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sabraeal · 9 months

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All That Remains, Chapter 12: The Prince and the Princess [Part 2]

[Read on AO3]

Obiyukiweek 2023, Day 3: Declaration

Also written for @lusakina, who has created a Fell Birthday Wish Bargain with Jordan, so that one of them always gets D&R, and the other always gets this, and thus they can trust that they will regularly get their favorite fluff and favorite angst in short order. Which has paid off doubly this year, since the stars aligned and both their requests worked for Obiyukiweek, and thus their fluff & angst combo is back to back!

Once upon a time, there was a little girl.

Ah, but that is how stories begin, isn’t it? A girl, a boy, a prince, a witch, a troll with its mirror; a person, their decisive trait, the inciting event. A simple call that we rise to answer, a familiar tune that entices us to listen to the refrain.

But this story has already had its start. The journey is long underway, filled with high and lows, reversals and betrayals. This girl has had all the disappointments of a thousand lifetimes in but a single step, and yet, yet—

Her story is not yet done. Oh no, not nearly.

This is not how the story starts, but how it continues; how it makes miles into inches, and months to moments. How it turns interminable nights with doubt nibbling at the shadows into but a breath:

The girl walks for days and nights, with only her snowdrop for company.

The girl walks for days and nights with only her snowdrop for company. For as much courage as that delicate stem imparts wrapped around the shell the of her ear, the little flower is a poor conversationalist, not much given to the small talk the others in the garden had been. There are none of the tiger lily boasts or the babble of baby’s breath, but merely a comfortable silence, a knowing that if the girl spoke into the empty air, she would be heard, if not answered.

It is a comfort, one of her few now that summer’s bounty has long given way to autumn, and her precious shoes are long behind her. Mud squelches between her toes more often than not, cold as the dew that drips from the forest’s canopy. But she cannot stop, not while her boy might breathe. Not while she might yet be able to clutch his hands in hers and ask him to help tend their roses.

The only rests she allows herself are those to sleep and eat, though more and more often she finds her dinner on tree branches and on late-bearing bushes or hidden down between tree roots. There’s no need to stop then, to lose more time than the picking, but one day—

One day, the skies open, and the snowdrop’s dire prediction of thunder or snow sends her scurrying toward a cave’s mouth, lost beneath the scrub. She crawls inside, dry if not precisely warm, and chooses to wait out the storm.

It is pure chance that she is not the only one.

Despite her tutors’ high hopes, Shirayuki had never become the great appreciator of art that they seemed to expect from a princess. Even with every inch of the royal palace swathed in the country’s greatest works, the only commentary she could summon up when prompted was, it’s pretty. Or worse, I think I like it?

She had grown used to the rictus of Haki’s polite smile, all signs of pleasure dying as she offered her unsuitable assessments. It’s not about the quality of the art, the consort had tried to explain, too many times to count, it’s about how it moves you. About what it means.

Haruka might have huffed, might have made his disappointment known by the curve of his mouth and the clench in his knitted fingers, but he would at least pause as they passed, raising a hand to not quite brush over a haloed figure. This would be Adam, first of the Wisteria line— with a squint, she could see it the nose that would eventually smooth into Zen’s, and the cheekbones Izana would wear so proudly— painted as the sun god, breaking through the clouds. It’s an allusion to the way he wrested the power of the kingship from the previous dynasty, whose device was lightning descending from a cloud. Their divine right came from the claim of kinship with the sky god, who would throw bolts from his heavenly seat to punish the unworthy.

The lesson had been but a few moments, an aside while moving between more important topics, but for the first time, she understood why Zen had called him his favorite tutor, why he had said that prowling through the galleries beside his even strides had been one of the only good parts of rainy days. The marquis would never be emotive, but this talk made him animated, less an unforgiving edifice and more a man. She’d almost dare to call him approachable.

So it’s a…painting we like? She’d dared a quick glance at him, searching for some sign of approval. A good one?

His shoulders heaved with his sigh, but still, he nodded too. Yes, a good one.

And yet, when she sees that trailing tail on the water and the slender body that precedes it, rising from the depths of the pool with the same smile as a snake gives its prey, her only thought is of the fresco in the front hall. Nymphs, Zen had explained once, blushing; sirens, Haruka had corrected later with an awkward cough, meant to recall the hundred daughters sent to the third king of the Wisterias, tempting him to name a queen among them.

But it’s not a potential queen that prowls toward her now, sliding right up beside her, one arm pressed against the tile to hold her steady. “Come here often, Little Miss?”

“Um…?” Shirayuki’s never been one to be good with faces, let alone names— that had always been Obi’s forte. Just one of the many services I provide, Miss, he’d tell her, grin honed to a gleaming edge, I’ll remember your grudges good enough for both of us. And yet, there’s something about this woman, a familiarity in the way she moves, in the precise slant her smirk takes. “No, not really…?”

“Shirayuki?” There’s not so much as a ripple as Kiki cuts through the steam, her damp hair clinging to her shoulders and back, floating where it meets the water. The light casts her in shadow and sepia, and oh, if only that fresco painter still lived, he would itch to commit her to plaster as well, nymph or siren or seamaid. “Are you all right?”

“Oh, Kiki!” She bobs higher in the pool, water splashing over her siren. “Ah, yes, I’m over here. Sorry, I didn’t mean to lose you.”

“It’s not your fault.” The tone is kind, but her body is tense, gaze wary where it lingers on the woman beside her. If she were some sort of sea creature, it would be one that hunted her own kind. “I shouldn’t have left you to—”

“Ah, it’s Blondie!” The siren surges out of the water, close enough that her breath stirs the hair on her neck. “And I bet when this is dry, it’s red, isn’t it, Little Lady?”

Kiki rises out of the water, no longer a nymph or seamaid but a goddess, blinding where the light halos around her. Limned as she is, Shirayuki sees the moment her jaw clenches, hand dropping to her hip only to find it bare. “And who are—?”

“Wait.” The woman’s eyes are wide enough to catch the light, flashing like two golden coins, and oh, there’s only one other person with a color like that. “You’re Obi’s friend. Torou!”

A great crow swoops down, settling on a stone scattered on the cave floor, just across from her. She thinks nothing of it, not at all, until it winks.

Caw, caw, it says, and because she is yet a child, and a child does not yet know what she should understand and what she should not, she hears it as, “Good day, good day, little one! What brings you here?”

Careful, the snowdrop whispers in her ear, always wary. Crows are tricksters and worse.

Were she a woman grown, the warning might spook her, might convince her to turn her shoulder and forget this crow-speak entirely. But she is yet a little girl, and children are the most accomplished tricksters of all.

“I am looking for a boy,” she says. “Have you seen him?”

“Well.” There’s a flutter of eyelashes before Torou moves, her sudden stillness all turned to a sinuous slink. “That’s putting it a little strong, but sure. We’re friendly.”

“Torou.” Kiki tries the name on her tongue, but no familiarity lights on her face, even if her shoulders do ease. “Strange that we meet you here. Again.”

“Not so strange, Blondie.” They may not be friends— Obi had begrudgingly called her a colleague, when pressed— but her mouth slants, so like Obi’s it makes her breath catch. “Last time we stumbled onto each other, you were coming from Tanbarun while I was going to. And this time, well…” Both her brows arch, too innocent. “Looks like we both might be heading toward.”

Shirayuki’s heart flutters in her throat, fear spiking through her like a rabbit with a fox outside it’s den, but Kiki’s face might well be made of marble for how little it gives away. “How do you figure that?”

Torou tips her head, smile spreading like butter in a hot pan. “Where else is a lady knight going to take a runaway princess?”

It happens between one blink and the next.

Kiki stands still as a statue, bath lapping around at waist, the dim light turning her skin from flesh to stone, a masterpiece so perfect it would make Viande’s masters despair. Water pools in the round of her belly button, winking in the light, and— and it’s a small detail to catch on, but Kiki is so rarely vulnerable like this. Even without leather and steel, she is armored by her station, by the prestige of Seiran, but now—

Now she lacks both, all of it left behind with her duties in Wistal. Because of her.

Salt burns, right at the corner of her eyes, threatening to let more than just a drop squeeze from them. Shirayuki ducks her head, trying to settle the sting with just a small flutter or two, but there’s a splash, hard enough that the water rolls up over her shoulders, and when she looks up—

Kiki has a knee pressed between Torou’s thighs, lips strung around her teeth in a snarl so fierce Izana’s best hounds would quiver.

“Just where,” she growls. “Did you hear that?”

It is so easy for a little girl to trust a crow, is it not? For her to simply ask what she needs, with not the slightest hint of fear. A trickster he may be, but there is little danger while she is healthy and hale, and he so much smaller than she. Were he to cross her, she could simply catch her neck between her two hands and twist. Not a thought that occupies the little girl’s mind, of course, but surely it passes through the crow’s, the complex calculation of all smaller, weaker things that must share their path creatures who smile with sharp teeth.

Perhaps it would be different if it were a snake, or a tiger. If there were some way for harm to come to her, perhaps the little girl might not trust so easily, not so soon after she had escaped from the sorceress who had twisted her will to adorn her garden.

Ah, but no, not our little girl. She would refuse to let her heart to be trampled, to walk around wounded and bleeding and call it strength. To close herself off from the crows and tiger and snakes and sorceresses because they might bite or peck or bend her to their will.

So often we would call that foolish. A sign of a soft thing not ready to face the harshness of the world. A child that needed to be protected, lest she hurt herself.

And surely, you will find, her snowdrop agrees.

It was impossible to live in Wistal and not know of Kiki’s skill. The guardsmen used to line up when she was in the yard, waiting their turn to take on the indomitable heir of Seiran. Shirayuki had seen it more than a few times passing from the pharmacy yo the main palace; men twice her size would charge at her, voices raised to a battle cry, and Kiki would dispatch them without a hint of sweat beading her brow, one right after the other.

Miss Kiki might look like a princess, Obi told her once after Sereg, steam curling up from his mug, but if I had to face either her or Sir in a real fight, I’d take the big guy every time.

Because he’s bigger?Slower, is what she meant, but it felt cruel to call Mitsuhide that when both Zen and Obi had done it more than enough over Kiki’s recent engagement.

That, he allowed with a shrug, but also… He smiles, like a throat around a knife. Sir wouldn’t be fighting to kill.

Kiki was lethal, that’s what he meant to say. And she’d understood that, the same way a man might know it’s dog could kill, given the reason. But it’s not until now, when Torou turns her head and the light glints along the flat of a small blade, pressed intimately across her neck, that Shirayuki realizes: she’s dangerous, too.

“Kiki…” It’s mean to be a warning, a plea, but it’s a squeak, the whole world feeling as if it’s escaped its moorings. “Don’t…”

“My, my.” Torou’s laugh is as languid as the stretch of her limbs. “Now you got me wondering where you had that one squirreled away, Blondie.” Her finger traces over the knob of Kiki’s wrist, suggestive. “Maybe even what else you got hidden up there too.”

Kiki huffs, one corner of her mouth tugging up her cheek. “Thought you said you didn’t like the dangerous ones.”

Her smile hones as sharp as the knife at her throat. “Oh, honey, you should know by now…I lied.”

A thin line of red beads where metal meets flesh. “I would not suggest doing that with me.”

Shirayuki is close enough to catch the hitch of Torou’s breath, to see the thin sheen of fear stretch across the gold field of her eyes before it fades into bravado. “Boo,” she groans, “you’re just as boring as I remember, Blondie.”

“You wouldn’t like me to get interesting.” There’s not a trace of humor when Kiki says, “Now answer the question. How did you know?”

Torou heaves a sigh so heavy her eyes roll too. “Oh please, like anyone between Yuris and Wirant hasn’t heard about the Second Prince’s wayward little wife-to-be. Doesn’t take a genius to see a red head and the heir to Seiran and do the math.”

Kiki’s grip slackens on the hilt of her knife, her eyes uncertain as they dart toward Shirayuki, a question that she doesn’t even begin to have the answer for. Torou, as sharp as Obi ever was, doesn’t miss it.

“Listen, Blondie.” Her slender fingers fold neatly over the arm at her throat like tiger stripes. “I got a head up because I know who Nan— Obi hung around. None these peddlers and pilgrims are gonna know a lady from the louse, let alone think they’re breaking bread with someone who might’ve been a Highness. And I’m sure not going to be the one letting them know any different.”

The tension spills out of Kiki between one sigh and the next. “All right. I’ll believe you.” Water sloshes as she pulls black, knife disappearing beneath the surface. “Don’t make me regret it.”

“Yeah, yeah, or you’ll make sure I do.” Torou rubs a hand over her throat, palm coming away smeared. “Heard it. Now that we’ve got the small talk out of the way, tell me…”

She leans in, smile all mischief. “Where’s tall, dumb and handsome? Gotta say my bed’s been a little cold lately, wouldn’t mind a big guy like that to warm it up for me.”

Shirayuki doesn’t realize she’s gaping until water laps over her teeth, rousing her enough to gasp, “You mean, Mitsuhide?”

“Oh, is that his name? Yeah,” she sighs, wistful. “Mitsuhide. That’d sound all nice wrapped up in a moan, wouldn’t it?”

Kiki folds her arms under chest, mouth twitching. “He’s engaged.”

“That so?” A plucked brows quirks with her grin. “Well, I can work with that. Engaged isn’t married, after all. Wouldn’t be the first guy I’ve had one last hurrah with before he clamps on the old ball and chain.”

There’s a shift in the water, one that starts from where Kiki stands and ripples out; Shirayuki stiffens, sure that she’ll see metal flash and blood drip along its edge, but instead—

Instead, Kiki laughs. Loud enough it echoes off the rafters, filling the whole space like church bells. “I would love,” she hums, “to see you try it.”

“You know,” Torou grouses, shoving her head through the collar of her dress. It’s an effort, with all that hair. “That’s when most women bring out the knife.”

“Really?” Kiki shifts back on her hips, utterly casual where she leans against the wall of their room. Dinner steams on the table where the innkeeper’s wife left it: three bowls of stew and hearty bread, though Shirayuki’s the only one who has bothered to sit herself in front of it. “I think it would be entertaining. Haven’t seen him try to climb out of his own skin like that in years.”

Shirayuki could count on her hand the number of times she’d seen Obi blush; whether it was natural inclination or the cast of his skin, she couldn’t say, but his embarrassment almost never showed itself on his cheeks or the tips of his ears, but in the hunch of his back or the set of his jaw. It’s what Torou does now, the sharp angles of her shoulders forming pickets up around her ears.

“So the magic is gone, is it?” Torou mutters into her shoulder, pouting like a scolded child. “Sorry for you princess. Shoulda known that sort of thing never outlasts the happy ending.”

A corner of Kiki’s mouth hooks into a grin so sly Shirayuki finds herself blushing. “Far from it. Just found better things to wrap my hands around.”

Gold flashes, molten and curious, before Torou sashays over to where Kiki leans, hair trailing water where she walked. “Well, maybe if he’s not one to be tempted, you might be…eh, my lady?”

Her purr sets Shirayuki’s skin tingling, but even a hefty application of batting lashes doesn’t move Kiki to more than a snort. “Pass.”

“Ugh.” Torou tosses herself into the nearest chair, ladder back knocking into Shirayuki, setting a small spray of stew across the table. “You really are no fun, Blondie.”

That only hones Kiki’s smile to a point, like the dagger Obi showed her once, meant to slip between armored places. A stilletto, he called it. Viandese. “I’m sure you’ll learn to live with the disappointment.”

Her eyes roll, smooth as coins along cobble. “I’ll never understand what Nanaki saw in the lot of you. Maybe job security or something just as boring. How he didn’t just up and die from the lack of fun, I can’t—”

“Wait!”

It’s not until Torou’s wrist sits clenched between her fingers, pulse fluttering against her fingertips, that Shirayuki even realizes she’s spoken. Her voice is raw where it scraped its way out, hope digging its claws deep into her throat.

He was seen leaving with a woman, my lady. The lamps had carved deeps shadows across Kai’s face, his sweet face grim, but—but—

“Obi,” she gasps. “Is he with you?”

There can’t be more than a breath between the ask and the answer, but time bends once her lips wrap around that final rise, running honey-slow, so viscous she swears she can feel it stretch against her skin. Torou’s eyes round, jaw going slack, and oh, there’s time enough for her to count the muscles that contort to make it so, for her to see the words etched in gold before flesh could form them.

“Him?” That narrow wrist breaks her hold as if it were wet paper, cradling against the the valley of Torou’s chest. “No. He’s done with me, he said, and I don’t come crawling to any man, let alone that one.”

“But you’ve seen him.” Her fingers itch to bury themselves in that dress, to hold her only lead in her grasp and simply shake until answers come out. “Recently? If he told you—?”

“That was years ago. You were there. Well” —her head tilts, one way and then the other, indecisive— “in the next room over. After what happened at the manor, he didn’t want me ruining his new gig. Gave me the big kiss off. No actual kisses,” she clarifies, at Kiki’s inquisitive brow. “But you know. It’s been real. Have a nice life. Don’t try to find me or I’ll kill you. That sort of thing.”

Kiki’s mouth twitches. “Touching.”

“But Kai said…” There’s not enough air for her to speak, not at anything more than a whisper. “They had said he left with a woman. If it isn’t you, then…?”

When Torou looks down at her, there is pity in her eyes, so heavy she thinks she would stumble under it, were she on her feet. “I haven’t seen him,” she admits, more gentle than Shirayuki ever thought she could speak. “But I….I think I know someone who has.”

My wings take me far and wide, little girl, far and wide, the crow says, a showman among birds. Look at them and you can see how strong they are, how long. Why if you were a grub or a louse or even a little mouse they might blot out the sky when I fly overhead, and you’d feel a little tremble in your knees and a little water in your belly.

She asked, the snowdrop says, its little voice fierce, whether you’d seen her boy.

I’ve been to all sort of places, all sorts. His spindly crow legs pace over the stone, tack-tack-tack, undaunted by the sternness of a small flower. Here, there, and everywhere, more places than you’ve ever heard of, and even more you’ve never dreamed! Well traveled, that’s what I am, little girl, that’s what I am, so if I haven’t seen it, it can’t be anywhere meant to be found.

But my boy, our little girl presses, heart so far up her throat she could have coughed it into her hands. Might have too, if she thought giving it away might help her. You must have seen him too.

I’ve seen all that’s to be seen under the sun, he tells her, but with one great ruffle of his feathers, he deflates. But I haven’t seen a boy like yours.

Hope crumbles in her hands the way ill-baked cakes would, dry and grainy and unpleasant, leaving nothing to her but crumbs and a sandy taste in her mouth. Would that she have never asked, she might have held on to it a while longer, might have trudged on thinking that she could hold him once again, but—

But perhaps, the crow says, a twinkle in his beady eye, I know someone who has.

Kiki's face is as still as a death mask, her hand absently reaching at an empty hip. “Who—?”

“How?” Shirayuki doesn’t so much speak the word as it shivers out, so delicate a breath could scuttle it to the four winds. “Where?”

“Tanbarun.” A shoulder lifts, the wide neck of Torou’s dress slipping off it. “In the castle.”

“The castle…?” she echoes. “Why…?”

Miss. It’s a puff in the air, a warning that soon Lilias will give up this tenuous summer for autumn. Shirayuki turns anyway, eyes slipping from the burning horizon to trace Obi’s silhouette in the fading light. If this all doesn’t work out…

You mean the Phostyrias? They’re so close now; even in the gloaming, the road to Wirant glimmers, lit as bright as day in the darkest night. Another year and Oriold will shine just the same. I suppose we’d have to go back and look at our notes, see if there’s a more likely hybrid would could pursue. This one appears to be hearty enough, and without any of the orimmalys’s poison, but there were quite a few promising lines to choose from.

Miss. There’s a smile in his voice, as fond as the warmth in her chest that answers it. That’s not what I meant.

Oh. Shadows hang heavy from his brow, clinging close to the curve of his cheekbone, and it makes it harder to see the question in his eyes, to divine just what he’s trying to ask. You mean if the whole project was scuttled?

An uncomfortable possibility to ponder; she’s spent so much of her tenure on coaxing sprouts to grow, on convincing stone and seed to graft, that starting over would be daunting, to say the least.

Well, there’s any number of labs here that might be happy to have an extra set of hands, she allows. Or maybe I might help Yuzuri in the green houses before trying my hand at my own—

That’s not what I meant either. Trust me, Miss, Obi says, entirely too amused. I know you could find work anywhere. The problem is stopping you.

He shifts, the shadows swallowing him until only the shape of him remains. I meant, if this whole thing with Master doesn’t work out. If you do all this and Elder Highness gives you a polite shoo out the window. Where do we go if…?

Her breath catches. You mean if I…?

If she stops being a curiosity, and starts being inconvenient. That’s what he means. If Izana can’t be trusted to keep his word.

Tanbarun. It’s not until she says it that she’s knows it’s true. It’s my…it used to be my home.

He’s silent for a long moment. Well, he snorts, I suppose it’s not like Prince Raj is going to ask you to marry him a second time…

“The real question,” Kiki hums, unimpressed, “is what were you doing there?”

Torou lifts her chin, curling a hand beneath it. “I already said I wasn’t. I just know someone who saw him there.”

“You know someone who was in the castle.” It’s not a question, not from Kiki. Oh no, it’s a statement, so full of doubt it nearly drips. “Someone who also just happens to know who Obi looks like. And we’re supposed to…?”

Believe that, she doesn’t say, but the implication hangs heavy enough.

“Hey, my source is legitimate.” A bejeweled hand flutters in the air, pressing tight over Torou’s heart. “He’s supposed to be there.”

One elegant eyebrow arches, matching Kiki’s tone as she asks, “And just how did you come across this…source?”

“Why, he’s my sweetheart,” Torou tells her smugly, both her eyebrows waggling. “One of the prince’s men, works right in the castle. And the last time we had a little rendezvous, he told me that he saw Obi himself, strutting right through the royal hallways without so much as a slouch.”

My little crow wife. The crow puffs proudly, as if that were an accomplishment in itself. The little girl didn’t know much about crows and how they lived; perhaps it was. She lives inside the castle’s rookery, the best of His Majesty’s messengers, that’s what they say. No one can fly as high or as fast as my little wife! The king himself asks for her by name.

But what, our little girl rasps, does this have to do with my boy.

Everything, he quarks, because my fast and tidy little wife told me not a week past she saw a boy, just like yours. Dressed as fine as a dandy, sweeping bows and calling to his betters. An impressive sounding boy, one of the finest feather.

But how can that be? Her fingers brush over the snowdrop’s petals. Her boy is a good one, a fine one, that is true, but to think of him in silks and cambric, to think of him with fine manners and a great bearing— a season cannot be enough to wrought such changes. He is no fine knight or lord, he is just my boy.

Are you sure of that? The crow cocks his small head, curious. Surely a boy that belongs to so discerning and worldly a girl would be worthy of prizes and titles aplenty.

The girl frowns at that. She was not so discerning a girl before she was taken in by the sorceress and her garden. She was not so worldly before she traveled so much of it.

Perhaps, the crow muses, he only needed a little polishing. Perhaps— his beady eyes sparkle, full of mischief— he only needed a little push.

A push? Her small mouth purses in a pout. But what could have pushed him?

Are you sure you care to know? the crow asks archly, a sly shine to his clever beak.

I do. They were so happy, after all, with their windows that called across from each other, with their little roses both their hands tended. At least, that is always what the little girl had thought. I do.

Then I can tell you, he says, magnanimous. He has forgotten you for a princess.

Rain patters against the glass, a lulling rhythm, if Shirayuki were in any mood to allow herself to be lulled. Instead she twists on her pillow, a groan stifled in the down, thoughts refusing to settle. It’s the most comfortable bed she’s had in weeks, and the softest she’s like to see for many more, and yet, yet—

“There’s a catch,” Kiki grunts, cold and stiff beside her. “There’s always a catch with people like that. She wouldn’t give us what we want for free.”

“But…” Her lips press together, steadying. “It’s the best lead we have.”

The only lead, really, but there’s no need to say it, not when Kiki is already sighing, resigned. “It could lose us days if she’s spinning us some yarn. Weeks, even, if he never even came this way.”

“I’ve already lost us more than that,” she murmurs, barely able to bring her voice louder than a whisper. “The trail’s already gone cold. If only we’d gone last summer, then maybe…”

Maybe we would have a chance. Shirayuki bites her cheek to keep from saying it. Kiki stiffens anyway.

“All right,” she says after a long moment. “It’s up to you.”

Shirayuki stares at the back of her head. “It is?”

“I’ve already not listened to you once.” Kiki shifts, just enough that their eyes meet. “I don’t mean to make the same mistake again. Even if it might lead us on a fool’s errand.”

It is hard for us to understand, is it not? To choose to keep our hearts as open as our eyes, to walk willingly into hardship. Would we dare the world to do its worst so soon after feeling its lash? To say, it is not what you do to me that makes me, but what I allow myself to be.

Perhaps that is why stories choose them. Or rather, why we choose to tell their stories. We are so different from these little girls, these children with their hearts on their sleeves and their soft flesh bared to the world. We long to be them once again, to trust in our story—

No, to trust in ourselves. To once again believe that should we fall, we will be able to stand up once again. To accept that, so often, we must be enough, all on our own.

How hard it is to take that leap. How unfair it is that so often, we must.

Few decisions are ever made well in the small hours of the morning; there is something about the lack of light that makes desperation run long in the tooth, that makes those few hours until sunrise feel like an hourglass dripping life’s blood. Shirayuki knows this, resolves in those few moments between when the room falls silent and when Kiki’s breath gives way to sleep to wait until morning to choose. But—

But, well, sleep has never come easy. And without Obi…

Ah, she can’t remember the last time she’s had a good night’s rest. Even in the palace, a soft mattress and cool sheets could never calm the racing of her mind.

Her feet swing down to the floor, breath hissing when she finds how the night’s chill has settled into the boards. But still, she stands, pausing only to light a candle before she pads down the hall. It’s quiet there, still in the way the dormitories were when she stumbled back late from the lab, only Obi’s hand on her back to keep her upright. And yet—

Yet she doesn’t hesitate to knock at Torou’s door. It’s possible she could be abed; that’s where she should be, after all. But after an evening of lop-sided smiles and one-shouldered shrugs, Shirayuki doubts that this is where Obi and his friend might differ.

There’s no answer. Still, she tries again. It takes at least three for Obi to answer for a stranger, and if Torou has a special knock to bypass the hassle, Shirayuki hardly knows it.

On her third knock, she simply tries the door. It’s unlocked, opening easy under her hands, and when she steps in—

Ah, there’s a knife at her neck. A sharper one than Kiki keeps.

“Oh,” Torou sighs, slipping in back into her boot. “It’s just you.”

She tromps back to where she’d been sitting, a deck of cards dealt out for two hands. As a daughter of a bar— granddaughter, Obi’s so quick to tease— she knows more than her fair share of games, but this one escapes even her.

“So,” she drawls, picking up a card. “What brings you my way? Must be something for you to slip the leash like that. Hate to think what Blondie’ll do if she finds her little princess has wandered off on her.”

Hurry up, she’s telling her, and oh, she’d had her whole speech planned from the moment she walked in the door, a tidy thing that would lay out expectations. Boundaries. Guidelines. But now—

Now she just shuffles at the threshold, fingers lacing and unraveling as if that might help her string her thoughts together. It, unfortunately, does not. “I…um…”

Torou glances up, incredulous. “You’re not my type,” she reminds her, “so don’t think you can stick around.”

“No, I wasn’t— that’s not what I’m here for.” Shirayuki clears her throats, letting the vibration order her thoughts. “I just want to…to say…”

Will you take me there? the little girl asks. I must see him myself.

It is very easy to ask that, the crow tells her, more gently than he is wont. But it is much harder to do. Are you ready for that— for it to be hard?

The little girl plants her feet, bare on the stony cave floor, and meets that beady gaze. Yes.

“Great,” Torou hums, setting her cards aside. “I’ll send word that my sweetheart should expect us. I'm sure" --her smile stretches until it's all teeth-- "that he'll be thrilled.

#obiyukiweek23 #day 3 #obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #all that remains #snow queen au #my fic #ans #oof finally we're about to get to the derring and the doing!!#i got to do some fun tweaks to the snow queen frame this time around #and also step back on the narrative frame a little #i did a nice reread and realized i really started to get very set in the pattern that every other scene had to be frame #like the more stressed out shirayuki is the more i clung to the frame #and so this time i let the scenes breathe much more #let the main story run into itself a little bit #and i think it sort of works for how Shirayuki is feeling #she was so tightly controlled in the palace #and now she's starting to breathe again #and the narrative's doing the same to the plotline

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that-was-anticlimactic · 2 years

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how about... and hear me out... we stop reducing cole ninjago’s personality to food?

#literally so sick of it like it isn't even funny anymore #and this is at the fandom more than the show right now #like first of all - cole Clearly had an eating disorder and while that probably wasn't intentional on the writers' parts...#i mean. cole Literally started binge eating after watching his friend explode. come on. he was Never like that before s4.#and like he is Clearly at least a little insecure about it but no let's make jokes about how cole eats all the time hahaha #like the amount of times i have clicked out of fics or refused to reblog art solely because all the ninja are doing their thing and then oh #look there's cole eating cake hahaha so silly not like he's a ninja or anything :D #do better #it just infuriates me Especially since it is CANON that cole stress eats (because making fun of stress eating is so funny... show / fandom)#and he's my favorite character and it sucks to see him constantly portrayed as this food obsessed ninja who has no depth aside #from the 'there's not gonna be cake?' throwaway joke from s2 that Clearly only became a reoccuring thing because the fandom flipped out and #became obsessed with it like Yes it was funny but my God y'all have taken it to an entirely different level and the show bounced off of that #not to say that no one should ever draw or write or mention cole with food but if all you draw him with is food or if he's doing something #with food every time you write for him then you should Prolly take a step back and ask yourself why you're doing that and how you're #portraying cole as a character because he CERTAINLY has more depth than 'i love cake and also junk food tehehe protecc'#this has been in my drafts for a month and i just saw something along these lines on insta so i’m angry and posting it lol #ninjago #cole brookstone #cole ninjago

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cloud-somersault · 8 months

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constellations chapter 3 is SO GOOD idk what the fuck happened there, but go OFF!!!

#i know everyone's in chapter 4 land but 3 is SOO GOOD #bro the stone forest alone....HELP #ugh it was so hard writing wukong's rage form but HOLY SHIT!! reading it after is so hype #do u ever just sit in a pavilion as the rain gently falls...with your ex-husband and mentee....and it's quiet and peaceful but #there's a strong turbulence going on deep inside you :3 #the way wukong always dusts MK off and wipes his tears away and makes sure he's clean faced and ready to go #speaks to how much wukong cares about vanity #i mean he also is expressing comfort and compassion but. he also cares about appearances a lot #but anyway -- do you also ever have a conversation with your ex-husband through eye contact alone?#i think they've done that four times in this fic...#mk the entire journey: every day i get a little more homophobic #HE'S SO TIRED!!!!#MK after talking to wukong and macaque at the inn: yeah haha! i seriously wanna go home now! 🙃#MK on the phone: DADSY /PLEASE/ COME PICK ME UP!!!!#macaque seeing Wukong's eyes for the first time and actually stopping everything that he was doing #and just looking at wukong and being like “haha...heeyyy what the fuck?? did they do to you??” chef's kiss #wukong and macaque just talking while macaque captures that random man's shadow...please #as they reminisce about how things used to be...how easily they talk to each other when they're not guided by hate #that's the thing it's how easily they fall into step with one another #that's shadowpeach. they'll be off balance or one will be running and the other walking. they'll get distracted or whatever. but #they'll always fall back into step with one another #and that's why they've got to walk with each other. step by step...so they can stop being afraid 😌

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bitegore · 7 months

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Transformers Generation One Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Breakdown & Dead End & Drag Strip & Motormaster & Wildrider (Transformers), Drag Strip & Motormaster (Transformers) Characters: Drag Strip (Transformers) Additional Tags: Experimental Style, Character Study, dynamic study, Inspired by Poetry Summary:

Drag Strip considers power. Power, dogs, and teeth.

Not my greatest work. Referencing strongly a whole bunch of extremely figurative tumblr aesthetic-blog poetry. I am not a poetry guy so it’s not working quite right and it feels defocused but I don’t feel like fixing it. Oh well.

#bitegore fic #im not putting this one in the character tags #also if you think this looks venty then that's fair that's the style #but it isn't #i'm trying so hard to come up with a way to write about this particular #[gestures] THING without getting so fucking overcome with blind animal lust that i can't finish it #sideways approach works but it's not got the spice. the juice. the flavor #i need the brainworms to relent a little so i can show you all exactly WHY i have them #me and my horrible dogshit car boyfriend who hates me who wants me dead but who cant kill me. yet. he's working on it and every time he gets #one step closer i'm so proud of him i forget that he's gunning for my own throat. and also he's not very effective yet but he's gaining.#points at drag strip. i can fuck this car.

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startreq · 1 year

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currently in need of fic suggestions where our Guardian gets lonely or bored or scared in a solo mission and Ghost comes out to talk and make them feel better

#currently a little late grinding the ''more than a weapon'' quest #& i couldn't get over how quiet it was every time we go through the ''operation: _____'' steps #i need fics or else I'll need to write all my headcanons and post them here #destiny #destiny 2 #destiny ghost #the guardian #max speaks #destiny 2 fic

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sysig · 9 months

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Huh?? Whuh??? Okay (Patreon)

#Doodles #Scouting fanfics has been Interesting on my brain lol #I tried to pick out the ones I fixated on first with exception of Vargas 'cause well - y'know lol #Someday 😔😢✨#But that still left me with a solid handful!#I'm trying to print them in increasing order - get the little guys out of the way once I'm satisfied with the process #And then work my way up so as to not Immediately overwhelm myself or my printer #And Helix happened to be the shortest among the fixation fics lol - what happens when I revisit a fixation? Correct!#Now granted it's only been since 2021 that I fixated on it - which is actually double funny to me since I was going back through my backlog #And I found some doodles of Max and Dex from 2019 - before I ever drew ZEX! - but I just never finished them lol #Very funny to me that I drew them first but then went in hard on ZEX and then SCII in general and /then/ circled back around lol #I know they weren't my in but dang what a quick turnaround in both directions lol #Well anyway the point is I love them and I love Helix <3 #Jump to Japanese! While ''rereading'' my Japanese KoiBo volumes I'll occasionally pause and see if I can actually read something #I have a very loose grasp on Hiragana at this point - needta get back into practice to refresh - but context clues are my friends!#I think it's cute how Souichi just says ohayou but Morinaga says the full ohayou gozaimasu hehe <3 #It's not so much that Morinaga speaks politely (although he does) but that Souichi speaks casually/disrespectfully! I love him <3 <3 #I do get mixed up between su and tsu quite a lot - I know they don't look similar but I use a pneumonic for た (ta) that contradicts su :P #I'll get there! Every little step closer!#Last little guy was an at-the-time mystery pain in my guts! :0 I thought I ate something dodgy but it was acting weird for that #I think I've gotten it figured out by this point and the pain has gone away :D So who can complain!

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potatoesandsunshine · 9 months

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it’s all fun and games until you have to take a step back from themes and motifs to look at the basic story structure you’re working with

#anna's fic notes #small jobs is my favorite thing to work on. it is hands down my favorite fanwork i've ever done. but sometimes i have to close the docs #and take a step back to decide: what is the goal of this story? what do i want the reader to feel? where are these events going?#is this a three act story? do i need to review the hero's journey? how does this fit together - almost mechanically.#what are the puzzle pieces i need to make this fit together in a satisfying way? and i really only do this with this series bc it is my fav #every other fic i'm sorry but you are not small jobs. this is why it takes a year every time i want to update the story.#i KNOW the themes of the 'verse. i KNOW the tone i want to hit. i KNOW the little tics that need to show up/when they need to stay away #but i have to make a checklist to figure out what the plot is every time. introduction. rising action. red herring? climax/epilogue. etc #small jobs isn't just about vibes (except for that one interlude) it HAS a story to it it's just that i am. not great at those lol

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thawthebeez · 7 months

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NEED to write a yuri on ice fic SO BAD but every time i go to write skating stories i always feel awkward DESPITE BEING A SKATER MYSELF. of all people to write about figure skating IT SHOULD BE ME. but alas. it feels awkward...

#i have a small drabble sitting in my brain files of c!bee skating #like in the winter when the shores of showchester freeze over and are safe to skate on #and tubbo busts out some old skates from the basement. makes some new ones for michael. and makes a pair for ranboo #and both michael and tubbo wear hockey skates but ranboo requests that tubbo makes figure skates because those look the most familiar to hi #so the skates are made and they step out onto the ice and- like muscle memory- ranboo goes out there and looks AMAZING #so much grace... so much beauty... so much power in each push and turn and--#THIS GUY KNOWS HOW TO SKATE I TELL YOU #and tubbo is dumbfounded because “what the fuck since when does my husband know how to skate”#and ranboo has no memory of skating but clearly he knows how #tubbo asks if ranboo can do a triple axel (because everyone asks every figure skater if they can do a triple axel)#ranboo can't. but he can do a single! and after a little more time warming up (and reassurance from tubbo that the ice won't break beneath #him and kill him forever) ranboo tries a double #it looks beautiful. so elegant and graceful and easy. ranboo makes it looks so fucking easy #tubbo asks ranboo if he can teach him how to do that. ranboo can't because he has no idea HOW he just did That.#they instead skate in circles together like a happy little family :)#but yeah that's the gist #and the yoi fic i was thinking of making would be a 5+1 #5 times victuuri are in a rink. 1 time they're at home #but it's silly because the rink almost becomes their home #which is so me fr. i am in a rink every single day. it's awesome #skatong

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asthevermincrawls · 2 years

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ugh

#never thought id make an all tags vent post but im going thru it i guess #i haven't been a big fan of mcr in years but my whole online presence on tumblr is based around it #and almost all my beloved mutuals are mcr mutuals #i want to actually centre my dash/blog around things i actually like again but i dont want to cut off mutuals! they're important to me #and i DO still like mcr. but if i had made this blog this year instead of 5 years ago i would be following 2 mcr blogs and not like. 10 #yanno?#i wanna focus more on vulture culture and nature and writing and stuff like that but i dont want to make a new blog either. ugh!!!#idk maybe i just need to use tumblr less #i still listen to mcr every once and a while and im finishing a dd fic i started a couple years ago but thr fandom is just. so exhausting #and i hate that all my mcr posts get way more notes than my non-mcr posts #I don't want to make mcr fanart again for a multitude of reasons but i feel like people still follow me for that #and are disappointed when i post things im more interested in #and i hate that as soon as i step outside my bubble of mcr blogs its immediately just. people saying the most insane obsessive shit.#and maybe its just #because i dont like them that much anymore #but that shit freaks me out !! i dont like it here! maybe im just a hater but maybe try listening to a different band for a little while #go for a walk or something #i think maybe i just hate fandom #if it wasn't for the fact that i got into it super young i probably never would have joined the mcr fandom #which would still be a bummer because ive grown a lot as an artist and met some great people through bandom #but im beginning to find that im not really a Fandom Person.#i dont really feel the need to go online after finishing a really good movie/show/book and start posting about it and making up headcanons #i mean i want to write arcane fanfic at some point but thats about it #idk #this was all a long and incoherent ramble #maybe i should just make a new blog. but im really attached to this one #anyway pls like if you read i feel embaressed for spewing all this into the tags #a.txt

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still-gathering-roses · 1 year

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wrote a total of almost exactly 1500 words for my class yesterday in only chapter reflection questions and discussion posts. who the hell am i

#who is she what is she capable of #i thought the little-bit-every-day i did for the amicable divorce fic was the peak of my writing abilities but this??? i'm unstoppable #and of questionable mental stability #izzy speaks #yes it took way tf too long and i am very tired but y'know. baby steps?

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wizardnuke · 2 years

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the shadowgast pacific rim au that exists in my brain.

#LONG TAGS LORE DUMP FOR A FIC I'M NEVER GONNA WRITE PROBABLY #deirta is pentecost she lost her husband in a battle and piloted the jaeger to shore alone - verin is tendo he could fight but deirta #doesn't want either of her sons in a jaeger ever. verin is okay enough with this. essek is not.#caleb ran a triple arm jaeger with astrid and wulf and lost his mind a little bit when they died. he felt them die. the added stress of #piloting a jaeger to shore on his own put him in the hospital and then a psych ward for three months #before he began helping with wall construction as equipment maintenance. clearly this is still a magic au and tech = magic etc etc #I CANNOT stress enough that jaegers are powered by luxon beacons.#anyway essek is in mako's position and caleb is beckett. the restless assistant and the tired veteran #essek chooses caleb's candidates - the candidate process is a little more complicated because these fantasy jaegers #work off of both magic and manual physical effort - candidates have to be evenly matched in both physical and mental fields #blumendrei only worked because caleb and astrid combined matched wulf in physicality. astrid and wulf matched caleb in casting.#it was. unhealthily competitive between them at times and astrid was the worst about it. he still misses them every single day.#it's like. shit hurts to do when one arm or leg is weaker than the other. it's like that. it has to match #essek and caleb have little noodle arms and truly insane skills w casting. so they're compatable. essek is sure. caleb does the same #'why do you keep making that face' bit like beckett did bc he's tired of essek's attitude and deirta's flat dismissal of him #they metaphorically roll the same exact initiative and the fight ends in caleb casting firebolt/essek casting sapping sting #and the two of them both use their reaction to counterspell. they both move to cast again when deirta is like Okay Stop Fighting I Get It #heehoo. the first time they drift together caleb leans that essek secretly recovered a beacon from a downed jaeger and has been using it to #advance his research while passing himself off as a genius - not that he isn't. he just has another stepping stone as well.#essek gets to live thru caleb's experience of feeling two (2) people die at the same exact moment. yeah verin has to pull that fuckin plug.#other notes. veth and yeza r the scientists. OBVIOUSLY veth drifts with a kaiju brain like are u KIDDING me #other jaeger teams are fjord+jester yasha+beau and the tealeaf triplets.

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gojorgeous · 5 months

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"creature of myth."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, my lady?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you like them?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course… Satoru.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not tonight.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I hope Thomas treated you well yesterday?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It was… good.”

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

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

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

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

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

You nod eagerly. “I’m sure I will.”

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

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

“You’re not… eating?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You smile lightly. “Perfect. Thank you.”

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

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

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

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

He chuckles. “My pleasure.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You skip ahead again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No, no, no.

“(See next page for only existing portrait)”

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

You flip the page and Satoru stares back at you.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“About the estate?” he asks.

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

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

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

“Anything interesting?” he presses.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhm?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes. Yes. Give it to me.”

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

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

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

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

“S-Satoru–”

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

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

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

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

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

“Satoru, p-please! It’s–”

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

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

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

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

“Yes,” you whisper.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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tteokdoroki · 8 months

Text

ೀ⋆OCT 1ST PRINCESS DIARIES ━━ satoru gojo + breeding !

୨୧ — caution, you are now watching. satoru gojo + breeding. thirty days until you become queen, thirty days to get married and thirty days to stop sneaking around with the man trying to steal your crown… (5.2K)

୨୧ — rated r. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact ! nsfw, heavy smut, royalty!au, enemies to lovers (?), forbidden romance, infidelity and cheating, spit kink, breeding kink, daddy kink, pregnancy kink, breast play, agoraphilia, baby trapping, oral sex (f!recieving), unprotected sex, princess + fem!reader, lord!satoru gojo.

୨୧ — director’s note. woo happy spooky season my loves. welcome back to another tteokdoroki kinktober! im excited for you to see whats in store this year, hope you enjoy this fic to start off mwah! - m.list ⋆ kinktober m.list ⋆ taglist ✧

you have thirty days to get married.

being from a small town, somewhere that’s not even on the map — you never expected your family name to carry much meaning aside from the one you carved out for yourself. let alone expect your name to come from royalty.

if you thought discovering how to be a teenager at sixteen was hard, then try discovering how to be a princess at sixteen on for size. everything you’ve ever done since finding out you were royalty has been for your family. you’ve kept your head down, out of the spotlight aside for the occasional appearance and charitable events. you’ve studied hard, double-majoring in international relations alongside political science and diplomacy.

you’ve prepared yourself thoroughly enough to feel ready to take the mantle of queen — especially with your grandmother planning to step down. all of your accomplishments have been leading up to this very moment — it’s so close that you can practically feel the weight of the crown on your head.

except there’s one itty, bitty, little problem.

you still have to get married in thirty days. otherwise, your family title will be poached from right beneath your nose.

satoru gojo (aka public enemy number one) is the nephew of a member of parliament who just so conveniently knows genovian law better than your grandmother does. since satoru came of age before you did, and he’s lived in genovia for longer than you have, and has some random distant relative in connection to the first king — the men of parliament have decided that he too is in line for the throne.

especially if you, the princess, do not marry before your coronation.

how ridiculous is that?

and not only is this satoru gojo an evil, conniving, crown-stealing bastard. but he’s charming, a silver tongue wrapped around each and every one of his words. charming, like a prince (blegh) he’s also stupidly attractive. with deep sapphire blue eyes that are gorgeous enough to make the crown jewellers weak in the knees and a smile so sweet it feels like a sugar rush whenever he looks at you. there’s something so unique about the frostiness to his soft white hair, matching his unfairly long lashes — the ones you know girls back home would kill for.

it angers you to know that you’d been dancing with your rival at your welcome ball, pains you to know that you’ll never forget his slender fingers splayed out against the small of your back to guide your every movement. if you had been back in college (and had a few litres of hard liquor in your system), perhaps gojo would have been the type of guy you’d have snuck into the dorms for a night of fun and an NDA in the morning — your secret signed away from the paparazzi’s keen eyes.

alas, these are very different circumstances and there’s a lot riding on you being sensible about the situation. yet, satoru proves himself to be a problem every chance that he gets — cornering you in closets with his breath hot against your ear, trapping you against the walls while the ghost of his touch feels like heaven against your skin… on the staircase too, insistent on reminding you of the passionate dance you once shared.

all while you’re set to marry the duke of another country so you can keep your fucking crown (pardon the language, your highness).

suguru geto would be the perfect king consort if you managed not to mess this up. he is warm, where satoru is a flip between disastrously hot and frustratingly cold. he balances you out, a mellowness to your clumsiness whilst understanding your need for a rushed proposal and wedding. raised a gentleman, suguru is mindful of you in every action he takes. he doesn’t stare too long but smiles when you think he’s not looking and he’s a wonder with your grandmother — the parents, too. his family gem (a serpentine, making you feel much like a snake) sits heavy on your ring finger, dazzling under camera flashes at your engagement dinner…. and he recognises duty and honour above anything else too.

if satoru is your enemy, then guilt is your friend. no matter what either of the men in your life do, you find yourself comparing their every move. when you’re with suguru your mind is away chasing the fairies, imagining the touch of another man who sets your heart alight in a cool blaze — like gasoline trickling through your veins waiting for its candle match. when you’re with satoru, all you can think about is how wrong this is. how geto doesn’t deserve this. but you’re an addict without a cure, and your drug is satoru gojo and you don’t see yourself ever quitting him.

you're in desperate need of a wake up call and a nicotine patch, the cocky yet lecherous air about him almost acting like a smog in your healthy and capable lungs. sometimes through the fog, you wonder if satoru knows how much he weighs heavy on your mind— though if he did, you’d never hear the end of it.

the current queen tells you not to worry about the white haired man that’s slowly freezing over the four chambers of your heart. you tell yourself that suguru geto is the only man that you need, one that could help you rule and create a beautiful and better kingdom for many years to come. geto tells you that he loves you, that he can’t wait to marry you in two or three weeks time and you respond with equal (yet, faux) excitement.

perhaps that’s why you find yourself sneaking away from this respectful, loving man to be with the one trying to ruin your life?

why are you following satoru gojo deep into the royal gardens, where the rose bushes are the only witness to your sick and twisted sins?

your back hits the jagged pattern of tree bark before your brain can catch up — causing a little wet whimper to bubble up on your pinky-peach tainted lips. the flutter of pain just beneath your skin only lasts for a second before it’s replaced by the sensation of satoru’s fingers traversing up the dips and curves of your body. he soothes you where it hurts the most, rough fingertips leaving bruising marks made with affection along your thighs and small of your back while he swallows your sweet gasps — licking into the wet cavern of your mouth to taste you.

“you’re not even…” his words spill into you, adding fuel to the spark of lust beginning to form a pit in your stomach. “you’re not even attracted to him,” he spews, surging forward like a storm knocking on your door to press his greedy spit slicked lips to yours. his tongue, syrupy and wet, intertwined with your own, filling you up and giving you something to suck on.

before you can even think of kissing your rival back, he retreats and takes his swollen lips with him — latching onto your neck and weaponizing his teeth against it. you gasp, your angel’s song tipping out into the rose garden while your fingers tangle in silver-moon locks and let him work against you, claiming you just below the neckline of your dress where no one will be able to see.

except for maybe your fiancé and only god knows how you’ll be able to explain the marks to him tonight. ‘oh you know me, suguru. i’m way too clumsy for my own good.’ you’ll say, all while thinking about how the man after your crown blew your back out at your engagement party.

you know why satoru’s acting such a fool — taking risks that he wouldn’t normally. the dress you’re wearing, the colour of his eyes, drives him fucking insane. you can’t say that you didn’t ask for this, like it wasn’t on purpose.

“can’t fucking stand you,” gojo groans against your skin, nose pressed to your collarbone as he inhales the candied notes of your perfume. “been giving me those angel eyes all day. knowing that i can’t take my fucking eyes off of you when you wear that colour, princess.”

he’s insufferable, but here you find yourself at the mercy of his touch — offering up your body to satoru gojo like a sacrificial lamb as your back arches away from the tree and presses your chest into his eager strawberry tongue. it leaves a slimy track over your neck and dips between the cleavage of your dress while gojo makes his descent down to hell — tasting the shimmering crystals of salt on your skin.

satoru gojo belongs on his knees.

kneeling before you with the royal blue tule of your dress between his shaking hands. you can tell he’s trying not to rip it off of you. born to worship you. mirth weighs down his lashes and desire dances between the navy blue flecks in his sapphire eyes — he needs you so bad it might kill him. from this position he can practically smell how turned on you are, he’d recognise the mouth-watering aroma of your drooling cunt anywhere, slick gathering in the crotch of your barely there panties.

there’s a depraved, royal treasure hidden between the string of fabric that runs between your juicy pussy lips — swollen and waiting to be devoured by your enemy. not that you’d ever admit that to him. “i think you should be referring to me as your queen.” you manage between ragged breaths, satoru eyeing the way your chest heaves from beneath the bust of your dress.

instead of responding, his head unceremoniously dips beneath your skirts and he drags a thigh over the width of his broad shoulders. “watch your mouth,” the lord purrs salaciously as he licks up your inner thigh, the vibrations shooting straight to your swollen clit. “let’s remind you of who’s really in charge.” the both of you feel it, the aching throb of your pussy against gojo’s lips as he wedges his face right between your thighs. you can’t help but grind against him in wanton, desperate to be filled up with fingers, tongue whatever your sworn enemy has to offer up to the crown.

but your warmth and wetness does nothing to coax satoru into tongue fucking his way past your clenching, creaming entrance. rather, he draws his head back just a touch and rubs at your cunt like he loves you, dips his fingers just into your quivering hole and then — smack !

juices run down satoru’s arms as if he’s taken a bite into the fruit that tempted eve while he laughs in awe of just how fucking sloppy you are between your thighs. the spank to your puffy folds makes you jolt in surprise, causing you to scratch your back against the jagged tree bark.

“gojo!” you squeak in warning as your thighs close around his veiny hand.

he sticks his tongue into his cheek, smirking in amusement before prying your shaky legs apart. “that’s not quite right, try again for me, princess...” gojo repeats the process, running between your slick folds and spanking you against them when you fail to respond. “you know my name, baby. c’mon it’s easy, i’ll even say it with you. d…d…”

you refuse to stoop so low, to let demeaning words escape from underneath your tongue but not having satoru’s mouth on you is like torture — just his breath against your cunt is akin to dangling a carrot in front of a starving horse. you know what that pleasure is like, you crave it and you’re not above begging no matter how royal you may be.

“f-fuck, daddy!” you whinge defiantly, screwing your eyes shut and letting your head fall back against the tree. satoru wastes no more time then, slotting his hot mouth against the entire length of your silken slit. the first thing he does is moan, the vibrations shooting twinges of ecstasy from your clit through the rest of your body and even reaching your head — making the world around you spin.

the tip of his tongue teases its way past your entrance, squirming around to brush up against pleasure spots your little fingers can’t even reach. “that’s right princess, knew you could do it. you’re not just some stuck up little girl.” the white haired lord praises, drawing back from your quivering hole — connected to you by a string of your glistening slick.

“shut up, just… put your mouth to good use.” you grunt, your hips canterint down onto gojo’s face to keep him quiet. your fingers take root in his silvery moon locks, dragging the man and his pink tongue onto your sex once more. gojo takes the hint, making your cute little clit his next victim as he rolls it between perfect rows of pearly whites and sends your eyes into the dark depths of your skull.

the sinful and salacious sensation provides a welcomed distraction from your responsibilities as the crown princess. if your grandmother could see you now, you know that all she’d feel is disappointment— especially if she knew her granddaughter was fucking the biggest threat to the crown. and suguru, your poor fiancé — he was probably stuck mingling with guests he didn’t even know, looking for your eyes in the crowd like he always did.

shame should be burning through your veins, not the white hot trickle of desire that you’re filled with as satoru slurps your juices from between your fat pussy lips. the needy groans he lets out against you inch down your spine, drown you in stormy waves of lust and you find yourself addicted to the bob of gojo’s head from underneath your tule skirts. you’re just so wet, pouring the royal family’s riches, liquid gold straight into the man’s greedy mouth as he drinks you in.

your nectar glazes his cheeks and chin in a devilish shine, brighter than the crown set to sit atop your head — his mouth barely parts from your ravaged and swollen romping as if he’s married to eating you out, tongue licking you up and down before your juices even have a chance to drip to the ground. you can only imagine what would happen if the press found out, your life would be over and so would satoru’s. but you don’t care, because every second that gojo spends between your thighs dragging you to orgasm is worth it. every single time.

he grips at your ass, pulling you back onto his tongue as it flickers in and out of you. the whole ordeal is disgusting and delightful and you never want it to end. pleasure mounts high within you, evident in the shakiness of your gripes and grouses, lust laden in its tune.

“s-satoru…satoru. i’m gonna… g’na fuckin’ cum!” a high pitch squeal tears in your throat like music to gojo’s ears — now working relentlessly to get you off just like you need. he doesn’t care if he’s suffocating, at least he’ll die a happy man between the thighs of a princess.

he chuckles against your sex. “such a dirty mouth for such a proper lady.” the lord says as if he’s a scolding you.

but you can barely hear him, for static rings in your ears as your body loses the war to your orgasm. your release bubbles up on his tongue like the fresh pop of champagne, while your brain fizzles and clears itself of all logical thought. guilt is replaced by bouts of lust, making you realise that this cycle of avoiding and fucking gojo will never end. you’re too addicted to him and he’s too obsessed with you, as long as things remain that way — sex with him will always be on the agenda.

you can’t promise yourself, your grandmother or suguru that this will be the last time.

dopamine dances across gojo’s brain as he drinks in the tangy-honey flavour of your release, letting it splatter against his puffy lips as they encircle your clit to prolong your orgasm. you gush as if you’re a rushing erotic river, spilling into satoru’s earnest mouth while he licks you clean with wanton.

“look at that… oh look at you. cumming for me already.”

“f-fuck you.”

“fuck me?” he smirks, making your gut lurch with wanton. “fuck you. i’m the one that’s working on it, princess.” satoru slowly rises to his feet, licking a nasty spit-slicked trail from your hole to the cleavage peeking out from underneath your dress. he doesn’t even stand to his full height, his large frame towering over you as he yanks down the front of your dress to lick and suck and play with your breasts until you can’t tell what’s up or down anymore.

his perfect teeth graze a pert nipple which makes you gasp and cry, loosely looping your arms around satoru’s neck while his ravaging mouth works your sensitive breasts, even going as far to swipe his tongue over the spot where each one meets your ribcage. he doesn’t leave any marks, you’re not his to keep. large and rough hands replace the warmth of his mouth on you to toy with your mounds of flesh — pinching and pulling as satoru kisses you senseless. you groan at the taste of your slick on his tongue and salt of your skin as well, tugging him closer so that there’s no space between your heated bodies.

“don’t cry,” satoru comments softly against your swollen, cherry-bitten lips — cupping your face between his fingers. blinking slowly, you allow your frenzied brain the chance to catch up to reality and you don’t realise the tears that wet your cheeks until he points them out. why are you even crying? “you’re too pretty for that.” his compliments do nothing to clear the lustful, confused fog settling over your mind like a dark cloud so you follow your body’s instincts and reach for the metal clasp on his belt.

nimble fingers make their way down the front of gojo’s dress pants and he hisses at the quick pumps of his perfectly hard cock before you’re dragging up your skirts and guiding him towards your entrance. “baby, wait—“

you push his pants down enough to let his erection spring free, pulsing with need and standing at full mast against the cotton blouse covering his tummy. “i need you.” you sniff, dropping your panties to your ankles. “please.”

the thing about sex with satoru is that it never feels like just sex. he tenderly hikes the meat of your thigh over his slender hips, lets his dribbly, sticky cockhead twitch forward and ease past the salaciously slick barriers of your empty hole, and presses your bodies so close together that you think you might forget how to breathe. satoru makes love to you each and every time — and it’s terrible.

like eating too much sugar or indulging in a bad smoking habit. you’re not supposed to be in love with him and the way he fucks up into you, chest to chest, pelvis to pelvis even with all of the fabric in the way. “don’t cry for him, f-fuck,” the both of you look down, your pupils dilating at the sight of your pussy swallowing his lengthy shaft whole — catching on the ridges of each blue vein spiralling around him. “cry for me, princess. i’m the one that’s ruining you.”

with his forehead pressed to yours, silver hair matted down by the line of perspiration against it — satoru braces a hand against the tree above your head and sets stream to his passionate thrusts, fluid like water under a bridge. it’s not fair, how wrong this is and how good it feels to have gojo lick over the parts of you he would bite down on if you were his. your pulse point, your neck, the spot just under your ear that’s way too sensitive for your own good. it should be suguru fucking you like this, your fiancé.

yet, there’s no room for self-loathing and despair between the rough tree and satoru gojo above you. nothing aside for the thick curtain of lust that protects you from prying eyes in the rose garden, floral scents twisting with the raw, aphrodisiac-like smell of sex and sweat while he pounds away at your swollen pussy, grinding his cock wetly against the sweet spots dotted along your ribbed walls.

“i should put a baby in you,” he says suddenly, just barely audible over the wet pap, pap, pap of your sexes working together. embarrassment burns bright under the surface of your cheeks because you’re that wet and it’s that loud, the remainders of your previous orgasm making it easier for satoru’s cock to glide in and out of you. “leave you with a little gift. a present — reminder of our time together, yeah?” he knows that he’s not making any sense, leaving his confession behind sex and sultry words. he would never admit to how much he loves you, he’s already ruined you enough. he’s already taken more than enough from you too. “i’ll get to the crown either fuckin’ way.”

satoru talks with his dick and you fucking like it, squeezing the damn daylights out of him. he can barely pull back with you locked down on like that, his seedy tip snug between your ruined folds — clinging into him by viscous ropes of your last orgasm and freshly formed globs of his white hot precum. “you like that, don’t you princess?” he coos down to you condescendingly, picking up the pace of his hips as he rams into you mercilessly. the tree shakes from the force, sprinkling pretty and innocent petals over you both. “you wanna make me a daddy? my queen? give me a little prince or princess.”

“fuck yes, satoru!” nodding your head with wanton, you press yourself into his neck and squeeze him close by the ass cheeks so the only place your lover can go is deeper. you want to be able to feel him in your guts, hot in your womb like an iron rod — anything to forget the trickle of betrayal filling you up like a glass of wine. “i want it, i want it…i want—“

you cut yourself of with an abrasive sob, as you moan your agreements. i want you. you feel the words on the tip of your tongue, drowned out by the slippery sounds of sex and creaking tree trunk. you’ve never wanted anyone as much as you’ve wanted satoru gojo.

but he’s the wrong person, in the wrong place, at the wrong time.

“i know you do, i know,” you can feel gojo move to slobber over your chest, pacifying his whistle tone whimpers with your nipples bouncing in his mouth. he looks up at you with vacant cerulean eyes that shimmer like the skies above, the crude mix of your arousals slinging at the point at which your bodies join. “tell me how much you love daddy’s cock, princess.”

he goads because he craves your attention. satoru can feel you slipping from between his fingers, the guilt that rolls off of you in waves as he languidly rams into your cunt. he’s asking a lot of someone who’s too stimulated, too fucked out to speak — your tongue barely staying in your mouth.

“sato—!”

“c’mon… answer me, fuck, there we go.”

that’s when he hikes you up in his arms, lifting you a little to feverishly thrust up into you — dragging you closer to another high. your nails dig deep into his taut ass, nudging his dick against your g-spot. suguru would never be this rough with you, would never want to fuck you so good that the pleasure hurts.

shaking your head, your eyes glisten but the denial doesn’t stop small streams of arousal from squirting out and webbing against gojo’s soft pubes. “i-i can’t! i don’t—“ satoru bites down on your nipple, hard, cutting through your train of blurry thought. “i love…h-him!”

you love your fiancé, but you both know that’s a lie.

“yeah, sure you do. that’s why your pussy’s huggin’ my cock so tight. you don’t wanna let me go, baby.” even while he’s a mess for you, your rival still finds it in him to be such an egotistical prick. you can’t even tell him that he’s wrong, because you never ever want to be without satoru, without this immensely overwhelming feeling of ecstasy fluttering through your entire body. it’s all too much, he’s too much, stretching you wide and filling you with the love (and cum) you should be getting from suguru.

thunder cracks above your head, lightning flashes through the trees as if the higher power up above is bearing witness — growing distraught at your sins. it’s not long before the heavens open up on you both and your sweaty, sex slicked bodies are doused in rain. but it doesn’t stop you, doesn’t stop satoru from dragging down your bottom lip to lovingly spit into your mouth.

he kisses you as if it’s not enough, rocking his hips into you so he can bully your insides and mark them with his pre. “bet he’s lookin’ for you right now, hm? his precious wife to be…drenched in my cum ‘n drenched in the rain.” satoru heaves, letting the patter of the rain drown out the sound of his tightening balls slapping against your ass. “bet he wishes he could fuck you like i do.”

you can’t tell if it’s the tears of guilt and longing or the rain that blurs your vision. “h-he doesn’t get to!” you cry like a dirty porn-star, hardly becoming of a soon to be queen. “o-only you!”

“only me, hm? i’m flattered.” he seems elated, hiding his flushed face and happy smile in the junction between your neck and shoulder. his wet hair tickles your skin. “too bad he doesn’t know his princess comes used and abused between her pretty legs, huh?”

the rain is cold against your skin, seeping through your clothes, ruining your makeup — but the way satoru licks up your hot streaky tears and the droplets of water against your skin as if to sooth you… the way he does it fills you with warmth.

your limbs become heavy from your water-logged clothes and exhaustion, your whole body slumped against satoru’s strength but you still manage to rake your nails down his back as if you can’t be any closer. gojo doesn’t let your hips run from his either. his mind races, stuck on the idea of asking you to run away with him because he can’t just let you go back to geto. not again.

he can’t let you marry someone you’re not in love with.

it would be selfish of him to ask you to stay, even when you wrap your legs around him and have him plug up your tiny little hole with sticky white. he sees it in your eyes how much you care for him, even through the rain. he’s ruining you, from the inside out, knocking the crown from your head and he hates it.

“daddy loves this pussy,” he wishes for the moment to last forever, but you’re already so close — crying from every hole, suffocating his throbbing cock. neither of you can hold back. “he loves you. i love you.”

the confession nearly tears your world in two — but it’s all you need to hear before everything comes crashing down on you. “i-i love you!” you tell him, wailing the words loud and proud as you release on him for a second time, gushing obscene amounts against gojo’s tummy smooshed up on your clit. “sato—! satoru! cum with me, cum inside me!” scratching down his back and screwing your eyes shut, you tilt your head up to capture his lips in a passionate kiss.

the taste of salt on your cupid’s bow throws gojo over the edge too — his cockhead pours viscous white directly into your womb. “fuuuck, you’re so good princess…” and even though you know you should tell him to pull out, you don’t want him too. you want his baby, want his cum, want him always. even if that’s greedy of you.“fuckin’ take it…take all of me. all of that cum’s for you.” he slurs, beyond brainless.

lewd clapping noises echo between your bodies like the thunder up above as satoru fucks you through the rest of your highs, nose nudging your cheeks tenderly to soothe your tears. moaning, and crying against one another’s swollen lip. when his slow grinds come to a stop and your breathing recovers, the white haired lord gently sets you back in the ground — tenderly helping you to fix your drenched clothes back into place.

your thighs are completely bruised and his back is completely torn up. the last marks you’ll ever leave with each other.

“so about—“

“we… we can’t do this anymore, satoru.” you say almost immediately, shaky as if you’re in the verge of panic.

for the first time since you started doing this, sneaking off with one another, gojo notices the glint on your ring finger. and you feel the very same weight of that ring.

he shrugs you off, pulling up his pants and smirking. “that’s what you said last time—

“no satoru, i mean it now. we can’t.” it’s like you’ve come to your senses, realised the gravity of it all and what’s at stake. thirty days to get married, thirty days to become queen. “i’m going to become queen, your queen, in a matter of weeks and to do that i need to be married to him. i can’t mess this up. we have to stop.”

“but you don’t even want him,” he growls like a petulant child, roaring above the rain that cascades down on you both. “you want me. i want you. who gives a fuck about anything else?”

“duty gives a fuck! i have to marry him!”

throwing his hands up in defeat, satoru steps towards you, loud and intimidating, and you step back towards the tree. “you can’t even say his fucking name.”

“his name is suguru geto and i will marry him because you forced me to.” you spit, going toe to toe with him — chest heaving but tight from your heart break. “if you and your stupid higher ups had just stayed out my way. maybe there could have been a chance for us. but they didn’t and here we are and duty freaking calls, gojo.”

you storm off shortly after, be before he can see you cry again (for real this time). from his place hidden in the royal gardens, gojo watches sullenly as you approach your grandmother and fiancé — the elder queen disappointed in your current state and suguru clearly worried that the rain might make you catch a cold.

the perfect alibi to cover up the fact that you’d just fucked satoru gojo.

but the entire time, you never look back.

you don’t even look at gojo — and that’s how he knows you meant it. you always look back, always look for him in the crowd.

the knowledge hits him like a strike of lightning. he’s royally fucked up — you’re marrying for the crown, all because of him. and there’s no room for loving when you’ve got the weight of the nation on your shoulders.

#୨୧ KINKTOBER 23’#gojo x reader #gojo smut #gojo x you #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x reader #jjk smut #satoru gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo x y/n #gojo thirst #jjk thirsts #✧ ₊˚੭ — writing #tteokdoroki #angelshubnetwork

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omgeto · 10 months

Text

☆ WHEN YOU BREAK UP AND MAKE UP — NANAMI KENTO

summary: fed up with your stagnant marriage, you serve your husband divorce papers as a final cry to show you're tired of his behaviour. but you forget that, although he doesn't always show it, your husband never goes down without a fight.

w/c: 3.5k

cw: angst to fluff, nanami may come across as an asshole but he means it with love, plot with a dash of porn at the end, so mdni!!, semi-public sex (you fuck in an elevator) afab!reader

authors note: first fic on the new blog (wild) but I actually really fw this fic, hope you all do to. not fully proof read so ignore mistakes!!

nanami's footsteps echo through the dimly lit hallway as he approaches your apartment. his heart pounds against his ribs, a mixture of irritation, confusion, and hurt swirling within him. he had seen the divorce papers, his name scrawled across the top in bold letters, and the shock has left him simmering with resentment.

with a determined exhale, he raises his hand and knocks on your door. the door swings open, revealing his surprised expression. his eyes widen as he takes in your clenched jaw and the tension etched into your features.

"kento," your voice wavers, a mix of surprise and something he can't quite place.

"i didn't expect to find divorce papers on my desk at work," he bites out, his tone sharp and impatient.

your cheeks flush slightly, your gaze flickering away for a moment before returning to meet his stare. "it got your attention, didn't it?" you retort, your voice tinged with exasperation.

"attention?" nanami's voice drips with sarcasm. "you think serving me divorce papers at my job is the way to solve our problems?"

"you've been distant, nanami," your voice holds a trace of weariness. "we've been living separate lives for weeks. i needed you to know that something has to change."

nanami's irritation flares, his patience wearing thin. "dropping divorce papers on my desk is your way of communication now?"

"you've brushed me off every time i've tried to talk," your voice holds a hint of frustration, your eyes betraying a simmering anger. "maybe this is the only language you'll understand."

nanami's annoyance collides with a stubborn resistance, his grip on his emotions hardening. "you know i've been busy," he states curtly.

"busy ignoring me," your voice is edged with bitterness, your expression growing weary.

nanami's frustration deepens, and he steps closer, his gaze unwavering. "you could have talked to me."

you look away, your jaw clenched. "tried that." he reaches out to you but you brush him off, backing out of his space.

you didn’t know what the exact turning point of your marriage was, but once it came it was overwhelming, swept you both up in a whirl of frustration. nanami didn’t feel like yours anymore – he was a shell of the guy you married. there were no more morning kisses, gentle touches, or late-night talks that once filled your lives. the silence in your shared space became a chasm, widening with each passing day. you pleaded for his attention, for a connection, but it was as if he was slipping away, becoming a stranger.

"you’ve taken this game of yours too far," he scoffs, disbelief and a hint of frustration in his voice. nanami had never imagined it would come to this – the thought of you leaving him was a reality he was struggling to accept. he wasn't blind to the shifts in your relationship, the growing distance, but he had convinced himself that it was a phase. a bad period that could be smoothed out with a little time and patience.

when you gathered your belongings and walked away, nearly a month ago now, he allowed you to go, certain that this was just a phase, a moment of frustration that would pass.

"i thought we were just going through a rough patch," he continues, his voice carrying a self-assured edge. "didn't think you'd take it to this extreme. you really tried to embarrass me at work with that shit, everybody saw y’know, my colleagues, my boss.”

your eyes narrow at his response, the frustration that had simmered inside you starting to boil over. "It's not a game, nanami. this isn't some ploy for attention."

“so you’ve given up on me then? on us?” he asks incredulously, stepping closer to you, studying your face.

your gaze holds his, determination mixing with the hurt that still lingers. "i didn't want to give up, but i can't keep holding on to something that's slipping away."

nanami's eyes search yours, a moment of vulnerability flickering across his features before he masks it with his trademark confidence. "you think i'll just let you go that easily?"

you meet his gaze head-on, the tension between you palpable. "it's not about whether you'll 'let' me. it's about whether we're both willing to put in the effort to fix what's broken."

his smirk fades, his gaze intense as he studies you. "and? are you willing?"

nanami didn’t realise how silent his home was without you in it. when he returned, he sat in silence, the weight of your ultimatum sinking in. ‘it’s not a game nanami’ your previous words repeatedly echo through his mind. he had always prided himself on his rationality, on his ability to see things logically, but when it came to you, it was an unfamiliar territory,

he had grown accustomed to the routine of his life, the predictable patterns that had lulled him into a sense of complacency. he had convinced himself that the distance between you two would eventually close on its own. and now, confronted with the reality of your departure, he couldn't deny the truth any longer.

“you’ve really fucked this up nanamin,” gojo lectures over the phone to nanami, “you deserved getting embarrassed at your job.”

“i didn’t call you to be told off,” nanami says, pinching his nose “i called for you to tell me what to do.”

“Isn’t it obvious?” gojo questions, “you know what she wants.”

“If i did, i wouldn’t be on the phone with you, would i?” nanami snaps, frustration brewing.

“she wants the guy she married.” gojo states, ignoring nanami’s tone.

“I am that guy,” there was a pause, as if nanami could see gojo’s pointed look through the phone, “well i thought i was that guy. but i know she doesn’t want to divorce me for real, she loves me.”

“does she though?” gojo questions, “remember nanamin, i was there when you guys got married, the way she looked at you then… isn’t how she looks at you now.”

nanami ends the call abruptly, pacing around his living room. gojo’s words sticking in his mind. he had reached out to his friend seeking guidance, but it’s becoming evident that the answers he’s seeking might not be as straightforward as he had hoped.

gojo’s words struck a nerve, he was right. nanami remembers the early days of your relationship, the excitement, the adoration - the way your eyes would light up when you looked at him. but now, the distance, the hurt, it was evident.

he was going to make things right, he had to. you were his wife - his soulmate. he’s known that from the day he laid eyes on you, and he doesn’t want to let you out of his grasp.

it had been months since you served nanami the divorce papers – he was stalling. you couldn’t deny that he was trying though, the daily flowers that you received, the take out that was delivered to your house without you asking, was a testament to that.

you got daily calls, texts and emails from him asking you about your day, about your wellbeing. he was showing you that he cared, and it was as if he was courting you all over again.

his efforts didn’t go unnoticed, your friends and family could see the subtle smiles you couldn’t suppress and the softening of your eyes when his name was mentioned. they hoped for your sake that nanami would keep consistent.

you felt hopeful, and that made you feel dumb.

but you just needed one more push to feel secure, to feel like this would work – would last. which is why you were standing in the lobby of your lawyers office, your feet tapping nervously against the floor as you wait for your husband to arrive.

“hi, my love,” he greets, the familiar pet name coming out like a whisper, but it doesn’t go unnoticed, “i guess we should head up there.”

“yeah, lead the way,” you say, your tone warmer than you expect as you take in his appearance. he was dressed in one of his signature crisp suits, in fact it was your favourite suit of his, and he was wearing the hell out of it.

you follow him to the elevator, the hallway stretching ahead as you both walk side by side. you haven’t felt like this in a long time, like a pair, a union. nanami’s presence beside you is both familiar and foreign, a reminder of the life you once shared and the uncertainty of what lies ahead.

“we don’t have to go this meeting you know,” nanami forces out, but you ignore him pushing the button of the floor you need to be at.

“love listen, it doesn’t have to be this way,” he persists.

“and what way is it kento?” you argue, “just because you’ve been sending me flowers, and asking me how i am each day, doesn’t mean you’ve magically became husband material again.”

“trust me, i know that.” he scoffs, “you’re a real piece of work bu-”

“and you’re a real piece of sh-” you start, stopping yourself as you realise that you were the one going too far.

“as i was saying,” he continues, “you’re a real piece of work, but you’re worth it. you always have been, from the moment i met you i knew you were going to cause me trouble but i ended up loving you for that.”

“well tell that to your actions for the past–” you pause, feeling the elevator coming to an abrupt stop, “why did the elevator just close… the last thing i need right now is to be trapped.”

nanami's gaze shifts to the control panel, his eyebrows furrowing. "looks like we're stuck."

you glance at him, your heart racing for a different reason now. "stuck?"

nanami's eyes meet yours, his smirk undeniably playful. "Seems like fate has its own plans for us," he remarks, his tone holding a hint of amusement.

you roll your eyes, unable to suppress a small smile despite the circumstances. "great, just what I needed today."

he chuckles, his fingers expertly unbuttoning his cuffs as he begins to roll up his sleeves. "well, at least we have some time to ourselves. might as well make the most of it."

your eyebrows raise at his nonchalant attitude, your surprise momentarily replacing the irritation. "are you serious right now? we're stuck in an elevator, and you're acting like it's a casual evening at home?"

nanami's grin widens, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "why not? it's not like we can do much about the situation. might as well enjoy each other's company."

you huff out a breath, torn between annoyance and amusement. as you observe him making himself comfortable on the elevator floor, you can't help but shake your head. "you're unbelievable."

he pats the spot next to him, his inviting gesture a silent challenge. "come on, it's not so bad. we can reminisce about old times, or argue about who's the better cook."

you find yourself hesitating, the absurdity of the situation sinking in. with a resigned sigh, you take a seat beside him, your shoulder brushing against his. "old times, huh? you mean the days when you used to bring me breakfast in bed?"

nanami's smile softens, a nostalgic gleam in his eyes. "yeah, and you'd always complain that the eggs were overcooked."

“because they always were.” you retort, with a chuckle. you missed this, being in his space without any of the extra noise.

“i can cook breakfast for you again,” he proposes, “if you just come home.”

“kento i don’t know if i-”

“do you remember our first date,” he interrupts, “my car broke down on the way home from the restaurant, so i put you on my back and carried you for 5 miles.”

“you carried my heels too,” you add, laughing softly to yourself at the memory. your first date with nanami solidified that he was the man for you, the way he shamelessly gave you a piggy back ride, heels and all.

nanami’s gaze locks with yours, his fingers gently grazing your hand “it was worth every step.”

a warmth spreads through your chest, a mix of nostalgia and a newfound vulnerability. "you used to be so sweet," you murmur, your voice laced with a bittersweet longing.

his fingers inch closer, your hands almost brushing against each other. "i can still be sweet, you know," he replies softly, his gaze never leaving yours.

your heart skips a beat, the air around you growing charged with unspoken emotions. "you have a funny way of showing it."

he tilts his head, his lips curving into a genuine smile. "maybe I've been out of practice."

as the silence settles between you, the confined space of the elevator seems to amplify the intensity of your connection. the past rushes back, the moments that you shared, the love that once flourished. but you're both here now, in the present, faced with the choice of whether to rebuild or let go.

nanami's fingers finally find yours, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through your veins. "i want to make it right, to fix us," he admits, vulnerability lacing his words.

you meet his gaze, the weight of his confession hanging in the air. "It's not that simple, kento. we can't just go back to the way things were."

his thumb traces a soothing pattern on the back of your hand. "i know. but maybe we can start anew. rediscover each other, learn from our mistakes."

you study his face, the sincerity in his eyes making your heart ache. maybe he had changed, maybe he was willing to put in the effort to mend what was broken. maybe, just maybe, there was hope for your relationship after all.

the elevator's walls seem to fade away, leaving only the two of you in this suspended moment. The past and the present merge, and as you search his eyes for any signs of deceit, you find none. only a genuine desire to make things right.

"i've missed you," he whispers, his voice holding a vulnerability that resonates within you.

“you swallow the lump in your throat, your grip on his hand tightening. "i've missed you too."

nanami's fingers burned with a mixture of yearning and desperation as they reached out to trace the curve of your cheek. his touch was electric, sending a surge of heat through your veins. your breath hitched in response, your heart pounding against your ribs as his thumb brushed over your skin.

his touch was no longer tentative; it was a declaration, a silent proclamation of his desire. the air seemed to crackle with tension as his gaze bore into yours, his eyes dark and smouldering.

"i've wanted to do this for so long," he confesses, his voice a low growl sending a shiver down your spine.

his fingers slide from your cheek to your jawline, his touch igniting a fire within you. the space between you seemed to vanish as he closed in, his lips hovering just a breath away from yours. your eyes flutter closed as his thumb brushes over your lower lip, his touch setting your skin ablaze.

and then, his lips crash onto yours with a fierce hunger that leaves you breathless. it was a kiss that ignites a wildfire, a blaze of emotions that had been suppressed for far too long. his lips moved against yours with a fervour that matched the intensity of his touch, a dance of passion and longing.

his arms encircle you, pulling you flush against him as the kiss deepens. his mouth moves over yours with a possessive urgency, his tongue seeking entrance and igniting a fiery tangle of sensations. the taste of him was intoxicating, a heady mixture of desire and nostalgia.

your fingers claw at the fabric of his shirt, needing to feel him, to ground yourself in this moment. his body presses against yours, every contour and ridge igniting a cascade of sensations that pooled between your thighs.

his hands trail down your back, the touch leaving trails of fire in its wake. when he cups your hips and pulls you impossibly closer, a moan escaped your lips, swallowed by the intensity of the kiss.

as the kiss broke, your foreheads rest against each other, your breaths ragged and laboured. the air around you was thick with desire, the space between you charged with an unspoken promise.

"i need you," he murmurs against your lips, his voice laced with desperation.

your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling his head down for another searing kiss. It was a kiss that spoke of pent-up longing, of a love that refused to be extinguished. your bodies moulded together as if they were meant to fit perfectly, every touch a symphony of need and surrender.

“tell me you need me, love,” he gasps out, and you nod against him, “no i got to hear you say it.”

“i need you, i do,” you whimper against his lips, as his fingers slip below the waistline of your skirt, gently grazing your clit, “k-kento we can’t, have you forgotten where we are?”

“don’t tell me you’ve become shy whilst we’ve been separated,” he chuckles, smirking as he continues to toy with your pussy “you don’t remember all the times i’d have you bent over my desk in my office?”

you bite your lip at the memory, feeling yourself get wetter as nanami’s fingers enter you, his thumb pressing against your clit. nanami knew you inside and out, he knew how exactly where to touch, how to get you whine and writhe against him as you are now.

he took advantage of your exposed neck, biting and sucking against your collarbone as he continues to stroke your cunt. you were gushing over him, repeatedly clenching against his fingers, as he twists and pushes in and out of you.

“you always get so wet for me,” he praises, pulling his fingers out of you, his digits glistening coated with you. you can smell your own arousal from his hand as he grabs your chin, forcing you to stare at his lust filled eyes. “ride me.”

you didn’t need to be asked twice, you discard your skirt off on the elevator floor, as he unzips his pants. he strokes his dick as it gets harder just at the sight of you. he was back was against the wall, his legs sprawled out widely, the perfect opening for you to climb right into his lap.

you slid right onto him, letting out an exhale as he fills you. he presses a sloppy kiss against your lips as your cunt grips onto him. your hands dig into his shoulder as you bounce up and down on him, his hands having your hips in a firm hold to keep you in place.

nanami couldn’t keep his eyes off of you, the way you were taking him in like you needed him, was a sight he could never get tired off. you were so pretty, all fucked out on his dick, your eyes glossed over in a daze, the only thing you were focused on was him.

“d’you see now why i could never let you go?” he teases, thrusting upwards into you as one of his hands trails up to caress your cheek, his thumb parting your lips, “because this pussy’s mine.”

he quickens his pace, eager to get you to come undone all over him, the way your movements became slower, lazier, he could tell you were nearly at your peak. you bite on his thumb, suppressing your moans, as his merciless thrust begin to become too much.

“m’close kento, i-it’s too much,”

“I know my love, you’re taking me so well,” he praises, pushing deeper into you, “just hold out for a bit longer.”

“i-i can’t i-” you couldn’t finish your sentence as you feel yourself release all over him. nanami groans out his head collapsing in your cleavage as he finishes inside of you, your juices mixing with his.

the only sounds that can be heard are you both trying to catch your breath. nanami keeps his head pressed against your tits, still inside of you. you toy with his hair pushing his hair back to leave a gentle kiss against his head, his arms tighten around you and it was as if you could feel him smile against you. you knew from then that you and your husband was going to be okay.

“kento?” your voice wavers, a mixture of uncertainty and hope lacing your words.

“yes? my love,” he responds, his gaze locked onto yours.

your heart flutters as you gather your courage, the weight of the past and the possibilities of the future intertwining in your chest. "I think we can cancel that meeting with my lawyer."

nanami's smile broadens, but it's different this time – it's a smile that carries the weight of understanding and a newfound determination. he holds your gaze, and you can see the sincerity in his eyes, a silent promise of change and rediscovery.

you eventually got out of that elevator and you didn’t go home to your separate apartments, you went home, together.

extra an: so guys what did you think?? first time writing for smut, and for nanami so if it’s shit spare me. but I love him and I’d never divorce him. DIVIDERS FROM @/CAFEKITSUNE !!

#stampedwithanE★#jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #nanami x reader #nanami angst #nanami fluff #jjk smut #nanami smut #jjk angst #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen angst #jujutsu kaisen smut #nanami x you #nanami kento smut

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