Hi! I Hope You're Having A Good Day! I've Been Thinking, How Would Alastor React To The Reader Casually

Hi! I hope you're having a good day! I've been thinking, how would Alastor react to the reader casually saying stuff like "I like your laugh, it's nice," and "You voice is really soothing," out of the blue.

a/n: oh i loooooved writing this ^ ^ he would 100% be the type to try and hide that he actually likes the compliments but fail miserably. thank you and i hope you like this!

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You'd like to say you know everything about Alastor, but that's far from the truth.

You know his mother's jambalaya recipe, sure, and that he takes his coffee black. You've memorized the intro of his morning broadcast, and learned the feeling of his chin propped on your shoulder.

There are pieces of Alastor you know like the back of your hand, but somehow you've never even scratched the surface of deciphering him. He was just like that, you suppose—an enigma wrapped in another mystery that would take a lifetime to unravel.

The only thing he liked more than his secrets was keeping them, after all.

And he especially enjoyed toying with you—dangling little tidbits of trivia about him in front of your face and snatching it away when you inevitably took the bait. He'd laugh about it, too, saying you were so adorable for trying.

For some time you had hypothesized that his ears were a good way of gauging his real thoughts about matters, but he was irritatingly good at controlling those as well. Not even the slightest twitch to give away his inner monologue.

"You are so annoying, you know that?" You once told him while brushing your teeth, words coming out muffled from your toothbrush. Minty foam gathered at your mouth while you glared at him through the reflection in the mirror.

He only laughed, as he always did, and propped his chin on your shoulder.

"How rude!" He chastised you playfully.

You leaned down to rinse your mouth. "I'm just saying," you muttered after standing tall again, "I wish I knew what was going through that head of yours sometimes."

Unsurprisingly, Alastor's expression was unreadable.

He opted to bite your cheek and walk away from the conversation after that, not bothering to enlighten you even slightly.

You watched him from across the bathroom, eyeing the way his shadow danced around him with a mind of its own before it disappeared into the darkness.

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His downfall began with a comment you made after you ended up falling asleep with your head on his shoulder.

He had been reading the latest article about the Vees to you out loud, practically singing his amusement with how terrible this column had painted out Vox to be. With fame came criticism, of course, and Alastor would happily sit there and criticize Vox all day if he could.

Your head hit his shoulder quick and he sighed, ears perking at the familiar sound of your slowing breaths. (He didn't bother waking you. It's not like he had much else to do at the time.)

"Your voice is so soothing," you shrugged when you finally awoke. "The static is like... comforting white noise for me, or something."

'Or something?' he wanted to ask.

He didn't, because he didn't really care for an explanation further than that. (He definitely didn't avoid prying because he felt something warm in his chest knowing you thought that way about him.)

It kept happening after that, as much as he wishes it didn't.

Little comments you slid into conversation so casually—tiny compliments and teases that drove him up the wall. They were softening him up, flattering him in dangerous ways.

The demon felt his sanity wearing thin with each passing day, making tremendous efforts to hide the way your slips made him warm.

He's sure he is about to crack. At any moment, his ears will flick or his cheeks will cherub with genuine joy because you can't keep your words to yourself. But he's done well for himself thus far, pat on the back, for not gratifying you.

He mentally groans when you join him at the bar, eyeing his drink. "It's the middle of the day," you point out.

"And you've come to scold me?" He tuts.

"I've come to join you, actually."

Alastor chuckles, voice missing it's usual static filter. He reaches over to pour you a glass when you smile at him.

"You have a nice laugh."

He nearly shatters the glass in his hands.

You snicker quietly, leaning over the bar to creep under his face which is scrunched up in concentration.

"What's wrong? I like your laugh, you should do it more!"

Taking a deep breath, the Radio Demon reaches over to pinch your nose. You yelp and jerk away from him, glaring.

"Flattery will get you nowhere~" he sings.

Your head tilts to the side in confusion. There's a smugness to your gaze that makes him feel like a trapped animal, and he realizes that you've known all along what you've done to him.

"Oh, but I think it does," you laugh, nodding to his shadow burned into the floor.

Its smile is uncharacteristically soft, missing all semblance of its usual fangs and sharp edges. Howling in embarrassment, the shadow dives away, abandoning its owner to confront you alone.

All this time, his shadow had been the one betraying him. Through all the times he had forced his ears to stay rigid, with all the effort to maintain his mask of indifference, you'd seen where he had overlooked.

His jaw clenches so hard he can feel his teeth grinding into each other. "You are perceptive, my dear."

"No," you giggle. "You're just bad at hiding how you feel. I think it's cute."

Alastor glowers at you, but his ears flop back and forth atop his head at your praise anyway.

~

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"creature of myth."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, my lady?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you like them?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course… Satoru.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not tonight.” 

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

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

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

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

~  

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I hope Thomas treated you well yesterday?” 

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

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

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

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

~

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

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

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

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

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

“It was… good.”

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

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

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

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

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

You nod eagerly. “I’m sure I will.” 

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

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

“You’re not… eating?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You smile lightly. “Perfect. Thank you.” 

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

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

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

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

He chuckles. “My pleasure.” 

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

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

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

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

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

~

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

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

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

~

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

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

~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You skip ahead again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No, no, no. 

“(See next page for only existing portrait)”

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

You flip the page and Satoru stares back at you. 

Knock! Knock! Knock!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“About the estate?” he asks. 

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

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

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

“Anything interesting?” he presses.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhm?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes. Yes. Give it to me.” 

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

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

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

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

“S-Satoru–”

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

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

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

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

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

“Satoru, p-please! It’s–” 

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

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

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

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

“Yes,” you whisper. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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---

Rintaro loves to pretend he doesn’t care.

There’s a nonchalance that carries around your man, one that comes from years of training of gaslighting the twins and making them turn against each other, or the scoldings from Kita-San that could’ve got so intense with his disappointment Rintaro could cry.

He’s gotten good at keeping a stoic emotion and making you act out. He loves to pretend he doesn’t care.

“It’s because he doesn’t,” Atsumu assures, playing with the strings of his hoodie.

You roll your eyes, “trust me, he cares. You just don’t see it.”

“And I never will. Because it doesn’t happen.”

You raise your brows in challenge, and he matches your brow raising. “Wanna bet on it?”

“Wager?”

“If I can prove to you Rintaro actually is a dork for my attention, I want a signed Kiyoomi jersey.”

He scoffs, “can’t you just ask Kiyoomi for one?”

“Komori tells me not to bother him after games.”

Atsumu rolls his eyes, “okay. And when he doesn’t show he’s a loser, I want all you can eat at Onigiri Miya and you pick up the bill.”

“….”

“What?”

“Osamu doesn’t naturally give you all you can eat?”

“No?”

“Oh…”

“Does he GIVE IT TO YOU?!”

You give him a cheesy smile and quickly move to grab your keys, his jaw slacked in betrayal, only for him to roll his eyes, “whatever. Either way, we’re going when I win. What’re the keys for?”

“You’ll see.”

You jingle your keys with a small smirk, making sure to do it loud enough for him to hear down the hall. Atsumu shakes his head in disbelief, only for his hand to cover his mouth as socked feet quickly become louder as Rintaro barrels down the hall.

A lanky frame fills the doorway, “where you goi-“

Atsumu and you let out a string of cackles, his hand smacking his knee while Rintaro scrubs his face with his free hand, the other one holding a controller for his, hopefully, paused game.

“Dawg I hate you for real,” he sighs, coming into the room to kiss your head. You smile and angle your head to kiss him for real, which he complies with happily and making Atsumu gag. His green eyes dart to glare at Atsumu, “I wish osamu was an only child.”

“Damn, bringing guns to knife fights,” the blonde snorts. “Not my fault you got caught in 4K, dickhead.”

“Not my fault you’re a single loser.” He leans down to kiss your lips, “where’re we going?”

“No where,” you hum happily. “Just wanted to make sure you were still obsessed with me.”

He beams down at you while Atsumu groans in disgust.

“Always.”

RINRINRINRINRIN

---

Hiiii, could you possibly write for the letters D, I, O, X, and Y for Lucifer c:

D, I, O, X, and Y for Lucifer

Greetings! Yes I can write this up for you! I hope you don't mind any possible OOCness, Lucifer is still a tough character for me to write :C

With that being said, I hope you enjoy! C:

DATES:

Given that he is the king of Hell as well as in charge of Lu Lu World it's more than a safe bet to assume that he is wealthy. So most dates can be a little... extravagant, and perhaps a little overwhelming as a result due to Lucifer trying his best to flatter you. Though, if you're looking for something more lowkey... you might be able to convince him to out with you to his own theme park! How fun would that be? Playing shitty carnival games? Or perhaps, a night out to eat.. That is a more likely option than the carnival.

INJURY:

If you got injured he would raise hell trying to get payback on whoever, or whatever did it. Yes, whatever. I do think he would scold a coffee table if you stubbed your toe on it. Though... in that scenario he might be doing it to try to get a laugh out of you... maybe... He doesn't let you lift a finger until you're fully recovered, insisting to do everything for you. He does not act like you're dying, though...

If he's the one injured... First of all, he's Lucifer, how often is it that someone is going to try to go after him..? How likely is it that whoever injured him is going to get off free? He may attempt to walk off the injury to maintain his image of... someone. He got so used to having to be the one to take care of himself that he's grown used to it, forgetting that being cared for is an option for him.. You both will definitely have to communicate and work on things like this.

ODDITY:

Ducks. So many ducks. Why ducks? You ask him but he might give you a joke answer. He can also be a little... it's hard to find the right word, but sometimes he can bounce from being mentally stuck in his own spiraling mental health, and being the happiest you've ever seen him. Sometimes the switch can be a little jarring, but usually they don't happen for no reason. Not anything weird, of course, it just means you have to equip yourself to be able to handle him at his lowest. And his highest.

X-RAY:

It depends greatly on many factors. However, over time he does get better at reading you. It's just bridging that gap between you and connecting when you're clearly not having a good time that can sometimes be difficult. Though, that doesn't mean he's not going to try. When he sees you happy, it does rub off on him a little. He wants to see the people he loves thrives, and that does give him some motivation. He can sometimes he clouded by his own thoughts and feelings, though, and may misinterpret your body language..

YEARN:

He yearns a lot. His wife left him years ago and he hasn't dated since. Of course, until you came into his life. He didn't realize how starved he was for affection until you gave it to him. Given how he handles being estranged from Charlie, he doesn't handle being away from you... the best... He won't call you unless he has an excuse. If you can hear the worry in his tone and offer to come back early from wherever you've gone, he's going to insist that you don't. Not until you're done doing what you need to do... just hearing your voice makes his tone a little more relaxed, though!

---

bachata baby | (s)

apart of the meet cute: gone wrong series, click here for more!

pairing: shigaraki tomura x reader

words: 8.7k

prompt: "getting paired up at a dance class"

warnings: enemies to lovers, cunnilingus, dom!shigaraki, sensual dancing, tit play, fingering, hand kink, doggystyle, protected sex, alcohol, frat party, complicated relationship

  You’d absolutely lost the class registration lottery. After days, even weeks of agonizing over what classes filled which requirements and yet still gave you enough wiggle room to have your off days, you were exhausted. Everything was planned to a tee, and your dismayed face was evident as you told your roommate the dreadful news.

“I have to take a dance class! A partner dancing class! I might as well drop out,” you cry forlornly, looking at Nejire’s baby blue rug in frustration.

“It can’t be that bad! I mean, at least the professor’s good, right? Nemuri Kayama, I think. She’s one of the best; you’re in good hands,” your friend pets your head softly before leaping onto her plush bed, “maybe you’ll even dance with someone cute! You should keep your head high.”

“...Well, I guess. If I’m with a creep, I’m gonna be so annoyed! How are you so positive?”

Nejire seems to think over her answer before giving you a teasing grin, “because I got the schedule I wanted.”

“Nejire!”

She’d reassured you she was just joking, but it was true. If you were in her position, you’re sure you’d be glad to have everything work out how you want it to. Sucking it up, you were determined not to let a stupid class ruin your well-earned GPA. You don your best comfy clothes and arrive ten minutes early at the studio. 

A couple of people are hanging out in the studio, and there’s a pleasant buzz of chatter while you sit. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. People continued trickling in, and before you could realize it, your professor clapped her hands.

“Good morning, everyone!”

Your face burns a bit hot, was she supposed to wear such tight (and revealing!) clothing? She quickly introduces herself even with all the muttering, “I hope today goes as well for you as it does for me, and I want you to all know that this class will excite you, will make you feel, and most importantly is a lot of fun!”

Everyone around you seems to be either drinking in your professor’s appearance or wondering if they should drop the class; you’re thinking the latter, too, until she drops a bomb on the students.

“You’re all too uptight! You know what? Partner up!”

It feels like you’re about to faint. Looking left, people are making eyes and nodding at each other. Looking right, it’s the same thing, and your heart stops at the realization that you don’t have a partner. There’s so much chatter and commotion as people enter the room to find a clear spot for this cruel icebreaker. 

“Does anyone not have a partner?”

You almost don’t raise your hand, but you have to. Red-hot shame is coursing through your veins. Could this get any worse?

Thankfully, a lanky and pale arm shoots into the sky alongside yours. Before you know it, Nemuri pushes you two toward each other and moves on to the assignment.

“First, say hello. These will be your partners for the rest of the semester, so make sure you like them! I know some of you are gonna date outside of class, and don’t get handsy over there!”

He’s very tall. You have to actually look up at his grumpy face to see him. His hair falls flat, looks damaged, and your cheek twitches. He’s not ugly! If he cared for his hair and maybe got more sleep… dare you say it, he could be cute.

Shigaraki towers over you easily, eyes raking your form (noting that he can see your perky tits in your bra from this advantage.) You look alright, but he’s getting the feeling that you think he’s weird, “you can stop looking at me like an animal.”

“I wasn’t! I really wasn’t,” you offer your hand and introduce yourself, “I really like your skull necklace!”

It feels like a ruse, and Shigaraki reluctantly takes your hand with a bored face, “I’m Shigaraki. Thanks.”

While others seemed to be faring better with their partners, it feels off-putting that he won’t even try to converse with you. If he’s going to have his hands on you, how could he act so cold!?

“Well, jeez. Don’t try to say it all at once,” you mumble sourly, to which your partner scoffs.

“It’s just a class. It’s not even important.”

“It’s important to me,” and you don’t like this guy.

“Then maybe you should find a different partner.”

You look like a kicked puppy when he says that, but he doesn’t take it back and mentally stews in his harshness. Maybe he should make a better effort… you were cute, he supposed. You had great tits, and you complimented his necklace.

Turning back to Nemuri, you can’t think of anything to say to that. Even though you don’t know him, it still stings a bit and your confidence leaks. Were you really that down on your luck?

Nemuri begins, telling each duo to get in a typical slow-dance pose for fun and to “get to know each other more.” It’s starting to get a little creepy, but you wind your arms around Shigaraki’s shoulders anyways. He rests his hands casually on your waist but doesn’t hold you like others. 

“Aren’t you supposed to hold my waist?”

He snickers, “do you want me to?”

Trying to talk to this man is pointless, but you almost smile at his response anyway.

“Just don’t be weird!”

“No promises,” and he’s glad to see you smile at his pervertedness.

Shigaraki decides to be nicer right then and there, in his own way.

Nemuri instructs you to casually slow dance and continue conversing; she even adds music to jazz up the class, which surprisingly works. Your nerves are melting away like butter, and Shigaraki seems to have mildly warmed up to you.

“So… Do you like to dance?”

“Fuck no.”

His bluntness makes you giggle, “yeah, me either. Except at, like, parties. But I wouldn’t really call it dancing!”

“You go to parties?”

“Sometimes! I have a lot of friends who go, so it’s like an outing every time! Do you go to parties?”

It feels kind of dumb to ask that question. No offense to him, but you’re already suspecting his answer before he gives it. He twirls you, and you feel a rush of butterflies.

“Not really. People don’t want a zombie dude at their parties,” his voice is gravelly but smooth, “but I’ve been to a few.”

“They’re fun!”

Before you can continue finding common ground, Nemuri is hollering about reading the syllabus and upcoming material you’ll cover. Shigaraki quickly gets his hands off you, and your heart aches.

“Hey, do you want to exchange social media?”

He’s already got his bag halfway on your shoulder, giving you an unimpressed look.

“I don’t use social media,” and he shuffles even closer to the parade of students exiting the lecture hall.

“Oh. Well, your number?”

You feel yourself grow hot when all he does is smirk and input your digits into his phone.

“There, do you need anything else?”

What happened to the Shigaraki from a few minutes ago? He seems to be in a rush, but you can’t help but feel hurt by his mood swings. Was he always going to be this irritable? Was he going to be someone you could count on in this class?

“...I guess not. Bye.”

He’s out of the room before you realize it, gingerly grabbing your stuff and worrying your lip. This class would be a piece of work, and you couldn’t find your footing so far. Maybe you should just drop it? But you really need that humanities credit and…

“It’s Nejire! Pick up the phone!” 

Nejire’s self-imposed ringtone is heard through your AirPods. The stress is already leaking out of your body just hearing her voice. If you had a girlfriend, she’d be it. You answer cheerily, “hey!”

“Hey! Are you coming back from class right now?”

“Yeah, I just got out. You have to hear about this; my partner sucks!”

Well… you’re embellishing. He doesn’t suck, but he’s not great.

“Aw man, really? I can’t believe it! I thought for sure it was gonna go okay….”

“It’s whatever! I’m over it,” you weren’t. “Why’d you call?”

“Oh! If you’re up for it, Phi Psi is having a party tonight! Do you wanna go?”

Hmm, ironic since you were just talking about parties. Maybe it’d be nice, and perhaps it’d be good to let loose for a couple of hours. The memory of Shigaraki telling you that he goes to some parties replays in your mind, but you try to ignore it.

“Sure! We can go. What’s the theme?”

Pajamas, she’d said. You know that your silk sleep set is more lingerie than anything else, but your nerves are buzzing with pre-gamed shots of vodka and the promise of attractive people buttering you up. Looking around, it’s a typical college party, and you’re already feeling warm from how guys eye you like you’re the hottest thing there.

Shigaraki thinks so and turns the corner, missing your flushed wandering eyes.

“We needa dance!”

Nejire babbles excitedly, Mirio accompanying her while she clutches your bicep.

“Mhm, mhm! Let me get another drink first!”

Mirio keeps Nejire’s legs from buckling and smiles, “we’ll be right here!”

You weave in and out of people, vision getting hazier and every touch feeling electric. A man starts pouring your drink, giving you a dazzling smile. He opens his mouth to talk, but you’re suddenly caged against the fence and face to face with Shigaraki’s chest.

“Wha?”

“Hey.”

He watches you search his eyes for a minute, teetering slightly as you sip the mix of alcohol and punch. Then, there’s remembrance, and you’re leaping joyfully into his chest. It feels… nice, and he gingerly pats your back before steadying you on the balls of your feet.

“Hey! I didn’t know you were going to be here. My friends are over there,” you point past his shoulder, and he sees a guy chasing a girl around, “hiii, Nejire!”

You’re pretty cute when you’re drunk, elongating words and joy coming out of you like a waterfall. A dainty hand grabs a bony one, and you’re about to drag Shigaraki toward your friends to “meet them!”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” harsher than he meant to, he rips his hand away, “how drunk are you?”

You give an offended huff, “I’m not drunk! I only had a c-oop! A couple of shots! And this drink! It’s not even a lot….”

Shigaraki feels tempted to be childish and poke fun at you. Boop your nose and pull your hair, but you’re suddenly lost in thought and fascinated with your slippers.

“You look drunk.”

“Well, ’m not. I don’t even know why I’m talking to you right now,” and you’re suddenly invigorated and wanting to seek out your friends, but the first step sends you wobbling right into Shigaraki.

The boy yelps, hands gripping your shoulders and steadying you, “watch it!”

“Let go of me!”

Some onlookers look on, peering eyes, and boys puffing their chests out in case they need to step in. Shigaraki’s mind goes blank, and all he can think of is that you’re so fucking annoying, and why does he still want to help you?

Why did he think of you while fucking his fist in bed last night? He shushes you and crosses his arms.

“Do you want to walk home by yourself?”

You look like a child, happily saying” yes” and nodding proudly. Unfortunately, Shigaraki’s plan failed; you were too happy to wander off alone. He’s reminded of a time when people used to call him creepy when he was smaller and more bug-eyed.

“Oh, okay. Sure, get murdered. See if I care.”

This makes you react like you’re actually thinking about the consequences now. Mulling it over, you chew the inside of your lip and let your head roll back against the fence.

“...Well, I don’t wanna be murdered….”

“Then let me take you home.”

“Since when are you nice?!”

It may sting a bit, but he shows no emotion. He takes a calm breath and blows the air out through his nostrils. There are no words at first, and you’re looking at him with a glint in your eye, and he wonders what you look like when you laugh. When you cry or when you get really excited.

“You don’t even care about me.”

“... You’re my dance partner.”

He’s sure his heart overrode his brain. There’s no way he could say something so cheesy. It makes your heart pound; what did he mean by that? Your drunk brain couldn’t decipher how he presented his feelings, but then he was offering you a hand like a prince.

You never thought you’d call Shigaraki prince-like, and you’re worried that this might spiral out of control soon. Letting him lead you away, you figure that that’s definitely what will happen.

“Who’s room is…?”

Shigaraki has no idea and frankly can’t be bothered to care that he’s stumbling into a random frat guy’s room, “don’t know. Don’t really care?”

He tries to take your shoes off at least, but you’re unceremoniously dropping yourself onto the bed like a fish out of water. Shigaraki feels his cheek twitch in annoyance, and then you’re turning your head with a jutted lip.

“Are you gonna lie?”

“Am I going to what?”

He assures himself you’re too drunk to understand what you’re saying. There’s no reason for you to ask that other than the need to not be alone. You’d never ask that because you genuinely wanted, no, trusted Shigaraki to stay with you. He’d never believe it, but his feet carried him to the edge of the bed, and then he sank into the soft mattress.

It’s quiet, maybe too quiet. The music’s bass thrums through the floors, but all Shigaraki can hear is your soft breath. He doesn’t even realize you’re looking at him in the dimness of his room until he turns his head. His breath catches in his throat. Have you always been so pretty?

The alcohol makes you too sleepy too fast, and it feels like this moment is slipping away from you like you’re trying to cup water in your hands. It’s leaking out of you, and then his red eyes lock onto yours. 

“Why don’t you like me?”

“What do you mean,” and it comes out almost wounded.

“I-hic. I mean, like, when you suddenly act so… mean.”

For the first time in a long time, Shigaraki feels rendered speechless. He wants to jump up and run out of the room like the child he once was, but he can’t find the strength to pull away from your gaze.

“...I don’t know.”

“Why?”

“I just don’t,” and he finally breaks eye contact to look through the window behind you, “you don’t have to pity me, then.”

“I don’t!” 

The end of your words slurs, and you know you’ll lose yourself to the intoxicating feelings of sleep soon.

“I just… I want to like you.”

“Like me?”

You smile widely before you lean forward and press a kiss to his nose. He even goes cross-eyed to try and follow your movements.

“You’re kinda… cute. But, you’re mean. So just be nice! Okay?”

He’s not even sure why he goes along with it.

“Okay.”

Your eyes close, and for a second, he thinks he’s finally free from this impromptu analysis of… well, him. But, you beat him to the chase and whisper quietly.

“I meant it.”

“What?”

“That you’re cute.”

One eye peeks open when he doesn’t respond, and the embarrassment that should be there is only replaced with pure elatedness. His eyes sparkled a bit more. It makes you think that you should compliment him more. You shut your eyes.

“You’re going to be embarrassed tomorrow.”

Maybe he waited too long, but all he knows is that your soft snores escape you quickly, and his heart warms at the sound. It shouldn’t, but it does. He falls asleep shortly after and dreams of a faceless girl who dances with him all night. The girl always keeps smiling at him no matter how stiff he is.

It’s a beautiful dream.

-

Shigaraki’s kind enough to shake you awake just past dawn, and the splitting headache doesn’t make the visual of him leaning over you with a gentle hand easier to see. 

“Hey. Wake up. Some frat dude is gonna yell at you.”

The idea of someone barging in makes you move to sit up and groan, “do you have any water?”

“No. Get up, hurry,” and he’s tugging you off the bed.

It was a bad idea, your sleep-addled brain lagging and causing you to flop directly into a firm chest, “watch out!”

“I’m sorry! I’m barely awake,” and it comes out like a whine, “can we get water?”

You almost think he’ll say no, tell you to fuck off and get water yourself. But, he makes a move you would’ve never expected, calmly lacing his hand with yours and steadying you on your feet.

“Fine, let’s just get going already.”

Was this the Shigaraki you’d met? Had he been replaced by a clone that happened to be identical to the tone of voice? The feeling of a bony hand in yours is unreal. You can hardly take your eyes off the entanglement while Shigaraki urges you to come down the stairs faster than you are.

“Are you listening to me?”

“Did I say something weird last night?”

It comes out in a whisper, and Shigaraki feels like going to college was a huge mistake when he pulls his hand away and holds it close to himself like you’re injured. Like he injured you.

So, be nice! Okay?

“Shigaraki?”

“You said I was cute.”

He’s blushing as he blurts it out like it’s a defense mechanism to keep you from getting closer. You rack your brain for the precise wording, but you can only remember bits and pieces of lying down to look at each other.

Did you really call him cute? You gnaw on your lip and look away, but as you glance at him again, you know you definitely did say that. Your lips turn upwards, the hilarity of you having to double-check while sober if you meant what you’d said...

Shigaraki was even hot now that you really looked at him, even with the tsundere thing going on.

“Well… well! I was drunk! Besides, you can’t tell me you didn’t like hearing it.”

“No, I didn’t. You’re mistaken.”

“What’s that, huh? Why do you look like a tomato, hm?”

He wants to throttle you, wagging your finger in his face and poking his cheek like he’s a zoo animal. 

“I should’ve just left you up there, let you get eaten by wolves.”

“But you didn’t.”

You’re right. Somehow in the mix of pushing you away and being pulled closer, he still stayed there the whole night to keep you safe. He still woke you early enough to escape the wolves lurking in the nearly destroyed frat house. He could’ve let you be eaten by wolves, but he didn’t.

“...Well, whatever. Let’s go.”

“Mkay.”

It’s surprising how you decide to drop the subject. This strange attraction thrummed in your bones, urging you to do something about this little… crush. You let him guide you out the door and towards his car, a beat-up little Toyota. It’s red, too, like his eyes. Maybe it was on purpose.

“You’re okay to drive?”

“Yeah, I’m good.”

Shigaraki drives recklessly, you note. The way his hands grip the wheel, tires screeching as he swerves out into the abandoned street and takes off. It should make you scared, want to yell, and demand he let you out. Only he gives you a quick glance and smirks. 

You really should talk to Nejire before you decide to fuck him. His music taste blares out of old speakers, a mix of rock and metal that wakes you like a good cup of coffee. You’re about to lose yourself to the Foo Fighters song, but then he snaps the knob down to zero and clears his throat. 

“You owe me.”

“I owe you what? I don’t owe you,” you even cross your arms for effect.

How cute.

“For taking care of you, ruined my night,” he’s lying, and he knows he’s lying, but he can’t help but take a chance.

Take a chance and see if you really mean it, if he’s not just making things up because you want to be nice. The part that runs deep in his blood tells him it can’t be true, and he hopes that, for once, he’s wrong.

“Psh, ruined. You love being around me. That’s why you get like that,” you push it even further, “you just don’t know how to tell me you want me.”

He doesn’t know what to say, and you’re carelessly whistling a tune while picking at your nails. 

“We have to practice our dance for class,” smooth, peaceful transition.

“Right! Tomorrow evening, in one of the practice rooms, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Thanks for walking me home.”

Shigaraki repeats his reply, and you note that he seems distracted. You wonder if you also seem distracted; you had a lot to think about!...

And all Shigaraki could think about was holding your waist in his hands. It made his heart thump in his chest. God.

The walk to the practice room was cold, and you were thankful for your quick thinking of wearing leg warmers like a ballerina. You’re unsure if Shigaraki is already there, but you’re shaking off the cold as quickly as possible while storming into the building.

He is there! His phone’s hooked up to a small speaker, and the pale blue walls make him shine even in dark clothing. His hair shakes when he gives you a blithe wave, “hey. Took you long enough.”

“Hey! I came as fast as I could. Is that your speaker?”

“Mm, no. My roommate’s, uh… Dabi? You don’t know him.”

Oh, you’ve heard of him. Frankly, this should be an even bigger red flag, but you pay it no mind and shrug, “I might’ve heard of him.”

He chuckles at that. So you have heard of him.

“Well, anyway. He never uses it, so I took it.”

“Wow, evil.”

You drop your bag next to his, a frumpy black backpack with suspicious stains. You sidle close to him, peering at his Spotify while he scrolls for the correct song.

“You should show me your Spotify account!”

“God no, you’ll never see it. C’mon, we need to get this over with.”

“Whaaaat? You don’t want to hang out and stall practicing with me?”

He’s gotten warmer since your first meeting, lips quirked up as he drops his phone and crosses his lazy arms, “nope.”

“Fine! We can practice, and maybe later, I can steal your phone for your Spotify.”

“Yeah, yeah,” his voice dips a bit lower, “c’mere.”

Something inside of you ignites, but you force yourself to ignore it while wrapping your arms around his shoulders; he slumps a bit to accommodate you, making the fire even hotter. You melt like butter into him. The two of you fit perfectly. You could feel it.

The melody is something from an old movie, gentle and sweet with a romantic vibe. It’s causing tension between you and Shigaraki.

It’s making you want to kiss him.

“You stepped on my foot,” he whispers while twirling you in a half-circle.

Squeaking a quiet apology, he rolls his eyes and dips you a tad, “you seem distracted.”

You can hardly hear him over “Easy Lovers” playing in the background. It’s consuming you whole like you might not ever breathe again.

“Do I?”

“Maybe I just don’t know you that well enough,” and you twirl again.

It’s just practicing for class, for a dumb class that wouldn’t even matter in four years. But you didn’t think of anything at that moment, just that you were pressing soft lips against chapped ones with a feeling of passion behind it. Even if he lacked lip balm, the sensation of him gripping your shirt made everything seem so much hotter. Sweeter.

He even has the gall to swipe his tongue over your lip like he’s the one who took the leap and kissed you first. You know that Shigaraki was too shy to kiss you first. 

“...”

It’s dead silent, his Spotify queue echoing automatically and filling the room with music you don’t think you’ve ever heard. Shigaraki nearly shivers at the confused gleam in your eyes.

“It’s called shoegaze.”

“Shoegaze?”

“Yeah,” and he’s barely finishing the word before taking your cheek in hand and bringing you back to him.

Your breath hitches and you want to get so close the two of you nearly fuse together. Dainty hands tangled in his hair, all raggedy and muted like his skin or clothes. Something about how his bony fingers dig into the curve of your waist keeps your head spinning, and you don’t even realize he owns you by pressing you against the wall and licking the inside of your mouth.

“Sh-aah.”

The moan wasn’t too loud, but it echoed in his head. Shigaraki has never been the type to be so openly carnal and animalistic, and yet it was coming out with every kiss he dotted on the skin of your neck. He could fuck you here if he was so pleased, and briefly, he worried when he felt his cock stir in his pants.

You bring him back to you, grasping like a lifeline and laving over the slickness of his mouth and how he was strong enough to carry you just off the ground. It was stupidly hot; when did he get all this power? It’s like it overtook him, and the two of you part; neither of you wanted to.

“We need to stop.”

“But can’t we–”

“No. Not here,” he mulls over his following words with an annoyed look, “and I don’t have a condom.”

You nearly burst out laughing in his face, dry heaving and keeling over. But it’ll upset him, and that’s the last thing you want. “Oh, well, I’m on birth control?”

“Stop.”

He seems firm in his decision, but you can’t help but wiggle your hips toward him enticingly. Maybe he’ll cave, let you give him a handjob or something. I mean, that’s not that bad, right?

“Please?”

Shigaraki would usually feel irritation rise quickly and overwhelm him, but his eyes flicker down to your wandering hands and wiggling hips. Well, he was serious about not wanting to fuck here, but…

“I’m only doing this so you’ll be quiet!”

He sinks to his knees. You salivate at sight, brimming with joy and confidence. His thumbs hook in your belt loops, and he tenderly runs his hands over your thighs, “grab onto the ballet bar.”

You don’t think you’ll collapse to your knees, but you’re shaking in anticipation because he looks like he knows what he’s doing. The way he swiftly tugs your leggings and panties down in one go, you can feel your arousal smearing your thighs; you were already horny just from kissing him.

Finally, he looks relaxed, parting your puffy lips and admiring your dripping hole.

“It’s cute.”

“Shut up,” you’re breathless already with how you can feel his breath right where you need him.

Then, he’s licking from your clenching hole to the nub of your clit, the glide slick with spit as he gets to work.

“Shigaraki!”

You nearly scream, legs angling in too close, but his surprisingly firm grip keeps you how he wants you. Your hands wrench around the ballet bar as he licks every fold so he can taste as much of you as possible. 

It’s wonderful, and you know now that he does in fact, know what he’s doing, especially with how his nose and cheeks are beginning to shine with arousal. He’s eating you like a man starved like he can’t get enough from fucking you on his tongue; he needs more and more. He licks into your hole, savoring every drop with a clench on your ass that’ll leave bruises for days.

He sucks your clit between his lips before pulling away with a pop, “you’re such a fucking brat.”

“I know, I know, and I’m sorry! Just keep,” and you tilt your hips towards his shiny lips again, “please? Feels so good….”

It’s rewarding how he flattens his tongue to grind up your slit, devouring you like he had too much time to practice. The way he toys with your pussy; makes your legs shake and your back arch off the mirror displaying your debauchedness.

Shigaraki mumbles something, but you’re too busy tilting your hips into his face and making him nearly unable to breathe as you tremble on his tongue. He tonguefucks you, digging deep with obscene slurping noises echoing around you, “oh, fuuuuck.”

Your hands entangle in his white strands, grounding you while you speed towards your orgasm like a rocket setting into space. Shigaraki seems to sense your quickened breaths and gyrating hips; his hands grip your ass cheeks to pull you closer as he makes you creamy. He holds you in place, forcing you to feel his tongue grinding flat circles over your clit before dipping down to lap over your pussy. He acts as if it’s a dessert. Like it’s a real treat to eat you out.

He pulls away, mildly huffing out of breath, “stop moving.”

Soft pecks are placed on your inner thighs as he lets you grow needier and needier through pussy neglect, “Shigaraki, please.”

“Please, what? You’re so selfish,” and he gives a hard suck to your clit, “I should just leave you here.”

 “No! No, don’t!” 

His rough treatment of you makes you jump, but he doesn’t leave you like he threatened. Instead, he kissed the mound of soft curls in the apex of your thighs, nose curving down the slope of your thigh as his breath barely ghosted over your slick lips.

“I want you to be the one that makes me feel good,” maybe if you lay it on thick, he’ll be forced to listen to you!

Instead, all he rewards you with is an unreadable look, but then he’s diving back in between your legs, and you can’t focus on what that look means because Shigaraki will make you cum.

“Yes, yes! Keep going, hah… your tongue’s so deep!”

The wet sounds make you flush, and his intensity makes you jump to your tip-toes and tilt away from the warm, wet mouth that chases you no matter how you tilt your hips.

Your legs are shaking, threatening to close, and the stretched coil snap could happen anytime you’re barely saying, “feel like I’m gonna, gonna c-ungh. Gonna cum…!”

He keeps going. Determined and sloppy with how he’s not even taking a second to breathe. You’re nearly there, humping his face with moans of his name that turn his ears pink. A hand snakes up your leg, and there’s a wet squelch as he easily slips two fingers inside. The stretch is delicious torture, and you cum while crying out.

“Shigaraki!”

His fingers help you ride out your orgasm, the remnants glistening on his fingers as your cream sticks to them lewdly before he sucks the essence off. He stands once you’ve regained yourself. 

“Pretty good,” and he gives his hand one last lick; he can’t even stop the snark from appearing.

“Shut up! You’re so embarrassing.”

“Yeah, yeah, didn’t I just make you cum? All whiny, ‘ah, ah! Shigaraki mmph!’ right?”

“No! Not even right at all,” and he casually leans over you with his hands on the ballet bar as if you two were dating as if he was actually your boyfriend, “...but thank you.”

“Thank you?”

“Well, well, I mean! Thank you for… indulging me.”

You had trailed off, not even realizing how close he was to your ear until he whispered a gravelly, “you’re so very welcome for making you cum, if that’s what you mean.”

Neither of you speaks. You can’t help but look down and notice the bulge in his pants. He seems unbothered, but leaving him high and dry feels unfair.

“Do you want me to…?”

He gives a quick glance down but shakes his head, “Nah. We should just wrap all of this up, though.” 

“Right,” and yet you don’t stop thinking about it while both of you make the practice room look neat again.

Even while walking you back home, his second time, Shigaraki knows that there’s something secretive on your mind.

“What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing! Just tired.”

“...Right.”

He stares at you for too long before you head into your dorm. You know what’s coming but don’t make the first move. He’s quick about it, but he does kiss you. It’s so fast, sweet, and low stakes that you smile warmly at him.

“Goodnight, Shigaraki.”

The boy nods, pulling up his hoodie, “night.”

You can’t wait to tell Nejire all about it.

“You what?! You had sex with Shigaraki?!”

Nejire’s in disbelief, nearly falling off her bed as she bolts towards your side of the room, “you really did?”

“Other people can probably hear you! But, well, yeah. It wasn’t like we went all the way or anything! He just went down on me,” the pink in your cheeks is evident while you begin to unravel the story.

“Wait, where was this again?”

“Oh. The, well, the practice room?”

“The practice room?!.”

She suddenly bursts into laughter, and you feel your cheeks twitching as you squeeze her hands, “c’mon, it’s not funny!”

“No, no, it’s not. I didn’t think Shigaraki would eat pussy in the practice room!”

Sometimes you regret telling your roommate anything, but it took the edge off thinking about how he hadn’t texted you. Should you expect a text? You figured it would be something lighthearted, but he just went radio-silent. Just like that, it hurt, you had to admit. But, you weren’t gonna let him get away with it. You’ll get your payback soon, finally get him to realize what he’s really feeling.

You hope it’s the same as what you’re really feeling.

Then, the day of your presentation is like the sunrise. Knowing everyone would be watching you didn’t ease your nerves. Considering Shigaraki had been ignoring your texts since the last time you met, it felt like he was contributing to your anxiety just as much as the actual dance! You could hardly get dressed, shrugging on your comfiest yet presentable clothes. 

Maybe he thought it was a mistake, and your fingers were itching to send a text. Nejire had advised you to send something short and sweet before leaving for the day, and you finally cave while brushing your teeth.

[Dance Partner]: Do you want to meet up before class?

Shigaraki lay in bed, still in pajamas and debating whether to drop out. His heartbeat spikes at the message, and it feels so dumb to get excited over a mere text. He’d been practicing, unbeknownst to you, spending so much time in the bathroom with the door locked to practice his footwork that he’d gotten an angry text from his roommate.

[Shigaraki]: I think it’s fine

Part of you wonders if he’ll show up at all.

[Dance Partner]: I’m nervous.

He doesn’t reply, but he feels the same. Eventually, he meandered his way to his closet to pick his outfit. Yeah, he was nervous too. 

You spot him first, and part of you wants to wave him over but he seems to hardly look up. This was all fruitless. You should’ve never done anything in that practice room. Tears prickle your vision at the sudden emotion of it, a test, and knowing a guy wants nothing to do with you? It sucks much more than you thought it would.

“Hey.”

He’s calm, voice smooth and honeyed as he sits next to you. Hopefully, he doesn’t notice your glassy eyes.

“Hey.”

The silence passes between you as more people file in, and Nemuri sets up the class materials. 

“I don’t think you should be nervous,” he pauses to side-eye you, “I’ve been practicing.”

“You have?”

“Yeah. I don’t want to give you a bad grade, and I need to pass.”

He put you first, and maybe it’s dumb to analyze his order of priorities, but it makes you feel special, “I think we’ll do well.”

You finally turn to look at him, and he’s already looking at you.

“Stop acting weird.”

“I-I’m not! I’m just nervous!”

“Yeah, right,” and a gentle hand settles on your knee, “I know what you’re thinking. About the practice room.”

“You’re the one that didn’t text me back.”

He doesn’t reply right away, but you know he feels terrible. The way he swallows and clenches his free fist, the regret is a bit palpable.

“...I know, and I’m sorry.”

He squeezes your knee for emphasis, “genuinely.”

You suppose it’s okay, mumbling that you forgive him and relishing in the burn that his hand leaves on your leg. Nejire clears her throat, and you listen to her instructions. His hand doesn’t leave your knee.

She calls your names about halfway into class, and suddenly the lights seem too bright once you’re on stage. You can feel your leg shaking as you stand interlocked with Shigaraki. He looks calm and collected. If anything, he seems to be more worried about you. 

Indeed he can feel your anxiety shakes, and then his thumb rubs the space between your collarbones. It suddenly feels like everything will be alright.

“Are you two ready?”

You squeak out a “yes!” and Shigaraki merely nods; the music follows, and you retreat into your mind to remember every step.

“Don’t be nervous,” he whispers softly, and you feel like you could do anything.

The two of you dance to the same song in the practice room while you swim across the floor with grace, the type of grace that’s only there because you have a connection. It comes effortlessly, Shigaraki leading with you following as he steadily guides you by your waist. 

You remember to make eye contact, and your breath is stolen because your biggest fears have been confirmed. You like Shigaraki. You want him carnally. More than anything in the world, you move like two souls on the same plane. Everything about it is perfect.

He stops the momentum, your upper half steadily supported by a hand that shows so much tenderness between your shoulder blades. The two of you were breathing softly, near exhaustion with the way your bodies swirled together into one.

“Excellent! Very nice. Any critiques?”

The spell is broken, and you’re collecting your breath while smoothing your clothes. Whew, that was something. Your eyes track toward Shigaraki’s, and he’s looking at you again.

“I thought you guys looked very clean,” said a meek girl desperate to escape the room’s silence.

You offer a “thanks” and note the critique of better posture, among other surface criticism. Nemuri writes on her clipboard, smiling and nodding, “excellent, thank you, you two.”

“I have to go, excuse me.”

He leaves you alone on the stage to race up the stairs to collect his backpack. You’re knocked out of a trance and thrown into deep waters, and Nemuri begins to call the next names.

“Hiroshi, is your partner not here? Oh, and,” she turns back to you, “you can take a seat now.”

You do.

It’s time to settle this, Shigaraki decides. There’s a three-day break coming up, and his mind has been looping back to it every passing class. He couldn’t keep running away from you anymore after you were assigned different partners for the next dance. If he doesn’t act, he’ll completely lose you.

And for the record, Nemuri was a liar. Could she not see the connection between you two? Even he could see it, and he wished he couldn’t.

It felt like you were slipping away, partnered with someone else, and Shigaraki had been conversing with you sparsely. It was torture, Hell on Earth if he had to imagine it. You’re getting lost in the waves, and he’s losing his grip.

Meanwhile, you’ve been getting on top of your classwork and contacting your new dance partner, Eijirou. It doesn’t feel the same of course, not when you can feel Shigaraki’s eyes on you every time you’re in the arms of the redhead.

You don’t expect anything from him anymore; you pretend not to. The ding sounds from your phone, and you just know.

[Shigaraki]: hey

It makes your heart race, and you can feel your pulse thrumming in your neck.

[Her]: Hey

[Shigaraki]: wyd

[Her]: I’m not doing this

[Shigaraki]: come over

[Her]: No

[Shigaraki]: i wanna see you

You want to slap yourself. Tell him there’s no way you can deal with his hot and cold nature. That even if you like him, he’s not good for you. You can’t, shouldn’t, wouldn’t, won’t.

[Her]: Come to my dorm and walk with me, it’s too dark and cold

[Shigaraki]: omw

Waiting feels painful. You spend a minute making sure you are moisturized and smelling good, and then eventually, he’s at the sliding door of the dorm. You’re wearing a simple long-sleeve, and you’re keen to pick up on the fact that he really brought you a coat.

“Hey,” you smile and eagerly embrace him the tiniest bit.

“Hey, take it. ‘M tired of holding it,” and your hands are brushing when you take the black hoodie to slip over your head.

The walk is quiet, and you can feel anticipation climbing up your spine as the two of you grow closer and closer. The cold is nonexistent, not with the warmth you feel because of the boy beside you.

“Is your roommate home?”

He shakes his head, hand steady as he slips the key into the lock and brings you into his space. The lights flicker on, and you’re smiling at his side of the room. Dark, a bit punk, and he’s totally unashamed of it. He drops the keys in the bowl, turning his head first before fully facing you.

“So–”

You’re rushing to jump into his arms, connecting your lips effortlessly in a kiss that soothes all aches you’d ever had about him. You knew he would catch you, and you fit like the sun and moon. The connection makes you heave into the kisses, leaning into the slickness of saliva coating your lips while he pushes you against the nearest wall. 

It feels like dancing, the way your tongues slide against each other with a fierceness while he shrugs off his jacket. You’re already wet, impossibly wet, and the mewls come out despite you trying to swallow them. The need for him is so strong you’re dropping your legs to move things along.

“You’re so fucking hot,” pressing his forehead against yours, “holy shit.”

“You wanna see more?”

Peeling off the sweatshirt to catch your curves worn under the fitted long-sleeve. His hand circles your lower back, eyes locked onto how your tits nearly spill out of its v-neck. They’re so easy to hold; his hand is already sliding up your side to the underside of your breasts. 

“Can I?”

“Of course,” you whisper while tugging his hand to squeeze your tits, sighing at the contact.

“No bra?”

“What, you, ah! You want it to get in the way?”

“God, no,” His other hand meets your other tit, fully groping you, and his eyes nearly crimson with need.

His hardness is apparent, the bulge nudging against your thigh while his knee applies delicious pressure to your aching clit; you can’t stop your hips from grinding up against his leg.

“Kiss me,” and he’s quick to shut you up, hands raking under your shirt to feel skin on skin.

“Shigaraki!”

He could listen to you say that all day, but he can’t stand how the two of you are still so tightly clothed. Your shirt comes up, and you’re quick to immediately tug it off and grind on his leg again. It’s sticky, hot, and heady as the two of you dry-hump against the only space on the wall. 

“Wait, we should…we should move to the bed,” and he doesn’t seem to hear you with how he lurches forward to lick into your mouth, “Sh-Shigaraki.”

The kisses only stop for a moment, but then he’s pushing away from the wall and guiding you by the hands to the bed. He slips off his sweatpants, leaving his boxers on, and you mirror him. It almost feels too intimate when he stares at you once settled on top of you, and you can’t take it.

His hand circles your nipple slowly, making you arch at the feeling of him toying with your chest, “mm!”

Resting on his left hand, you watch as the bony hand travels downwards, swooping under your tit to glide past your belly button and reach the black band of your panties, “may I?”

You’ve never been so turned on, and you’re sure it’ll be smeared all over your thighs by the end of this tryst. Lifting your hips, he tosses the panties onto the floor, and your face burns with how your wetness immediately soaks his fingers when he runs them through your slit.

“You’re so wet, you’re that needy?”

“I just need you to touch me…!”

He gives a low hum, digits circling your clit so slowly that your legs jump closed, “keep them open.”

You’re getting desperate, eager to feel him slip his fingers inside and crook them up, but he’s so calm and attentive. Taking his time, he looks at every inch of your pussy with fire in his eyes. You’re dripping, and the slick sounds when he just barely slips his middle finger into your hole nearly echo.

Finally, he indulges you by slipping it in deep and rubbing your clit with his thumb. You can hardly breathe, toes curling as you hold his wrist to keep fingering you, “fuck, feels so good!”

He can only chuckle, curling his fingers and hitting that gooey spongy spot that arches your back and leaves muffled cries spilling through your fingers. It feels so good, too good, and you’re soaring as he finally starts to thrust his hand.

“Come on, let me hear what you have to say. Do you like it? Do you want more?”

“I wan, I want…!”

He forces his hand, adjusting to a steady rhythm that you can practically hear yourself getting close from the stimulation of being finger-fucked. Looking down at you, he’s keyed into every movement. Every noise and body twitch. It’s like he’s been possessed to make you cum, and you’re nearly there.

“Gonna cum, fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you grappled for your tit like a lifeline, and it was like a show with how he watched you tug at your chest.

It’s so desperate, and it feels perfect to finally be connected and feel the heat of his breath while he makes you cream on his hand. You’re at his mercy, and he knows it, “go on and cum. Wanna fuck you.”

You nearly black out, the tension snapping like a rubber band as you gyrate your hips. It’s debauched, but you hardly care when Shigaraki rubs a tight circle on your clit, “heh.”

“You’re,” you’re still panting, and he grins.

“I’m what?”

He’s shrugging his boxers off while you recover, and your clit throbs once he exposes his cock, lean and long like his fingers. 

“Nothing!”

“Cat got your tongue?”

You circle closer to him, watching eagerly as he slips the condom on with ease. Your mouth’s watering and you want to go down on him badly, but he has other plans. 

“Wanna do doggy?”

“Yeah,” and it’s the hottest sight he’s ever seen when you bend over, exposing your clenching hole waiting to be filled. Your ass is up in the air, and you look perfectly spread out for him. 

The slap on your ass makes you jump, but Shigaraki seems happy with the way he kneads the fat of your ass. His cock bumps into your pussy as he maneuvers himself, and the slickness of it sliding between your folds and bumping your clit makes you shake.

“God, I could fuckin’ tease you forever,” and he grips the base of his cock with a groan, “I don’t know why I waited so long.”

“I know! Why don’t you–”

He slides home, he’s not too girthy, but the length makes your arms shake while supporting your body, “oh god.”

“Yeah, fuckkk, yeah.”

It’s a slow rhythm, clearly reveling in the wet warmth and tightness of your hole; he’s got a death grip on your hip as he shallowly thrusts into you, “amazing pussy.”

You can only moan a “thanks” as he moves a bit more, cockhead dragging against your walls and then filling you back up till you feel like you can’t breathe. The bed creaks, and he starts pounding you so hard it cries. Jolting you forward, you can’t even lean away from how he plows himself into you, balls slapping against your clit, giving you aftershocks.

It’s messy, and he’s barely holding his rhythm because you’re squeezing around him so tight and he feels like he might shoot his load any second. He slows down for a mere second to rub your clit, lean body resting on yours as he moves his hips in tandem with yours.

He’s panting and is too stuck on your eyes rolling back to notice he’s inching closer and closer to his orgasm. The coil is hot in his tummy as he ravages you and makes you take all of him. The connection drives you wild, and soon you’re pushed face-first into the pillows as he fucks you like a fleshlight. 

“Fuck, fuck, oh my god,” and he fucking whimpers inside of you.

It sends your head spinning as he reaches his peak, a hand slapping your ass as the two of you move together. Your ass smacks against his lower abs, and the slick that coats the top of the hair around his base makes him heave, “I’m gonna cum. Fuck, gonna milk this sweet pussy.”

You barely crane your head to catch a view, and he looks heavenly, and his eyes draw shut. He’s barely even thrusting, just mashing into you deeper and harder. He opens his eyes, and the red in them turns nearly burgundy as he grunts.

“Shiga-Shigaraki…!”

One, two, and then he’s pinning you down with his body weight as his hips jerk up into you. You know he’s wearing a condom, but part of you wants to imagine the heat filling your insides and breeding you. The thought of it makes you squeeze around him, and his fingers leave bruises on tender parts of your flesh.

It takes a minute for your breath to calm. The feeling of satiation with Shigaraki still buried to the hilt in you feels so comforting that you could fall asleep. You’re barely there, thoroughly fucked and floating in space. He has enough strength to interlock your hands on top of you, and the two of you bask in the post-coital glow.

“You gonna get off me any time soon?”

He offers a steady deep breath before replying.

“Nope. It’s my reward for looking after you at that party.”

“Really? You’re still on that?”

Sidelining you again, you remember why he frustrates you so much once again. But it doesn’t hurt this time; it just feels good.

“Go on a date with me.”

“You can’t just change the subject like that!”

“Then go on a date with me, and I won’t have to.”

Your mouth flattens into a straight line, “you’re lame.”

Small kisses dot the curve of your neck as he finally pulls himself out of you. You leave in a flash to use the bathroom and return to the covers being pulled up just for you.

The two of you settle on meeting up next Monday.

[Shigaraki]: See you at the ice skating rink

You never knew Shigaraki would be one to skate between you two? He didn’t, either. He supposed you just bring out that side of him.

The side that likes dancing, ice skating, and you.

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Could you possibly write A, B, E, and H for Lucifer?

A, B, E, and H for Lucifer

I wish to apologize in advance if this one is a little... off... I'm currently on episode 3 of my rewatch of Hazbin Hotel, and between my first watch and reading his wiki.. I still find it hard to grasp Lucifer's personality. If this is out of character, I will gladly take the L

Regardless, I hope you enjoy!

ATTRACTION:

I think he would love someone creative. He himself spends his days creating (the rubber ducks) and experimenting with looks and the like. Perhaps he would like a like minded individual that feels comfortable pushing back against authority, willing to question the way things are and look at the world through a new lens. Personal choice, for lack of a better term, matters to him. It's why he is where he is now. Even if he disapproves of most sinners, I think at least a few are capable of worming themselves into his core.

BONDING:

I enjoy the though of talking to you while he works on something, still offering you his attention while his hands work away at his latest project. However, I do think that he would try to have one on one time with you. No distractions... I think this is more likely after he talks to Charlie and gets on board with her plan to redeem sinners... though that may be wishful thinking, with enjoying the idea of Lucifer trying to be present in his loved ones lives. Of course, this will take time, but it's a start..

EMOTION:

This is another tough one... I can see him emotionally pulling away, but I can also see him banding with you when things get tough. It's hard to say, it heavily relies on what's happening and how invested you are in the relationship. He wants to love with you with his whole being, but much like with Lilith, he will very well fall into his depression if things get tough.. lord forbid it leads to you two separating. He doesn't want to repeat the mistakes, but since I'm currently unsure of why he and Lilith separated I can say for sure where he's going to overcompensate.. Interesting one, might revisit this when I have the time to deep dive on his character.

HARSH:

Another interesting one, I think misunderstandings are more likely than full blown arguments. Touching on the above segment, he might try to work through the problem and find a solution, out of fear that it might tear apart this relationship. Though this is usually after giving you both ample time to cool down and become ready to face one another again. Typically, he's usually the one who's ready to smooth things over first, through communicating and trying to plan something for the two of you as a means to take a step forward.

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