfectly fine. And how was yours, princess?” Your nose crinkles. That’s the second time he’s called you that. Something about it feels wrong. You’re still getting used to being a lady. Princess feels even worse.
“It was… good.”
You watch a perfect white brow arch in the candlelight. “Oh? Just good?” You don’t miss the way his eyes flicker to the corner– to Thomas.
You hurry to elaborate. “Well, I just– I can’t help but feel as if there’s not much… use for me.” Servants flood in, some carrying wine, others carrying trays that hold more food than the both of you could ever possibly consume.
That brow arches impossibly higher. “Use?” His lips crack into that smile again, but it’s tight this time. Too tight. “You have no use. You only enjoy yourself. Surely Thomas has told you that.”
A plate of steaming food plops in front of you. Even its heavenly smell can’t quell the sudden dread in your gut. “Of course! Of course he did.” Your stomach twists and you decide that perhaps now is not the time to press the subject. “I’ll just… I’ll try riding tomorrow.” You hate riding, but it’s the first thing that comes to mind.
Satoru’s smile thaws into something less menacing. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy that.”
You nod eagerly. “I’m sure I will.”
You grab your fork, eager for a new subject. From what you can tell, dinner is roast chicken and vegetables, though it’s the luxury version as everything seems to be. The spices are intoxicating and the green beans are even arranged in a pretty little pattern that makes them look too good to eat. You do anyway. The first bite nearly makes you moan, but you chew slowly, delicately, trying not to let your upbringing show.
It’s not until several bites later that you realize you’re the only one eating. A quick glance reveals your husband has no platter, no chicken or green beans. He’s only… watching you. You clear your throat, dabbing at your lips with a napkin.
“You’re not… eating?”
That permanent smile grows a little wider and you can’t help but feel as if there’s something… menacing about it. “Ate before I came.”
Your brows furrow. “Oh. Were you on the road?”
You think you see something wild flash in his eyes. “No.”
The rest of dinner passes slowly, almost painfully. Satoru doesn’t eat a bite, doesn’t even look enticed. You wonder how that’s possible when it smells like a spice bomb went off in the dining room.
By the time you’ve cleared your plate you’ve discussed everything from the number of horses in the stables to kinds of crops grown on the estate. It’s comforting to know a little more about your new home, but it’s not enough.
“Is there a library?” you ask. You’re on dessert now. It’s the best chocolate cake you’ve ever had and it takes everything in you to hold back a moan each time it touches your tongue.
“Of course.” Your husband’s eyes flicker to Thomas again and you’re honestly starting to fear for the poor footman’s life. Everytime you ask a question it’s like Satoru is angry it hasn’t already been answered. “It’s yours to use as you please.”
You smile lightly. “Perfect. Thank you.”
He softens a bit at that. “Is there anything specific you wanted to read about?”
You shrug. “The estate, I suppose. I should know my home’s history, no?”
His eyes get that wild look again, that sparkle that you know speaks to nothing good. “Oh, absolutely. I have some personal favorites to recommend. I’ll leave them aside for you?”
You swallow and give him a shallow nod. “That would be perfect. Thank you.”
He chuckles. “My pleasure.”
When dessert is finally over, you stand slowly. Satoru’s not far behind you, saying he’ll walk you to your room. Your heart leaps at his words. Will he stay with you tonight?
He offers you his arm in the hall and your mouth runs dry when you feel the corded muscle beneath his jacket. By the time you reach your room, you’re thinking of tugging him in behind you. His denial to stay with you last night was not only confusing, but… off putting. Nearly offensive. Did he not like how you looked? Did he think something was wrong with you?
You muster all the courage you possess and force your lips apart. “Will you stay with me tonight?”
His eyes spark again and you hold your breath. He presses closer. This is it, you think. His lips hover over yours, eyes glimmering in the candlelight. And then he dips his head, his mouth pressing to your pulse.
“Not tonight,” he whispers– and then he’s gone.
~
You wake suddenly. It’s the middle of the night, you gather. The light streaming through the window is weak enough to only be that of the moon.
Your heart is pounding and your skin is slick with sweat despite the chill in your bones. A nightmare, you think. It must have been a nightmare.
As you settle back into your sheets you swear you see a ripple in the darkness. You close your eyes. If your nightmare is real, you’d rather not see it coming.
~
The library is huge. It’s sprawling and smells of paper and leather and everytime Thomas lights a candle you flinch at the idea that one misplaced spark could end thousands of years of knowledge.
The books Satoru left you are… perfect. Just what you were looking for. They’re all comprehensive volumes of the history of the estate, many of which reference each other. You’re stunned to see that several are written by very well-known authors of both the past and the present. You knew the Gojo family’s influence reached far, but not that far. You peruse the titles. The Gojos: A History, A History of the Gojo Crest, History of the Gojo Castle, Revisiting the Gojo Family: A Comprehensive History. Altogether you have well over a few thousand pages of information– but there’s one book that doesn’t fit with the rest. It’s relatively unassuming. A black cover with some sort of gold rune etched onto its front. When you flip to the title page it reads “Creatures of Myth and Where To Find Them”. Your brows furrow. You slide it to the side– must have gotten mixed in with the others, you think.
~
You ask Thomas to bring the books to your room. He does. Very respectfully. He sets them on your bedside table and then retreats like a kicked puppy with only a polite goodbye. You sigh. His behavior has only gotten stranger in the past few days. You think the servants’ coldness must have something to do with Satoru, but you can’t figure out why. Had he ordered them to stay away? Why would he?
You decide it’s a question for another day and dive into your books. You spend hours, days, reading every chapter, page, and word. The pure amount of information is dizzying. Apparently this specific estate had been in the hands of the Gojo family since the eighth century (with several razings and consequential rebuilds). You also learn that Satoru was not only the most wealthy lord on the continent, but the most wealthy man. Even wealthier than the king apparently, though that fact was kept fairly under wraps to protect the crown’s ego. The estimates of your husband’s net worth made your head spin.
Satoru joins you for breakfast and dinner every day. You never see him eat a morsel. It’s… unsettling to say the least. It’s always just that tin cup, filled with something you could never quite see. You develop a pattern of waking in the night, too, with the overwhelming sense that something is watching you. Sometimes you could swear you feel the bed shift as you jerk awake. Each time you simply close your eyes and try your best to slow your heart, convinced your mind is playing tricks on you.
Your days feel a little more productive with a book in your hands, but you’ve read them all three times over by the time a fortnight has passed. You find yourself packing them up to return to Thomas when a certain black cover catches your attention. You grab it from the pile and settle back into your seat. You’ve nothing better to do, right?
You flip back the cover, revealing a familiar title. “Creatures of Myth and Where to Find Them”. You don’t recognize the author’s name. A quick scroll through the table of contents reveals nothing particularly interesting, but you pick a random chapter on ghouls and decide to start there.
It’s fascinating. Nothing about the style is boring and the words fly by. Your silly little myth book is a page turner. By the time you notice the light has started dying you’ve read about ghosts, fairies, werewolves, and goblins– all of which have been a delightful little read. A glance at the clock reveals you have a half hour before dinner. One more chapter, you think. Your eyes skim the title. “Vampires [Vampyr]”.
You skim the first paragraphs until your eyes settle on a line that catches your eye.
“Contrary to popular belief, vampires are not always crazed blood-hungry monsters. Many live among humans quite comfortably and are able to avoid detection with a little well-placed effort.”
You purse your lips. What a… terrifying thought. You skim a little further.
“A vampire’s key characteristic is, of course, their desire and need to drink human blood as sustenance. However, a vampire can be spotted sooner if one is able to recognize their subtler traits. Vampires often have skin lacking any sort of flush. The lack of blood in their veins results in a sickly pallor, even after the most rigorous exercise. Their skin is also noticeably cold to the touch. At best, a vampire’s body will reach room temperature. Vampires can also be noted for their preternatural beauty. They will stand out as the most attractive person in any crowd. Finally, a vampire will have fangs. If one wishes to identify a vampire, one only needs a good look at their teeth”.
A chill settles over your skin. You flip ahead a few pages.
“Vampires are unable to consume typical human food. Should they attempt to, their bodies will immediately reject any and all foreign substances.”
Your stomach drops. You don’t want to think about why. You skip the rest of the paragraph.
“Vampires possess several supernatural abilities that set them apart as a human’s predator rather than their equal. Vampires are known to move unnaturally fast and are notably light footed. If a vampire does not wish to be heard, they will not be. A vampire’s strength is inhuman, well over ten times that of the average man. They also have a penchant for darkness, an ability to hide away in the shadows that cannot be explained. Oftentimes they will seem to appear from thin air.”
You skip ahead again.
“Vampires have been known to take mates. Mates usually come in the form of another vampire, but in some cases a human has been chosen. Vampires are fiercely protective of their mates, bordering on obsession. Any person deemed a threat to their bond or their mate’s safety is usually disposed of quickly. Oftentimes, vampires make these decisions with haste, with little regard for whether or not the threat was real. A vampire will do everything in their power to please their mate, but have been known to forcibly restrain their mates in situations of unrequited feelings. Above all else, vampires wish to possess their mates. Two bonded vampires will sometimes spiral into gloriously destructive fits in their endless desire to protect and possess one another. A vampire bonded to a human will show an increasingly protective nature, often isolating their mate from others.”
Your heart pounds. A bead of sweat rolls down your back. You flip the pages, desperate– desperate for a piece of information that will save you from the thoughts spilling in your mind, from the thoughts you will do anything not to believe. You reach the “Where to Find Them” subsection and nearly gasp with relief. Surely, vampires do not pose as wealthy lords of Europe?
“Vampires can be found everywhere. They do not exist in only one country or continent, but all over the world. Odds are that you have faced at least one vampire in your life, unknowingly or not. Some vampires choose to live solitary lives, surviving in the wilderness where human society will not attempt to tame their wild nature. Others choose to live among humans, some even existing in positions of very high authority.”
No, no, no. This can’t be happening to you. It can’t be real. You’re dreaming, you’re having one of those nightmares again. You’re going to wake up any second.
“One tale recounts a razing of the Gojo estate in the 12th century.”
You’re panting, hyperventilating. This isn’t happening.
“Soldiers of the enemy force recounted a singular man, the son and heir of the then Lord Gojo, taking out a minimum of 800 men. He was described as having his family’s characteristic white hair as well as blue eyes. Eyewitness accounts depict the Gojo heir as covered in blood and killing savagely and with inhuman strength.”
No, no, no.
“(See next page for only existing portrait)”
Your fingers tremble but you can’t stop them. There’s no way. It’s not possible.
You flip the page and Satoru stares back at you.
Knock! Knock! Knock!
You nearly scream. Your door rattles angrily, but you’re not sure you can answer it, not with the knowledge flooding your mind. The knocking continues. You run your hand over your face and smooth down your hair. You feel frazzled, dirty, despite not having moved from your chair all day. Another knock prompts you to set your book aside and stand. You do your best to compose yourself, to put on a straight face. You fail instantly when you pull back the door not to reveal your faithful attendant, not Thomas, but Satoru.
You bite back a shriek and instead force a smile. You’re suddenly very aware of the blood pounding in you veins and of the fact that he most likely knows.
“Hello,” he says, but his voice is lower than usually, more intense.
You force a breath into your lungs. “Hello,” you answer, but it sounds more like a squeak than a greeting.
Something flashes in his eyes, something familiar, something that is no longer interesting but rather terrifying. “Are you alright? You seem a little… flushed.” The concern on his face feels anything but genuine.
“I’m fine,” you answer, but even you can tell that reply too quickly, too eagerly. You rush to cover it up. “Is it time for dinner? Where’s Thomas?”
His lip twitches and you see a muscle in his jaw flex. “Thomas has… left us.”
No. This wasn’t happening to you. There was no way this was happening to you.
“He… what?” There’s an unmistakable wobble in your voice that only causes Satoru’s face to fall further.
“It’s no matter. He’s gone. Now it’s just you and me, hm?” He chuckles and the sound rattles your bones. “In fact, I was thinking I’d cut down on the number of servants we have entirely…”
You mind races with the memory of knowledge you wish you didn’t have. “Vampires are fiercely protective of their mates, bordering on obsession. Any person deemed a threat to their bond or their mate’s safety is usually disposed of quickly.”
You nearly stumble, but lean against the doorframe just in time. Your husband had disposed of a man, all because he brought you meals and books?
“What have you been up to today, princess?” The question breaks your trance just in time for you to see your husband’s eyes flicker behind you.
You wet your lips. “Just some reading.” You plead that he doesn’t ask anything further. He does.
“About the estate?” he asks.
You nod and try to swallow the lump in your throat. “Yes.”
His smile returns and this time it’s not forced. “You got my books, then?”
You try smiling back, but you’re fairly sure it looks more like a grimace. “Yes.”
“Anything interesting?” he presses.
This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening. Does he know? Does he know that you know? “Yes, of course. Lots.”
He pauses and you see the debate and then the decision in his eyes. You think it’s the first time you’ve felt true terror when he meets your gaze again. “I think we should skip dinner tonight. It seems we have so much to discuss.”
You don’t even have the wherewithal to scream when he steps into you, forcing you back until he’s shutting your door behind him. He doesn’t stop there, though. He keeps pressing, keeps pushing until your knees hit the bed and you’re falling to the mattress. He crawls right after you.
“Who knew my little wife was such a reader? All those books in such a short time… You must be simply spilling with information.”
You retreat across the mattress, squeaking when your back hits the headboard and his arms cage your waist. You’re trapped.
His hands find your hips and you’re all too aware of how cool his touch is. Even more so when he pulls you right into his lap.
“Satoru-” your voice is pitiful, breathless, and you’re ashamed to say it’s not just from the fear in your gut. He’s never been this close before, never touched you, held you like this. “Thomas-”
“Don’t speak his name.” His face pulls into the first scowl you’ve ever seen and the sight is enough to root you to the spot. Never have you seen anything more frightening. A creature so beautiful, so perfectly angelic, filled with an insurmountable rage. It’s wrong. “He’s gone. He’ll never bother you again.” He’s closer now, his breath skating over your skin. It’s cool and now you know the reason why.
You shake and tremble and you know– Thomas is dead. Your husband killed him– killed him for getting too close when all he did was stay at a distance. Satoru killed him. Killed him.
He buries himself in your neck, his voice a near whine. “Thought I could put up with it, just so you’d have someone to take care of you…” He groans. “I was so wrong, princess. Couldn’t stand it. Couldn’t stand the way you smelled more like him than me…”
You feel him melt against you then, relief washing over his body in a wave. “But he’s gone. And now it’s just you and me, hm? Just you and me…” He hums, like remembering that fact is all he’s ever needed.
He’s kissing your pulse again, now, and your heart is racing faster than ever. Your fingers curl into his shoulders. You should push him away, away, away. He’s a killer, of thousands no doubt. You’ve never felt at home here, never felt like you belonged. This is why. You’re not even the same species. He’s something else, something your hands were never meant to touch.
Your mind screams at you to do go, to shove and kick at him and leave this place behind. Go, go, go your gut says… but you don’t. You can’t. It’s too… good. The feeling of his cool lips against your skin, of what you’re sure is his tongue prodding at your pulse… it’s intoxicating. He is intoxicating. How could anyone blame you for wanting more of someone, something, so divine?
“Have you figured it out yet, love?” Your breath hitches and he chuckles, licking a long stripe up your neck, before he settles back at your pulse. Always your pulse. “I can feel those little gears turning. Tell me, what have they discovered?”
He knows you know. But he’s going to make you say it. You swallow and feel his grip on you tighten. “You’re…” Your breaths come faster. You can’t. Not aloud. Aloud makes it too… real.
“Yessss?” he prods. He’s licking at you again, all the way across your throat to find your other pulse-point.
“You’re not…” Something sharps nicks at your skin and you bite your lip to hold back a whimper.
“Go on, princess.” You think he’s just smelling you now, just burying his face as close to you as possible and taking you in.
You close your eyes tightly, holding back tears. “Not human,” you breathe. A piece of you breaks with the admission.
He huffs a little laugh against your skin and pulls back to look you in the eye. “That’s good,” he purrs. “But I think you can be a little more specific, no?” His lips press to your chin, then the corner of your mouth, then down to your jaw… “Tell me.”
Your lips wobble, muscles clenching tighter with each passing moment. You don’t want to say it, don’t want to speak it into existence, but you also don’t dare to disobey him.
“You’re a…” You shake and tremble. He draws a line up your neck with the tip of his nose.
“Mhm?”
You open your eyes, thinking this might be the last time you see. “Vampire.”
He chuckles and you feel his teeth press to the skin of your neck. “That’s right, princess. So smart.”
He smiles and you suddenly realize you’ve never seen his teeth before. Everytime he smiles at you it’s close-lipped and dimpled. But this… this is the smile of a predator– all white and pointy and fitted with a set of menacingly long fangs. You sob at the sight.
“Shhhhh,” he coos. He has your chin in his hand, forcing you to truly look at him, to see him for what he is. “I won’t hurt you, love.” You want to believe him so badly it burns, but his laugh washes away any fire and turns it to ice. “Not unless you want me to.” He wiggles a brow like it’s just a little joke, like he’s not an actual fucking vampire that had his fangs over your neck just moments ago.
“Satoru,” you beg. You’re not sure what you’re begging for. Release maybe? But, no, that’s not right. You don’t want him to let you go, not when you finally have him close after all this time. “Why did you pick me?”
The question slips out. You hadn’t even been thinking about it, hadn’t even noticed it scratching at the walls of your mind, but it made its way out nonetheless.
His brow creases, but not in confusion. Moreso in… thoughtfulness. “Do you think about that a lot, princess?”
You nod and you suddenly want him closer, want him to touch you everywhere, hold you like his life depends on it. You want him, no matter how horrible it might be.
He nods and hums, kissing the tip of your nose lightly. “Well…” he says. His thumb swipes over your lips when he leans in to whisper in your ear. “At first I wanted you for this.” His head dips to your neck again and you feel the familiar brush of his lips against your throat. “You smell…” he chuckles. “Like heaven. Which is a place I’ll never get to on my own, so I had to bring my own little slice home, no?” He laughs again, a little louder this time, genuinely amused. “Went into town one day and caught your scent on the street. At first I thought I must be walking past the bakery, but, lo and behold, there was no baker in sight.” He’s still kissing at your pulse, worshiping it. “Went crazy, princess. Didn’t think I was going to be able to contain myself when I found you. Thought it might be quite the scene.” He huffs a laugh and you shiver, somehow both terrified and intoxicated. “But then I saw you–” he groans and something clenches deep at your center. “And I knew I needed more than just your blood. Needed you.” He’s rocking into you now, and your breath catches when you feel something firm against your backside. “Went to you in that little room you slept in every night. Watched you. Couldn’t stay away. Knew I had to have you.” You feel him smile against your skin. “After a week I couldn’t take it anymore. Sent you that letter, married you. Made you mine.” He groans again. “Then I met you and you were so pretty, princess. Already knew it, but hearin’ you talk to me, look at me.” Teeth graze your pulse. “Needed you more than ever. Almost took you right on the fucking floor in here while you were lookin’ at those dresses.” You whine when his hips roll into you again. “Oh, but I knew I couldn’t. You’re so fragile, love. Had to wait, had to make you feel safe, yeah? Spent all this time forcing myself to stay away, ‘fraid of what I might too if I was in your presence too long. Had to control myself. Had to make you realize you could trust me.” He panting, like he’s so pent up he can hardly sit still. “Do you trust me, princess?”
Your brows scrunch. Say no, say no, say no a part of you screams. Run, run, run. You can’t. “Yes,” you breathe.
You feel him smile again, feel the pleasure of submission. “Good girl.”
You’re on your back. It happens so fast your eyes don’t even have time to gasp. You don’t see Satoru, but you feel him. Everywhere. His hands are roaming your body softly, sliding under buttons and laces and popping them off. Your dress loosens with every passing moment until Satoru reappears above you, diving straight for your neck again. “So good, princess. Let’s get you out of this dress, yeah?”
You nod wordlessly, entranced. He finds your mouth as he rids you of your clothes. His tongue presses in and you flail against him, unsure of what to do, of how to handle the intrusion. The kiss is heavy, too heavy, but Satoru can’t seem to stop. He devours you as he gives up on laces and buttons and simply shreds your dress down the back. You tremble when the cold air hits your skin, when his cool fingers dust your collarbone.
“I always forget how many damn layers they make you ladies wear,” he chuckles. His hands run beneath your shift, up across your bare thigh. You gasp at the touch. No one has even been so close to you before. You feel the threads of your corset snapping away, feel your breaths growing deeper. You tremble when he pulls your sleeve down past your shoulder and runs his mouth along the newly exposed skin.
“Satoru,” you gasp, and your hand pulls at his flowing white shirt.
He chuckles, pulling back just enough to see your face. “You wanna see me too?” You nod, lips parted and eyes glassy, and he laughs again. He lips dust over the corner of your mouth. “Alright.”
His hands shift from you to himself, working at the laces on his chest. His movements are speedy, practiced, like he’s been lacing and unlacing shirts for hundreds of years. Your throat tightens when you realize that he has.
You gasp when he reveals himself, when his shirt slides away to reveal an expanse of pale skin and carved muscle. You’ve never seen a man like this and seeing one this close up for the first time is nearly blinding. He’s art, you think- nothing less.
“Touch me, princess,” he says. You can’t. You shouldn’t. He’s too beautiful, too perfect to be beneath your insignificant hands. “Need a little help?” he asks, and there’s a lilt in his voice that makes you sure he’s grinning.
His hands find yours and bring them to his chest, running your palms over his collarbones, his pecs, down, down, down across his abs that you can feel each and every one… You whimper, watching your own fingers grope his skin. He pulls you lower, lower, lower, and you gasp when your fingertips brush the waistband of his pants. But then he’s laughing again and he’s throwing your arms over his shoulders and pulling you closer, kissing your neck like it pained him to be parted from your pulse for so long.
“Not so fast,” he says, like he wasn’t the one nearly stuffing your hands down his pants. His hands are on your corset again. You can feel it dangling onto you by a thread, literally. All he needs is a couple more pulls and you’ll be bare. By the look he gives you, you can tell he’s
thinking the same thing. “You touch me, now I touch you, yeah?” There’s a tug and a tear and then so much… cold. You’ve never realized how cold this castle is, not until you’re exposed to its elements fully. You’re naked.
Satoru sits back on his knees and just watches. His gaze is searing, burning, despite the iciness of his being. It’s too much. Your hands move to cover yourself, to maintain some modicum of your dignity-
“No.” Strong hands find your wrists and pry them apart. “Let me see you,” he says. His tongue darts out to lick his lips.
Your jaw clenches and your frame shakes, but you do as he asks, letting your hands fall limply at your sides. There’s silence for many more moments and it seems to go on so long that you can only squeeze your eyes shut under his gaze. Surely he will turn you away now, get up and leave, tell you this was a mistake, tell you that you’re–
“Beautiful,” he breathes. Your eyes snap open to find him already staring at you. “Beautiful,” he says again, and then he’s on you, lips at your pulse, hands on your skin. His touch is cool and you squeak at the chill that runs up your spine. You’re not sure it’s entirely from his temperature.
His mouth seeks yours and he devours you. You feel as if he’s sucking your soul out through your lips. “Tell me you’ve never done this before,” he begs. “Tell me I’m the first to touch you.”
You whine against his mouth, both aching for more and overwhelmed by what he’s already giving you. “Y-You’re the first,” you whisper.
His groan is deep, primal. It rattles through your chest and you whimper when his hands dig into your waist hard enough to bruise. “Yes,” he breathes, and you shiver again. “Lie back, princess.” Your eyes widen, with anticipation or fear you’re not sure. Probably both. He chuckles. “Don’t worry. I’ll be gentle.”
You pray he means that. “Just relax, love. Here, hold my hand.” His fingers find yours, twining them together. When you swallow, his eyes follow the bob of your throat. He leans back again and your body twitches when his free hand skims the skin of your thighs. His tongue darts out to wet his lips as he finds your knees and you gasp when he parts your legs, revealing you so completely to his gaze. The way he stares, like he’s committing you to memory, it’s nearly enough to make you snap your thighs shut, but a squeeze from his hand reminds you to relax, to trust.
His palm skates up your thigh and settles near your hip, his fingertips inching closer to where you can feel an embarrassing throb.
“Tell me, love. Have you ever touched yourself here?” His fingers dust low on your tummy- just low enough for you to catch his meaning, but not low enough to give you any relief. Your face heats and your teeth dig into the flesh of your cheek. You have, you have touched yourself there, but it’s the last thing you want to admit to your new husband. It’s shameful, it’s dirty, it’s- “Don’t think I’ll judge you, princess. Just wanna know.”
You gulp down a breath. You should come clean. “Y-yes,” you stutter, and the sound of your voice so weak and helpless only makes you flush further.
He chuckles and squeezes your hand again. “On the outside or the inside?”
Your eyes widen. I-inside? You’d never considered that… “J-just the outside,” you answer.
Your eyes grow even wider when his head rolls back and he moans straight up to the ceiling like your answer is heaven-sent. When he looks back to you his fangs are on full display. “Well, I think you and I are in for a little treat today, hm?”
Your brow furrows and your lips part to ask him what he means– his fingers travel those last few inches down your tummy and find your clit. You squeak and jolt so violently that he presses a hand to your hip, holding you to the mattress. “Somebody’s sensitive,” he chuckles. He holds you still for a moment and then lets your hips go free. “Try to stay still. I promise it’ll feel good.”
You nod hopelessly, but this time you’re prepared for when he touches you again. Your muscles clench at the first touch, at the foreign sensation of a touch down there that wasn’t your own. But then it’s more. It’s languid, slow circles around a spot that you’ve never been able to pinpoint so well on your own. It’s heat building in your tummy that seeps through every vein and into every pore. It’s relaxation that you’ve never known, that has you melting into the mattress despite the chill of the touch.
There’s a little huff of a laugh and then his voice. “Good girl. Feels nice, yeah?” You nod hesitantly and squeeze desperately at his hand, searching for an anchor. His head cocks to the side and you watch the smile slide across his lips. “It’s about to feel even nicer.”
By the time you realize what he’s doing it’s far too late to stop him. His mouth closes around your cunt and you yelp, trying to wiggle away from the overwhelming sensation- but he’s got his freehand on your hip again and his grip is bruising, punishing, as he holds you in place. He licks a stripe through your folds and you find yourself jolting again, uselessly so against the pressure of his palm on your hip. “Stop that, princess.” Your heart drops at the admonishment until you feel his guiding touch. “Rock into me like this.” His hand rocks your hips into his mouth and the pressure of his tongue against your clit is so delicious that you whimper. “Good girl,” he says and your heart rises right back up. “Keep doing that, now.” You don’t dare defy him. You rock like he showed you, a little jerkily at first, and then you find a rhythm that has you seeing stars. “That’s it, love,” he says, and the sound is muffled against your cunt. “Here, put your hand in my hair.” He finds your wrist and guides you forward until your fingers are tangling in those snowy locks. They’re even softer than you’d imagined. “Good girl,” he whispers and suddenly he’s taking one last long lick and lifting his head to meet your eyes. “‘M gonna put my fingers in you now, princess.” Your chin wobbles. “It might hurt a little bit, but stay still, okay?” You can’t do anything but nod.
His eyes return to your cunt and you can feel him prodding at your entrance, circling the hole as you clench in anticipation. “Relaaaaaax, love,” he says and you nod. A deep breath in through your nose and out through your mouth–
You feel the exact moment he pushes into you and a whine of pain rips from your throat. Your walls clamp down like a vice, angry at the intrusion– but it’s already too late. There’s a beat of silence, of anticipation, and then he’s– laughing?
Your brows furrow when you hear it, your head lifting to a sight that locks your limbs in shock. Satoru’s hand is lifted in front of his face, his pointer finger coated in– blood, you realize. Your blood. And he’s a fucking vampire.
“Oh princess,” he coos, and the manic look in his eyes makes you tremble. “You really are perfect.”
Things seem to slow as you watch him take his blood covered finger into his mouth. You’re sure you’ve never seen an expression more blissful, more lost to sensation. His eyes roll back and his body shivers, like he’s ascending to some higher plane. Maybe he is.
When he pulls his finger from his mouth it’s completely licked clean. You hold your breath. He’s going to go for your neck now, right? He’s had a taste and now he’ll want more of it, all of it?
“Fuck,” is all he says. His mouth is back on your cunt so fast you don’t even see him move.
Your mouth falls wide. It hurts, the way he is so desperately licking at you. You feel his finger again, pressing in, in, in, only to pull back and suddenly be joined by another. The stretch tears at you. You thrash and jolt, but Satoru doesn’t bother telling you to stop this time. His arm wraps over your hips, holding you in place. He seems immune to how hard your legs squeeze at his head or your hands pull at his hair. He’s lost. You can feel him licking, lapping, and prodding at you like you’re a fucking gold mine. He’s lost to desperation, to the need for more, more, more. Every so often he lifts his chin and you see his mouth smudged with a mixture of your wetness and your blood. He laps at his lips like an animal, dragging his thumb across his chin and sliding it into his mouth to make sure he gets every last drop.
You’re not quite sure when the ravenous pain turns to a ravenous pleasure, when it turns from terrifying to downright delicious. You don’t notice your moans filling the air until Satoru joins you, groaning and whining into your cunt and telling you to keep going, to keep making those sounds. The hand you have buried in his hair doesn’t fight to push him away any longer, only to pull him into those now practiced rocks of your hips. His fingers thrust deep, curling into a spot that makes you feel so good and his mouth has found your clit again. He sucks your nerves lightly between his lips, tongue swirling in little circles. Your thighs start to shake.
“Yes. Yes. Give it to me.”
“S-Satoru–” you breathe. Warmth and tightness pool in your tummy, and you recognize it as your approaching orgasm, though you know this one will be far different than any you’ve ever managed to give yourself. Your body shakes and your breaths tremble and then– you fall over the edge, rocking your hips senselessly, losing all form of rhythm. Warmth tingles in your spine and seeps all the way down to your toes. You think you cry out, cry for your husband, cry for more, cry for less, but if you do you don’t hear it. All you hear is the pounding of your pulse, of pleasure throbbing in your veins until the world slowly seeps back in through the corners of your vision.
Satoru is grinning. A speck of your blood clings to his chin and his fangs peek out from behind his lips. The sight makes your blood run a little colder. If any part of you doubted what he was before… well, there was no doubt any longer.
There’s a shift between your legs, his hips slotting between them, and you’re suddenly snapped back to reality. From the look in his eyes, you’re not done.
Frantic hands find his pants and he undoes each button with a quickness that is almost inhuman. You wonder if he could go even faster, if he’s holding back so as not to scare you. If he is, it isn’t working very well. Fear surges in your veins right alongside anticipation.
“S-Satoru–”
“It’s alright, love.” His hand finds yours without his eyes ever looking up. His grip is just a little too firm, a little too cold. “Just stay still.”
You whimper, but you don’t think he’s paying attention to that, and soon enough, neither are you. His pants slide down just past his hips, just enough. You gasp.
You’ve never seen a man in the nude, never even dared to think about what it might look like, though it seemed you no longer had to guess. His hand wrapped around his shaft, giving one long and slow stroke that made his breath hiss through his fangs. The tip was flushed, angry, and leaking something that looked clear and sticky. You couldn’t help but notice it was a lot thicker than a finger, or even two. If his fingers had hurt…
He moves with that alarming quickness again, leaning down to hover over you, chests nearly pressed together. “Gonna take you now, princess. Gonna make you mine.” His eyes bore into yours, blue and shimmering with something wild. His hand presses into the mattress beside your head. “Stay still, now.”
It’s all the warning he gives you. You feel like you’re splitting– straight up the middle. You wail, hands flying out to claw at his back. It hurts. It hurts.
“Satoru, p-please! It’s–”
Lips catch yours– hungry, feral. The kiss is not gentle, not soothing. It shuts you up, it keeps you quiet, it keeps you still as you feel him sinking further, deeper into you. It’s too much, you try to say, but the poke of sharp teeth against your lips keeps you silent. Your hips jolt and wiggle trying desperately to escape the stretch but it’s no use. By the time he’s fully inside you, tears are streaking down your cheeks, fat and heavy. His lips break away and his eyes reappear. You shake when you see that none of the wildness has been tamed, that you’ve only just begun.
“Good girl,” he coos, and a cool finger traces a line across your jaw. “Took me so well.” You hold back a sob when his hips shift a little, testing, prodding. He must see the pinch of your eyes, the twist of your mouth, because he’s quick to comfort. “Just hold my hand, princess.” His hips rock in earnest this time and you whimper, squeezing down on his hand with all your might. You’re panting as he chuckles. “Breathe, love. Breathe. Soon you’ll be begging for more,” he laughs. It’s not long before he’s rocking into you sincerely, setting a pace that stretches you to the brink of breaking. At first it’s all you can do to grasp onto him, to bite your lips through the whimpers and hold his hand. And then it’s… more. It’s heat and warmth despite the coolness of his body on yours. It’s sensation and… pleasure. He laughs when the first moan slides past your lips, burying his face in your neck once again. You hear him at your ear, panting his hot breath across your skin.
“Feel good, princess?” You nod, letting your hips rock against his as he showed you before. It feels good– it feels right. He chuckles, but there’s nothing light about the sound. “Wanna feel even better?” Something sharp pokes at the skin of your neck, hard enough to make you squeak, to make you freeze at what you know he wants.
He pulls himself back, pressing his forehead to yours, searching your eyes with his. Something like a cruel smile dances on his mouth. “Just a taste, love. I promise it won’ hurt.” His tongue darts out and licks across your lips, his thrusts rocking just a bit faster. “You’ll feel s’ good an’ I’ll only take a little.” He laughs again and it sends a chill through your bones. “Promise.” He sounds breathless, like he’s struggling to restrain himself. The increase of his pace makes you whine and you squeeze his hand again. He buries himself back in your neck, panting. “Come on, love. Say yes. Say yes f’ me.” Your eyes glaze over. Your body justles with each new thrust. He’s desperate now, seeking a release that you don’t think is any kind you’re familiar with. “Yes, yes, yes,” he chants in your ear. You’re not sure when his words twist in your mind, when they settle on your tongue and push past your lips, but you know it feels so right when they do.
“Yes,” you whisper.
His fangs clamp around your pulse. You scream when the sting rips through you, violent and savage– but it only lasts a moment. Pain fades to… ecstasy. You feel his throat bobbing with each swallow, feel your blood seeping from your skin and onto his tongue. You’d thought it would feel slicing, draining, like the life was being sucked from you. It doesn’t. It feels wonderful. Heat spreads under your skin, emanating from your neck and down to your toes. It feels like breathing for the first time, like sugar being pumped into your veins. It feels like heaven. Your hand tangles in his hair, holding him close. You don’t want it to stop, not ever. You could die like this, have him suck every last drop of blood from your veins and thank him for it with your dying breath.
He’s moaning now, hands curling into your hips while he fucks into you relentlessly. The pace is grueling and brutal. You know it should hurt but only feels perfect. Anything less would not be enough. Anything else would leave you wanting. You feel it building, feel that familiar twinge at your core. The ecstasy flooding through your veins has it coming faster, has you teetering on the edge in moments.
“Satoru…” You hadn’t noticed how dizzy you felt until you tried to speak. You wonder why… “‘M gonna…”
He fucks you harder, something menacing and deep rumbling in his chest. The sound makes you shiver, makes you whine, makes you come.
Your body shakes and a cry rips from your throat, cunt clenching like a vice around him. Your eyes roll back, hands scraping trails down his back. Your thighs quake with the intensity, with the overwhelming senses of pleasure that erupt throughout your body. Every nerve is firing, every hair rising. It’s an unstoppable current, one that sweeps you away, helpless to its pull.
His thrusts grow sloppy and untimed. His grip on your hips tightens, holding you in place while he makes you his. His teeth break from your neck and when you look up through blurry eyes you see his head thrown back, your blood streaming down his chin in thick little globs. You feel it when he cums, feel the thick ropes of it seeping into your womb, feel the way he keeps fucking you, pushing it deeper and deeper inside. He’s moaning, chanting your name like a prayer at the heavens.
When the moment ends he slumps over you, eyes half lidded and tired. There’s a familiar grin on his lips, one that inspires both comfort and uneasiness in your gut. You can’t help but stare at him, at the blood that stains his chin and cheeks, that reddens his lips so beautifully. You want to reach out and touch him, touch his blood-soaked skin and see what it feels like, what it tastes like. What you taste like.
His eyes slide to the side, finding your pulse again. You groan. Yes, you think. Please, yes. More. You don’t think you’ll ever get enough of that. Of his teeth in your flesh, of the euphoria flooding your veins. More, more, more, your mind chants.
He chuckles lightly and shakes his head. “No, princess.” He raises a finger to trace the curve of your neck. “I took more than I should have…” His expression doesn’t tense with worry. His cheeks pull into a smile, those little dimples shining through. “But what can I say? You just taste so good.” Like he needs to emphasize his point, his tongue darts out to trace his lips, lapping up some of the remaining blood on his chin. “You taste like mine.”
You whine. More, more, more. It’s all you can think about. You lift an arm weakly. You want to pull him to your neck, to make him drink, to make him fill you with the heaven you had just moments ago.
He catches your wrist and brings it to his lips, inhaling deeply. His lips split into another grin and you see his eyes spark again with the wildness you crave.
“Not yet, princess.” he coos. “But soon.” His smile grows even wider, until those fangs are on full display, until you’re trembling again. “Forever,” he whispers.
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summary — after a ski trip with a group of friends, a snowstorm traps you and the only person in the group you barely talk with, megumi fushiguro.
word count — 1.6k
content — MDNI, smut, mutual pining, mutual masturbation, praise kink (megumi has it), megumi is a little inexperienced but it’s not explicit, finger sucking (?), yuji x reader mentioned, lowercase intended
notes — happy bday megs!! my fav boy <3
it’s been one hour and a half since you and megumi started drinking and the silence is beyond excruciating.
you both have many things to say, he and you are aware of that, but somewhat the both of you can’t push yourselves to say any of it. fear holds your words back, locking them in your throats.
after a cheerful weekend with all of your friends, you were left alone; yuta and maki took off first thing in the morning and, since you slept until 1 p.m. and nobara had an assignment to turn in, yuji drove her.
megumi rented the place so, being the one who needed to hand the keys to the renter, promised yuji he would take you home instead.
problem is – by the time you got up and packed your things, a snowstorm started, trapping you and megumi in the cabin far above some mountains.
“uh, i forgot to tell you… yuji apologized for not driving you back. he was your ride, right?” megumi finally breaks the silence, his gaze locked on his empty glass of wine.
he wonders if he should fill it again.
he is a lightweight, but the wine isn’t that strong.
“that’s fine,” you couldn’t care less about yuji. not right now. this is the closest you’ve ever been to megumi, the guy who unknowingly has you on his knees, the reason you suggest drinking together in the first place. “sorry to trouble you, though.”
the raven-haired boy can feel your eyes on him, as if you’re trying to figure him out. if the wine hadn’t tinted his cheeks red yet, you would be able to see the blush on his face.
silence engulfs you again, and it sickens him to hear you gulping down your drink. with the silence, it becomes so very easy to hear all the little sounds you make, even your breathing. he’s not sure he can handle it.
he needs to break it.
“so… you and yuji?”
megumi wants to slap himself the moment the words leave his lips. what kind of question is that? he swears at himself, but he truly wants to know.
he has liked you for so long that, when he started growing suspicious about your relationship with yuji, he didn’t have the stomach to ask about it to his best friend. he would tell himself he was better off not knowing.
but yuji isn’t here.
and you… you are.
he hears it when you laugh – a laugh so genuine it warms his heart – and turns his head to look at you. you seem really amused, but he doesn’t get what’s so funny and a little pout appears on his lips.
“uh, me and yuji are just friends, megumi,” you say when your laugh comes to an end. “just friends.”
“ah,” should he believe you? you aren’t even close. why would you tell him? “i just thought…”
“what did you think, megs?” you’re fast to approach him, now sitting so close together your thighs touch and your breath fans over his jaw. you wear a playful, almost wicked, smile as you press further, “did you think i was fucking yuji?”
the dirty word in your voice makes megumi’s cock twitch. he tries to keep his breathing steady, putting his glass on the table before turning completely to you, although avoiding your eyes. does it matter if he lies? “yes.”
“why do you care?” your ambush has him almost collapsing in front of you. megumi can feel his blood running cold as he tries to think of an answer to give you, a decent one that won’t put him into further trouble. “do you want to fuck me instead, megumi?”
it is so hard to think when your face is so close. are you testing him? have you found out about his crush on you? about his perverted fantasies? are you trying to catch him red-handed?
megumi lifts his eyes to meet yours, a ‘sorry’ on the tip of his tongue when he catches on how you seem to be drowned in lust. your pupils dilated, shining bright, and a silent request you never make.
he kisses you with utter desperation, his hand grabbing the back of your neck to pull you closer and guide you through it. you straight up mewl against his lips, the sound making his blood run straight down to his dick.
as his tongue invades your mouth, you grab his shirt tight and lay down, pulling him with you. megumi doesn’t even know where to put his hands, shaking slightly as he runs them over your sides; grabbing, squeezing, making sure you are really there.
as soon as you part the kiss, your lips are on his neck and he groans, rutting his hips against your legs. he can feel his entire body growing hotter, his cheeks flushing, but you give him no time to doubt himself as you part your legs to accommodate him.
“shit…” he hisses, thrusting in a desperate attempt to have some relief. “can i… can i take these off? is this okay?”
you nod and he immediately retreats, just enough to take your sweatpants off you. too many clothes, he thinks. everything suddenly became so hot.
“take yours off, too,” you say. “please.”
you watch, lust and adoration filling you, as he stands and pulls his pants down with trembling hands. you can see the bulge on his underwear, your mouth salivating at the sight.
but megumi doesn’t wait another second before he’s on the couch again, kneeling in front of you. his hands are cold when they touch your knees, silently asking for you to open your legs again – and you do.
“kiss me again,” you notice he’s nervous so you ask, and when megumi presses his weight down on you and connects your lips again, you become a mess. “megumi…” you whisper between a kiss, moaning softly when he thrusts against you, the wetness in your panties making it feel so damn good. “are you sure you want this?”
megumi knows you can see his anxiety, but you erase it with each kiss. you erase it when you roll your hips on him, making him whimper. “yes. yes.”
you’re not sure he’s answering your question, and he buries his face on your neck as his right hand goes straight to your core. “megumi.”
“want this… want you so bad,” he whines close to your ear, pulling your panties down a little and cupping your pussy. you both moan, “shit– you’re so wet. i did this?”
his question is genuine, taking his face off your neck to look at you. he looks so fucked up and it drives you insane, knowing he was on cloud nine for touching you alone.
“y–yeah. you did,” you can barely express yourself as he massages your lower lips, his eyes locked on your face to gather every bit of your reactions. when he presses his thumb on your clit, it’s your turn to whimper, “fuck, fuck, –gumi.”
“feels good?” he’s so desperate for confirmation you’d find it cute if you weren’t so lost in yourself already.
“yeah, so good,” he hums happily with your answer, playing with your clit and circling your entrance with one of his fingers. you cry out when he pushes it inside, pumping a few times before pushing in another, “‘s so good. so good to me, megumi,” you’re out of your mind, moving your hips with him.
his chest fills with pride as he watches you squirm underneath him, hearing you praise him. he doesn’t even see you moving your hand to grab his cock, making him falter for a bit.
you push his underwear down just enough to free him, almost automatically smearing the pre-cum leaking from his tip as much as you can before wrapping your hand around him, “wanna make you– feel good too.”
he sighs in pleasure, curling his fingers inside you as he thrusts them and massages your clit. you stop pumping him for a second to collect your own wetness before enveloping him again, “fuck, fuck.” he doesn’t know for how long he can last, knowing damn well he looks like a dog in heat as he matches your movements and speed.
your orgasm comes crashing down and megumi eats the sounds you make by kissing you, the way your walls clench around his fingers and you make a mess on them being the last straw for him to cum as well.
you gasp, still coming down from your high as you feel his seed dripping on your sensitive pussy, painting it white. almost as if claiming you.
when you open your eyes to see there’s cum everywhere, you notice it wasn’t intentional. “shit, megumi, you’re so hot.”
he’s still shaking, so you motion for him to lay on top of you, “sorry, i didn’t want to–”
you shut him by taking your hand to your mouth, licking his cum off it with adoration. megumi feels his cock stir, but copies your movements, licking you off his fingers as well.
you don’t even have to think before you put your fingers on his mouth and he puts his on yours. you feel synchronized, eyes locked on each other and mind filled with dirty thoughts as you suck each other’s fingers off.
and then megumi kisses you again, your mouth filled with the taste of you both combined and you sigh, “you’re so good.”
you don’t mind how many times you’ve said it, you want to keep saying it over and over again. especially when his eyes light up like that.
megumi waited for you for a long time and now he truly is going to be good.
to you.
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