How I Feel When I Dont Have A White Boy To Obsess Over

“baby stop im trying to read”

“what do you mean ma im just getting warm”

toji was in fact not just getting warm. his big calloused palms were currently underneath your (his) shirt fondling your tits. it wasn’t uncommon for toji to have his hands on your breasts as you read before bed. He used them like stress relievers. warm and soft and comforting to the touch. you had your kindle in one hand and the other placed on his head gently rubbing at his scalp as he nosed his way into the crevice of your neck.

“fuck baby you smell so good. always smell so clean and vanillery.”

that made you smile.

“yeah i know i smell great.”

he laughed at that because yes you did always smell great. god he was so comfortable right now. nothing on the planet could top this for him. with your boobs in his palms toji could overcome anything. his touch became a bit heated and you knew this would soon be escalating. but you weren’t going to be the one giving in, if he wanted you he was going to have to ask. carefully his fingers began to pinch at your nipples and he knew he had you right where he wanted you when you began to mewl at his touch.

“what you reading about that’s got you like this baby? you cheating on me?”

“how’s it cheating if i’m reading you buffoon? and you know exactly why.”

he couldn’t help but smile at the easy banter that was so common between the two of you.

“want me to do to you whatever your reading about?”

and just as toji began to hike up your shirt with the intention of putting his mouth to work you both heard a slight little patter of feet on the hard wood floor. you couldn’t see anything due to the darkness in the room but you were pretty sure someone was here. toji lifted his head up with his hands still holding your chest under your shirt and craned his neck over the edge of the bed when he felt a little finger pat his shoulder.

“daddy i did sick”

“oh megs for fucks sake.”

authors note: i didn’t expect to receive so much love on this lil drabble! thank you so much lovely people

Bad Hair Day

[Jason Todd x Reader]

Word Count: 5k

Summary: Five times Jason's hair lets him down. Thankfully you're too gone for him to mind.

A/N: This was supposed to be silly, but I infected myself with Soft Bitch Disease HELP

Divider found here

Jason Todd had very nice hair. Dark and soft and unruly, it suited him well. As did the stubborn streak in the front that resisted any attempts to dye it (he’d tried once, on a day when his self-esteem had taken a nosedive). 

And ever since the first time you ran your fingers through his hair, he’d put significant effort into taking good care of it. Anything to entice you to do it again. 

So, yes, he was proud of it. He was proud of the way his bedhead made you smile. The way you wrapped that stubborn white curl around your finger and pressed a kiss to it. The way you couldn’t resist playing with it when he laid his head in your lap. 

…But that didn’t mean there weren’t mishaps.

Helmet hair was the most common problem, and largely inescapable. In the beginning, when he’d just barely started spending nights in your apartment and long before moving in together was even a thought, he’d rushed from the window to the shower, not even taking his helmet off until the bathroom door was closed behind him. You usually weren’t awake anyway. But he didn’t think you needed that particular image of him. 

Until the night where you got a little too caught up in a new show to go to bed at a reasonable hour. A summer night in the middle of a heat wave that had Jason flinging off his helmet the second his boots touched the living room floor, before he clocked you laying on the couch in the dim light from the TV. 

“Oh, I really got carried away,” you mumbled to yourself, scrambling for the remote as you noted the time on your phone lockscreen. “Yikes.” 

“H-hey,” Jason said awkwardly, not sure how he was supposed to act, at once happy and self-conscious.

“Hi,” you greeted with a smile, reaching to turn on a lamp before shutting off the TV. “You okay? I heard a lot of sirens tonight.” 

“Yeah, I’m fine. Heat wave makes people fucking crazy, though.” 

You nodded, giving a sleepy little stretch before vacating the couch and moving towards him. 

“Are you fine, though? I assume body armor isn’t exactly… breathable.” You poked at the thick padding covering his stomach.

“You’re right about that. I took way too many breaks.”

You frowned, unconvinced, as you took in his flushed face, the hair plastered to his forehead in damp swirls. 

“Not enough breaks,” you corrected decisively. “Strip and sit.”

“Uh, w- ” 

But you were already busying yourself with the tower fan in the corner, dragging it closer to the couch and turning it to its highest setting.

You looked back at him expectantly, gesturing towards his gear with an impatient hand.

“I’m serious. You need to cool down. And have you been drinking water? You need to drink water. I’m getting you water.” 

You were hurrying away again before he could respond, and a tiny smile stole over his face at your brusk insistence. You couldn’t be bothered with awkwardness when you were convinced he needed caring for. It was… nice. 

New. And nice.

So he was quick about following your orders, leaving all that heavy kevlar and plating in a messy heap by the window and dropping onto your couch cushions in just his boxers. The cool air of the fan offered immediate relief, soothing his overheated skin. 

You were back seconds later, a damp rag in one hand and your largest water bottle in the other, ice clinking against the sides in time with your steps. 

You opened it for him before shoving it into his hands, tossing the lid over your shoulder with a severe look that made him laugh. Drink it all. Message received. 

You dropped onto your knees on the couch cushion beside him, swiping the cold cloth over his forehead, his neck, behind his ears. 

Jason sighed contentedly at the sensation, lifting the bottle to take a long drink, the water inside so cold it almost made his teeth hurt. He drained a third of it in one go. 

“Good boy,” you said approvingly, brushing a kiss to his cheekbone and effectively undoing all your hard work as Jason’s skin warmed again from the praise. 

Still, he dodged back from your hands when you reached for his hair.

“I’m still really sweaty.” 

“I know,” you said with a laugh. “I can handle sweat, Jason.”

“It’s not gonna feel nice,” he said, eying you uncertainly.

“It will feel nice to you, which is the point.” 

And, well, he couldn’t really argue with that. When you reached for him again, he stayed still, sighing as you slowly swept damp and flattened curls back from his forehead. Your fingers worked carefully through the sweaty tangles, gently restoring order and lifting the strands away from his scalp, giving the cool air from the fan an opportunity to ruffle through them. 

“Good?” you asked after a few minutes, your voice almost a whisper.

Jason hummed appreciatively, his eyes half-closed. 

“Good. Keep drinking your water, honey.” 

Hair gel was only a problem once before he learned his lesson. 

And really, technically, it was actually your fault. Your fault entirely for leaving him to fend off the vultures alone. 

You’d promised. Looked him in the eyes, kissed his pouting lips, and promised to attend this charity dinner with him. 

Jason had begrudgingly agreed to attend four Wayne events per year, and the dinners, at least, had a clear and predictable end time. Not that it mattered as much when you were with him. You made an unbelievably charming party guest, skilled at pulling focus off of Jason exactly when he needed, unparalleled in your ability to set him at ease when the endless stream of self-important rich Gothamites started to get to him like an itch under the skin. 

But the universe decided to play with him that day, sending its opening move in the form of a frantic, heartbroken call from your close friend who needed you right that very second. Jason heard the crying from the other side of the room, and looked to you with alarm, hands freezing in the process of buttoning his shirt. 

You were making soft, soothing sounds, moving to slip the cocktail dress back off your shoulders, reaching for your sweatpants where they sat neatly folded beside Jason’s. 

“How long ago did he leave?” you asked.

Jason caught your eyes, raised his brow in question.

Fight with boyfriend, you mouthed to him. He sighed, head tipping back in defeat. 

And he did feel a little bad for the resentment that bubbled up at the realization that you were backing out of the event. Your friend was upset, and she had every right to seek you out. But that didn’t mean he was happy about it.

Jason finished getting ready glumly, smoothing his hair into a more gentlemanly shape and using more gel than usual since you wouldn’t be there to fix it for him if it fell out of place. 

By the time he was ready to leave, you were finished with your call, waiting by the door in unfairly comfortable clothes and an empty tote bag for the snacks you’d pick up on your way. You started pouting before Jason could say anything, shuffling up to him to plant consoling little kisses over his face.

“So handsome,” you said, smoothing your hands over his shoulders. “Sorry, baby. I know you hate these things.”

“It’s gonna be so much worse without you.” 

“Maybe you’ll make a new friend,” you suggested hopefully, breaking into a giggle at the flat look he fixed you with. “Fine, probably not. Is Dick going?”

“Yeah…” 

“Well, that’s good then. Just shove him at anyone who gets too close to you.”

Jason snorted, failing to hide the smile the image inspired. 

“I’ll see you when I get home, okay?” 

And Jason clung to that promise for the whole night. When he saw Dick’s name card placed on the other side of the room. When he caught sight of the menu that listed twelve courses in excruciating detail. When the lady who was seated next to him at dinner wouldn’t stop trying to touch him. By the time the insultingly tiny slivers of cake were placed in front of each guest, Jason had a splitting headache, a thoroughly depleted social battery, and a recurring daydream about strangling himself with his own bowtie.

He inhaled his dessert at a concerning speed, made a show of shaking Bruce’s hand, and fled the venue like a bat out of hell. 

The shower was running when he got home, but all Jason could manage was kicking off his shoes, ditching his jacket, and half unbuttoning his shirt before faceplanting on the bed in a flawless starfish formation. 

There was no energy left anywhere in his body or mind. Give him a night on the rooftops and alleys, kicking ass and getting shot at, over a night with the Gotham elite any night of the week. 

He was half-asleep when you climbed over him on the bed.

“What have they done to you?” you whispered, amusement clear in your voice. 

Jason let out a wordless groan, and you laughed.

“All that, huh? You want a bubble bath?”

He shook his head, face never lifting from the sheets.

“Let me rinse this gel out of your hair before you pass out completely, then. We can use the kitchen sink.” 

He gave the most pitiful sigh you’d ever heard, and you shook your head with a knowing smile, nudging his heavy limbs over until you had enough space to crawl into bed.

When he woke the next morning, it was to the sound of your soft giggles, syrupy sweet and undeniable. Jason opened his eyes, already smiling at the sound. 

“What’s funny?” he asked sleepily, hands automatically seeking you across the sheets, latching onto your thigh, your waist.

You bit your lip, handing him your phone with the forward-facing camera open.

He looked like an electrocuted cartoon character, hair bound together in chaotic spikes sticking out in all directions. God damn hair gel. The look on his face had you laughing again, but you softened it with a fond stroke to his cheek.

“My little dandelion.” 

Occasionally, Gotham’s weather liked to toy with Jason too, sending him home to you looking every bit the sad, miserable wet cat.

He refused to carry an umbrella. Umbrellas were for old people and tourists. His hoods suited him just fine and allowed the added benefit of leaving both hands free. And mostly it was fine. Unless Gotham was in a Mood. 

Rain fell in hard, heavy sheets, large cold drops that landed with all the force of hailstones and bit at exposed skin without mercy. It was impossible to see more than a few feet in front of you, the effect only made worse by the blanket of dark, angry clouds overhead. Even that, Jason may have made it through relatively unscathed. But the wind was determined to have its fun too, running through the city in heavy gusts that made windows rattle and buildings creak and groan. Sending torrents of rain nearly horizontal, battering any unlucky pedestrians it caught wandering the sidewalk.

Unlucky pedestrians like Jason, whose hood had been blown off his head three blocks back. Whose eyes were nearly shut against the constant onslaught of wind and rain. Who had shoved a bouquet of flowers up his shirt ten minutes ago and was pretty certain he’d been leaving a trail of soaked flower petals behind him ever since. 

By the time he made it back to the apartment you shared, he was soaked to the bone and shivering, hair plastered to his face and down over his eyes from the weight and force of the water.

At the sound of the door, you came running, skidding to an unsteady stop in your fuzzy socks as Jason reached to catch you. He held you carefully away from his drenched body, frowning an apology at the wet handprint he left behind on your sweatshirt. 

“Are you okay? I was hoping you were camped out in a shop somewhere waiting for this storm to pass.”

“It’ll go all night,” Jason said, still out of breath and feeling half-drowned as he dripped all over the kitchen floor.

Your thoughtful frown shifted into something more concerned as you noticed the way he was keeping one hand tucked beneath his jacket. 

“Are you hurt? What happened?”

Before he could answer, you had his jacket unzipped and were pushing his sweatshirt up in search of an injury.

Jason cringed as several waterlogged flowers tumbled onto the floor, shifting self-consciously as you stared blankly at the sight before you. His palm was still pressing a handful of stems to his stomach, where several leaves and even more petals had plastered themselves to his skin rather than falling free.

“Oh.”

“Sorry, baby, I tried to keep them safe, but I think I just made it worse.”

“Jason…” you said slowly, reaching with gentle fingers to sweep aside the hair that was still dripping rainwater in his eyes. “Did you go out in a thunderstorm just to buy me flowers?” 

“N- It’s… It was barely raining when I left.” 

“Only you would try to downplay a romantic gesture,” you said, shaking your head with a fond smile.

Jason shrugged, the movement bringing your attention backed to his soaked clothing and prompting you to help him out of his jacket. 

He took advantage of your distraction, still finding it easier to say vulnerable things when you weren’t looking into his eyes.

“I had to get you something today. It’s our anniversary.”

Your face scrunched a little, turning to study the calendar stuck to the fridge with a goofy souvenir magnet. 

“Help me out, darling,” you said apologetically. “Anniversary of what?”

“Um…” Jason gave up on the rest of the flowers, letting them fall to the floor and brushing the clingy petals away from his skin. He wasn’t even looking at you now, but he didn’t seem offended. Just… embarrassed.

You gave him some space, taking your time grabbing extra towels and clean, dry clothes for him to change into. And you wanted to linger, to help peel wet fabric from cold skin, rub warmth back into numb fingers, kiss rosy color back into pale lips. But he still looked shy, eyes diverted and distracted, so you left him with the stack and a soft kiss to his cheek before moving to make him a cup of tea. 

He came back to you in his own time, bundled in his coziest clothes and wrapping his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“Six months ago you told me you loved me for the first time,” he said softly. 

“Oh…” You leaned back into his arms a little more. “I should have remembered that. I’m sorry.”

You felt him shake his head, still resting against your shoulder. 

“S’okay… We had a night in. You made pancakes for dinner.”

“I remember the moment, just not the date…” you said, wiggling around in his hold to face him. His hair was still dripping onto the towel he had draped over his shoulders. 

“I put it in my phone the night it happened. When you were in the bathroom,” Jason confessed, pink creeping up in his cheeks. 

“I felt it a long time before I said it,” you confessed in turn, reaching for the towel and running it over his hair. “It took a while for me to build up the nerve to say it to your face.”

A face that was currently scrunched in boyish protest as you continued ruffling his hair with the towel, soaking up the extra water. 

“Yep, that one,” you laughed, dropping the towel back to his shoulders and giving his hair a little extra tousle. 

He kissed you twice. Once with a playful nip, then softer, slow and sweet like he’d quite like to stay there all night. 

“Thank you. For saying it.”

“Thanks for saying it back.”

You would never convince Jason that The Unicorn wasn’t a brilliant stroke of innovation.

His hair was getting too long, constantly falling in his eyes, tugging uncomfortably in his helmet, hanging out of his hood when he opted for the mask instead.  But he hadn’t been in the mood to get it cut, and you certainly never complained. It just gave you more to play with.

When you were home together, it was heaven. You couldn’t stay away from it, passing your fingers through it when you walked by, coming up behind him when he sat on the couch or at the table to press kisses into the unruly curls, playing with it idly any time you were cuddled up together. You had turned the Red Hood into a cuddly house cat, constantly placing himself near you and feigning indifference, only to melt at the first brush of your fingertips. 

He’d spill all his secrets for one of your scalp massages. Credit card number. Social security number. Terrible teenage poetry. Anything you wanted to know, as long as you kept touching his hair.

But when you weren’t around, his perspective shifted rather dramatically. 

Reading a book became incredibly frustrating, unless it was done with perfect posture and the book held at eye level or flat on his back. This graduated from annoying to fucking impossible the third time he dropped a book on his face. 

And cleaning his guns? Absolute bullshit. Grease that took two washes to get out of his hair from constantly trying to push it out of his face. Uncharacteristic clumsiness when taking them apart because he couldn’t see. 

So he came up with a… creative solution. 

Which is how you came home to find Jason lounging comfortably, tucked into the corner of the couch with a blanket, a book, and an absurd hairstyle, the front of his hair gathered into a little bun on the crown of his head. 

“Oh, hello,” you called with a surprised laugh, kicking your shoes off and dropping your purse onto the table by the door. 

He hummed distractedly, eyes still fixed on the pages. 

You plopped down on the cushion beside him, watching him read with an amused little grin until he finished his chapter.

“Hey baby,” he finally greeted you, placing his book on the side table. 

“Hi…” you said, eyes flickering back up to the tiny bun at the top of his head. “Who’s your friend?”

“A masterclass in ingenuity,” Jason said as he gave the bun a satisfied little pat. “Which lets me read without breaking my nose.” 

“I see.” You bit your lip, hard, trying not to laugh as you stared at it.

“Stop lookin at it!”

He grabbed your chin, forcing you to make eye contact. 

“Sorry,” you laughed. “It makes you look like a baby unicorn.”

“That better be a compliment.”

“Oh, of course. You’re a very dashing unicorn.” 

He scowled at you, but despite his best efforts it was entirely without malice. Disappointing, given glaring was one of his most natural talents. But he’d never been very good at glaring at you.

“It’s actually very cute,” you said through a smile, reaching up to squeeze the little bun before Jason batted your hand away. “Can I put a bow on it?”

“No.” 

He wouldn’t stop you if you actually tried. But you didn’t need to know that. 

“You could just cut it, you know. If it’s bothering you this much.”

“It’s fine,” he sighed. “I know you like it.”

“You know what I like even more?”

“Mmm?” He leaned his head back against the cushions.

“Your comfort and safety.”

“Lame,” he said solemnly.

You broke first, falling into a fit of giggles that dragged a laugh out of him too. 

“Seriously though,” you said, leaning into his side, a smile still on your face as he wrapped an arm around you automatically. “Why don’t you get it cut? I’ll come with you if you want.”

He shifted a little, let out a sigh that sounded more serious than the last. 

“I um… I’m not really in the mood to let a stranger with sharp objects near my face right now.”

“Oh,” you said softly, subconsciously snuggling a little closer. “Okay.”

“It… It comes and goes. That… feeling.” 

You nodded, gave a little space in case he wanted to say more. He didn’t.

“Could you? Trim it? I could buy you some salon scissors. And one of those trimmers with the different settings. If you want.”

“Yeah, maybe… Probably wouldn’t look very good though.”

“We could watch tutorials. Besides, you could pull off just about anything with that face.” 

He scoffed, but you could see a tiny spark of pride in his eyes, the inclination of a smile at the corner of his lips. 

“Could… Would you do it for me?” he asked hesitantly, glancing down at you.

Something fluttered in your chest at the gentle request.

“I can try. Do you think… I mean would that be okay? When you’re feeling like this?”

“Yes,” he said simply, no trace of doubt in his voice.

“Okay,” you answered, smiling at the sweet kiss it earned you. 

“Not too short,” he requested, barely moving his lips from yours. “Make sure there’s enough for you to play with.” 

Your stomach gave a little flip, and you kissed him back a little harder. 

“You’ve got it.”

Slicked back wasn’t a go-to hairstyle for Jason, in any context. And he was still adamantly anti hair gel since “The Dandelion Incident.” 

But fresh out of the shower, all it took was a comb. It would keep his hair out of his eyes for a little while, at least. And give him an excuse to seek you out, not that he needed one these days.

He found you in the living room, sorting through a basket of clean laundry in search of matching socks. You did a double take when you saw him, smiling as he dragged you closer by the hips. 

“Look at you,” you giggled, holding his face in your hands.

“What do we think?” he asked, moving easily with your touch as you tilted his chin to either side, looking him over with overplayed seriousness.

“Hmm. Very handsome,” you decided.

“Yeah?” 

“You’re always handsome,” you said, kissing his cheek. “This is just a different kind of handsome.”

Jason hummed thoughtfully, fighting a smile and squeezing you closer, a warm feeling fluttering in his chest.

“What kind of handsome?”

“Distinguished. Debonair.”

“I’ve never been debonair in my life,” he laughed.

You stepped back, forming a little frame with your hands as you continued to study him.

“This guy’s got a favorite jeweler. A permanently reserved table at a restaurant in case he feels like dropping by.”

Jason rolled his eyes, but didn’t stop you, watching you with a fond smile.

“He slips people their tip during a handshake. Orders a martini like James Bond. He - ” You broke off suddenly, pressing your lips together, eyes widening slightly.

“What?” Jason prompted, poking at your side. 

“Nothing.”

“Well now you have to tell me.” He caught your hands as they dropped, pulling you back into his arms.

“It was just a fleeting thought. Nothing important.”

“Great. Tell me anyway.” 

You sighed, grabbed at his shirt as if to brace yourself.

“This hairstyle might… maybe… make you look the tiniest bit like… Bruce.” 

The reaction was immediate and exactly what you expected, Jason jolting back as if slapped, his expression entirely horrified. 

“Just a little,” you insisted. “And only because this is usually how he does his -”

But he was already scrambling back to the bathroom.

“Nope, nope, nope, nope.”

“Jason, it doesn’t mean -”

The door slammed, and you bit at your lip, trying not to laugh at his dramatics. Your humor didn’t last long, however, as you caught the buzz of an electric  razor.

“Absolutely fucking not!” you yelled, bursting through the door and snatching the razor out of his hand. “Jason!”

“It has to be done.”

“No, it really doesn’t.” You turned it off, tossing it back under the sink. 

“Can’t believe you said that to me,” he groaned, scrubbing his hands over his face as if to wipe away the comparison.  

“Temporary insanity. Didn’t mean it,” you said, taking both of his hands in yours. 

He stared at you doubtfully  but followed without question as you started backing out of the bathroom, towing him along with you.

“I can fix it. Without shaving your head.”

Jason gave a fussy sigh, but you didn’t falter, pulling him into the bedroom.

“Sit,” you said, pushing lightly on his shoulders until he dropped down onto the foot of the bed, looking up at you expectantly. 

You placed a knee on either side of his hips, settling comfortably on his lap and cradling his face in your hands.

“Jason,” you said sweetly. 

“Hmm?” His eyes were locked curiously on yours, giving you his undivided attention, pout already beginning to fade.

“You are the most beautiful person I have ever seen.”

He looked mildly unconvinced. You continued on your course, pressing gentle kisses over his face until he gave a slow, heavy exhale.

“And I’ll keep thinking so no matter what. But I think we both like your natural hair better than this,” you whispered against his skin. “Can I fix it for you?” 

“Yes,” he whispered back, eyelids already beginning to droop as your fingers worked their way into his hair. 

You could fix this problem with a quick little ruffle. That’s all it would take. But that’s not how Jason liked to be touched. 

You started slow and gentle, your fingertips moving in little circles against his scalp starting at his hairline and moving back, pressure slightly increasing with every pass. Your nails scraped gently over the back of his neck, sending a pleased little shiver through his body as his head dropped to rest against your chest. 

“There we go,” you said softly, moving your hands to the sides of his head and working upwards to accommodate his new position. His arms wrapped around you as he gave another sigh, a much softer sound this time. Contented.

You got no words from him for a while after that, just the feeling of his slow, steady breaths and the warm sweep of his hand as it snuck under the back of your shirt. 

He loved it when you did this, always, had stopped trying to be coy about it a long time ago. Told you how sweet you were. Talked about how much you spoiled him. But you’d honestly never thought about it that way. 

It was a privilege to give Jason these moments of tenderness, to feel the tension drain out of him the longer you went on touching him this way. To see the way his face went serene, eyes soft and a little glossy. You’d do anything he asked to keep earning those content smiles, keep hearing those happy little sighs. You wondered if he knew that.

His hair was dry by the time you stopped, pulling him away from your chest with a gentle tug that had him releasing a low hum. He looked up at you, eyes half-closed and dreamy, his hair a sweet riot of messy waves and loose curls.

“There’s my Jason.” You stroked his cheek, feather light.  

“Still handsome?” he asked quietly.

“Devastating, my darling,” you said, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “I’ll never recover.”

He believed you this time, with a sleepy slow smile.

“Good,” he said, collapsing lazily back onto the blankets, dragging you down with him as he kept you tucked tightly against his chest. “Don’t want you to.”

A/n: Say something before I lose my mind

heavy in your arms. part one.

— pairing: aemond targaryen x fem!reader

— type: part of a series

— summary: aemond seeks to right the wrong his mother made in rejecting the proposition of a betrothal between you & he.

— word count: 2,473

— tagging list: @emilynissangtr @aemondwhoresworld @callsignwidow @tvangelism

— a/n: welcome to the first installment in my aemond x sg au! (NOT the dark!aemond au (which will be titled idumea, if/when i ever write it.))

“Why did you reject it?” Aemond demands, barging into his mother’s chambers unannounced.

She pads across the room toward him with clasped hands. She needn’t ask what it is her son is referring to, specifically, to already know.

Nor does she need inquire as to how he knows. The bastard girl he’s had an obsession with since the day she was born is most-certainly to blame.

She’s allowed them to keep company with one another for too long, it now seems. Such behaviors will cease today.

She gives him a forced, gentle smile. She knows his temper can be as hot as dragonfire when stoked, especially when it comes to his niece. If he makes a scene, she’ll simply have Ser Criston escort him back to his chambers.

She seats herself, gently patting the cushion next to her. “Sit.”

He comes closer, but does not accept her offer—instead choosing to remain standing, his arms positioned behind his back, his chin raised as he stands across from her. “Answer the question.”

A pause. 

“Mother.”

She sighs heavily. “She is not a suitable match for you. In time, your father and I will find someone more…appropriate—”

“More appropriate than mine own niece? My blood? A princess? One whom I already love and adore? I think not.”

She opens her mouth to to reply, but he continues.

“I won’t allow you to come between us. She belongs with me. You—you cannot take this chance—”

Having had enough, she cuts his protestations short. “It is done, Aemond! You know what she is! All do! It is why her mother optioned her own children for betrothal to mine; to protect them from what she has done by shielding them with either you, or Aegon, or Helaena!”

She sighs, before running her fingers exasperatedly through her hair. “I do not fault the girl for the circumstances of her birth; she cannot help it. I know this. But, as your mother, it is my job—my responsibility—to ensure you have what is best for you. Which she, unfortunately, is not. Were it so that Laenor were undoubtedly her father, things would be different, but alas.”

His small hands are bunched into tight fists behind him now, his body trembling with rage.

“Give it time,” she tells him quietly. “Once you are older, you with either find on your own, or with mine and your father’s help, a proper betrothal.”

He knows what he must do.

He nods, calmly, shoulders slumping slightly. “Forgive me, mother. You just…know how I care for her. I was not…did not think—”

She stands, walking around to him, taking him in her arms. “I wish I could give you this, my son, but your well-being means more to me than your wants at this time. One day, when you have children of your own, you will understand.”

The two of them pull away from each other, Alicent grasping the crowns of his shoulders, while Aemond rests his hands on her waist.

He gives her a smile of understanding. “I’m sure that I will.”

She gives him a kiss on the cheek, and with that, he leaves her.

Her greatest mistake will’ve always been not ordering Ser Criston to follow him back to his chambers. For they were never his destination.

“Your son, Your Grace: the Prince Aemond,” announces  Ser Harrold from the doorway of Viserys’ room. 

Aemond finds his father seated upon a settee before a roaring fire, a blanket draped comfortably over his lap, a stack of books set upon a table next to him.

Viserys smiles as the boy steps closer, bowing his head to his father.

“Your Grace.”

Viserys bookmarks, then shuts his current read, settling it into his lap. He waves Aemond over, who seats himself beside him, watching the crackling fire before them for just a moment. 

“Is there something I can do for you, my son? Or did you merely come to keep your old man company?” He asks with a gentle smile.

Aemond knows he needs word this carefully. “Both, in truth.”

Viserys remains silent, waiting for him to continue.

“I know…” 

He pauses. 

“I know you wish to see us settled, father, just as you did Rhaenyra. Properly betrothed, at the very least. So you might… It may give you comfort. To know that we are content, that is. I cannot speak for my siblings—what, or who they may want this day or another, but I know who I desire for all the rest of mine.”

He meets his father’s eyes. “Y/N.”

Viserys settles back, studying him with an unreadable expression.

“I am aware, that, just this afternoon, mother—Her Grace—rejected an offer of betrothals of her own children to those of your daughter—my eldest sister—Princess Rhaenyra. I want you to reconsider. For my sake and Y/N’s, if no one else’s. We love each other. We always have, and I know that we always shall. I cannot…I cannot bear the thought of a life without her. I will never love another as I love her.”

He swallows thickly. “She cried in my arms when she told me that her hopes that her mother’s offer would be accepted had instead been refuted. And her heart, in turn, was shattered. Along with mine own.”

He takes his father’s weathered hand in his own. “I beg of you, father, please. Please do this. Give her to me and I to her. So we might be pronounced man and wife when you deem the time right once we’ve come of age. I’ve never asked you for anything. But I do this. I’ll do anything you say.”

He swallows. “I know your family means more to you than anything else.” 

He has oftentimes felt the opposite with how indifferent he can seem to he and his siblings, but he must keeps such sentiments to himself. Now more than ever, even if he has craved his love and approval many-a-time in the past. 

He continues, plotting with his words. Planting a most comely idea. “Were you to betroth us, she and I would not only be able to remain together, but also here. Your son, your granddaughter. Your only granddaughter. If you wished it, this would be our home for the rest of our days. I know it would make her most happy. And that is all I’ve ever wanted: to bring her joy. To make her feel safe. And loved. Just as she has done for me.”

Aemond knows he has said much, but he had to stress his wants—had to ensure that his father was assured of his love and commitment to you. Especially with having gone directly over his mother’s head, so to speak.

Viserys is quiet. For awhile. 

Aemond keeps his father’s hand in his lap, holding firmly to it, so as to keep them close. He hopes he will be more likely to accept his request that way.

Finally, Viserys looks at him. “You truly love her, don’t you?”

Aemond smiles, nodding. “More than anything in all the world. It would ruin—destroy—me to think of us being permanently parted and one day married to others that we do not know. Did not grow up alongside of as the greatest of friends. We are family. To be forced to wed someone else that neither of us loves, while we remain yearning for the other until our last breaths…”

Tears brim in his eyes and his chin wobbles. 

Viserys’ face falls as he pulls Aemond into his side. “And you are sure that she wishes this as well?”

Aemond perks up slightly. “I am. You may summon and ask her yourself if you wish, father. When I left her she was crying in her mother’s arms. I had to…right this. For us both.”

Viserys shakes his head lightly at such a heartbreaking image. So much pain and young heartbreak, and for what? 

He will have it otherwise. 

“Consider it done, my son.”

Aemond looks at him with wide eyes. “We—We are—”

Viserys cups the boy’s cheek. “As of this moment, the two of you are now betrothed.”

He glances toward the door, placing his hand in his lap once more. “I will need speak with your sister on the matter, of course. But I know that she will be most pleased with this arrangement.”

He pauses. “Your mother not quite so, but it is not her decision. I am king. She is to obey me in all things. Including this.”

Viserys had been correct in Rhaenyra being happy about such arrangements, while you and Aemond had held one another and cried tears of joy. 

Viserys had held back his own as he watched the two of you with a smile, while holding his daughter’s hand. 

“This is a most joyous day. It is not often—hardly ever—that those of our stations should ever marry for love. With much luck, such a thing may be found later from arranged engagements. It warms this old heart to know that the two of you have it now, and shall remain with it in-hand for the rest of your days.”

It is then that Alicent emerges into his chambers, his summons for her presence having reached her.

And her disposition is anything but pleased. 

“Your Grace—” She starts, panicked tears stinging her eyes as she swallows down the lump in her throat. “If we may speak—”

Viserys shakes his head, resting each of his hands upon his cane. “There is naught to speak of, my wife. I have made a decision, and it is final.”

“Viserys—” She starts, reaching toward him, but he steps closer toward Rhaenyra, toward the two happy children who cling to one another, who stare at Alicent with…apprehension? Fright that she may ruin what they have only just found? He is unsure, but what he is, is that he will not stand for it.

“Your King has made a betrothal, and it is your duty to respect it. It is done, Alicent. And it is final. I would have my son and granddaughter wed to ones that they love. And now they shall gain as much once they’ve each come of age. It is only a matter of time now.”

She solidifies herself, her heart pounding, and a painful queasiness forms in the pit of her stomach, as she sees just how outnumbered she is. 

She has always been. 

Has always been alone in this world, and will remain as much. 

And she sees further agency slipping through her fingers now. Her children she’d been forced to squeeze out of her young body, for an ungrateful man who hardly ever acknowledged them, is now to tell her what is to become of them? Is to give her yet one more command because she is what? Still yet a girl helpless to tell him no, despite all she has given him, whether she wished it or no? That is all that has ever mattered, isn’t it: what he wants? All else be damned.

No. She is Queen. A woman grown…even if she still so often feels otherwise. Has consistently since the death of her mother. The one person in all the world who loved her the way she needed be loved.

She will show her children that same devotion, even if they hate her for it. Because she knows what is best for them. Not him.

Doesn’t she?

“I will not have it.”

Viserys lowers his chin. “I beg your pardon?”

She takes a small step closer, clasping her hands tighter to hide how they tremble.

“He is my son just as much as he is yours. I carried him. Grew him in mine own womb. Pushed him out of my body and into the world. While you have shirked your duties to him as his father. Pushed he and his siblings aside in favor of—”

“That is enough!” Viserys shouts, slamming his cane against the floor, and Alicent’s chin wobbles in fright.

She wishes her father were here.

No.

Perhaps she doesn’t. He is to blame for this. For all of it.

She wants for her mother.

What if Aemond one day feels the same because of this? Because she did not try hard enough to undo it? He is but a boy. He does not know what he wants.

What if she has…failed him?

Viserys comes toward her, his cane clicking loudly against polished marble floors, his cloak swaying around him. “That is quite enough, wife. That is an order from your King! Is that understood?”

She merely stares at him for only a moment, wondering if he has ever held an ounce of love for her within his heart.

Why in Seven Hells did he marry her? She has often wondered. Wondered even more if she will ever have answer to such a terrible question.

“The Prince Aemond—my son—and the Princess Y/N—my granddaughter—are henceforth betrothed. If I discover further dissension on your part in dishonoring my wishes and my decree here today…”

He takes yet another step closer, forcing her to look up at him, making her feel impossibly smaller. 

Like a frightened little girl, indeed.

“You shall not enjoy the consequences. Do I make myself clear?”

She does not know why she does it—she too is equally responsible for all the misfortune which has befell her, and part of her hates her for it—but she glances to Rhaenyra with tears still shimmering in her eyes.

Rhaenyra takes a near-undetectable step toward her—expression unreadable—but stops when she feels you clutching her skirts for comfort, Aemond holding you close for the same.

Her own son has betrayed her. Where had she gone wrong? 

She wants to lock herself in her chambers and rest. Perhaps not to wake.

That, she’s sure, would most please the man who stands before her. The pathetic excuse for one. 

And yet she knows that come tomorrow, she will return to her role as a dutiful wife, because since she was fifteen years old…it is all she has ever been. She knows naught else what to be than caretaker. A wife, a womb, a concubine. 

A ghost.

She’d once been and had a friend, but now she thinks those days must long be past.

Finally, Alicent nods solemnly, digging at her nail-beds.

Viserys nods. “Good. Then it is settled.”

Aemond presses a kiss to your forehead, filled with equal parts joy and guilt.

He prays his mother will one day come to see what he himself does when he looks at you. He cannot understand how she does not already.

If she loves him, she will love you as well.

He hopes so, at least. He would not have you feeling unwelcome in your own home. He will not have it.

You are now his to protect, and protect he shall. In every way he can.

"Vampires" by Takato Yamamoto.

hidden feelings

yeah, i am not immune to propaganda. a propaganda at men's tits that is lol lift your shirt up boy

𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐇 ❦

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓. vampire!Sukuna, historical (medieval) time period, fem!Reader, implied mentions of r-pe (not by Sukuna), drinking blood, inappropriate use of an extra mouth on Sukuna's hand, cunnilingus, eventual smut [MDNI], dacryphilia, overstimulation, rimming, piv

𝐖𝐂. 10.8k (God help)

𝐀𝐍. happy spooky season, people!! ngl, i've been planning this since like september, but i'm as slow as a snail when it comes to writing. available on ao3

A sacrifice, that’s what you were.

Since your birth, you had been looked down upon with hatred, pity, and in rare circumstances, jealousy. You were born with something called . . . cursed energy? You weren’t sure. It was always a topic spoken and gossiped about between the Village Elders, but, no one ever truly explained it to you. Your mother had died during childbirth—which just gave the villagers more to hate about you—and she had cursed energy, too. So, even the idea of learning about your curse was . . . impossible.

The years of your childhood were stripped away and taken from you. Labor, labor, labor. On the weekdays you worked in the fields, harvesting crops, planting seeds. And on the weekends, or, whenever you were ordered to by your father, you tended to the sheep, shearing their wool for clothes—which you would also have to make by yourself—and feeding them.

You weren’t allowed near the cows or any livestock—as a matter of fact—that were used for anys means of consumption. People murmured in front and behind your back, saying, your hands would poison the food, and cause a catastrophic infection which had the possibility of spreading into other nearby villages and could lead to disease, or worse, death.

It was horrible. Your whole bloodline despised you, and since your mother had left you immediately after your birth, you were left in the care of your father, who wasn’t any better than those damned Village Elders. You weren’t neglected, per se, but you were exploited; so the line in between was definitely a little foggy.

So strange was the fact that being cursed simply wasn’t enough to hoard away all of the nasty men in the village. You were a misfortune to even be seen with in public, and, for some reason, laying with you was suddenly different? You had inherited your mother’s curse, eyes, and beauty. Unfortunate were you. Your father was cruel; maddened by grief and greed. He had promised to more men than he could count that he would sell you off when you came to age.

Sometimes he would price you high, sometimes he would price you low. It depended on who his customer was, and how he felt that day. Of course, greed doesn’t always equal stupidity. Your father may have been a bad man before and after your mother’s death, but he knew that he was never going to actually go through with the process of selling you off to some good-for-nothing son of a bitch.

A sacrifice, that’s what you were.

Not some pig to be auctioned and bought off the streets. Not a slave to be chained to a wall. The Village Elders had been finessing your true purpose in the village since you were conceived. You had cursed energy; there was a monster who lived on the hill; and the years had gone slowly by with the ordeal of famine.

When you turned eighteen years of age, you were to be perfumed with all kinds of fussy smells, dressed in the best garments the village had to offer, and your face was to be decorated with makeup made by grinded flower petals. Why? Because you were a sacrifice, that’s why.

They had stripped you of your dignity just moments before they strapped you to a horse which they rode to the beginning of the high, gloomy mountain which overlooked the village. They dropped you off there, and left you distressed, panting, feeling dirty and ashamed of what you had just lost prior hours before. You were not a woman, not even a human anymore; you were a sacrifice. A fucking sacrifice for the people of what was once your village, your home, your birthplace.

You were fucked, you were utterly and completely fucked. Kicked out of your village, you were scared, cold, and stranded in a forest you had never even known existed. They never let you leave the fences of the village anyways, and now that you finally took in your surroundings, you could see the trees surrounding the empty patch of pulled grass that you sat on. Without food or drink, you sat on the muddy ground for idle hours; you thought yourself close to death, and even considered digging yourself a grave, when, by mercy of some god, you had heard footsteps approaching, the sound of twigs snapping under feet.

Your first thought was that your possible savior had come. But then you remembered why you were here in the first place, and simultaneously noticed the way the birds had gone quiet, and the way not even a single cricket sounded. As a child, you had heard tales of a monster who lived at the top of a dark hill. He had teeth and fangs longer than an ordinary human’s, eyes redder than the Blood Moon, and claws that rivaled even those of a tiger. This . . . monster, this vampire, had a name. The village, surrounding villages, visiting clans from the North, they all called him the King of Curses. Lord Ryomen Sukuna.

At the sudden recollection, you frantically crawled backwards, moving on your elbows and kicking at stray rocks with your feet. The figure was still in the shadows, enveloped by fog and darkness, but you could see it. Tall, strong build, unmoving. And, by God, you swore you could see those damned, twisted looking red eyes that seemed to stare back—not at a helpless human being, but at you. You. You weren’t born yesterday, you knew vampires drank blood from humans, and didn’t come out when the sun was up, but shit, it was well past dark, the moon was encased in clouds and you couldn’t remember—not matter how hard you tried—if vampires ate humans, as well.

As you racked your brain for any strategy of possible survival, your back suddenly hit the stump of a tree behind you, and your movements ceased. You bit your lip, tasting a slight metallic taste on your tongue consequently, and your blood ran cold. This was it. You had nowhere to run, and you sure as hell weren’t going to climb a tree. You were cold, weak, your hips hurt from the assault you suffered and the blood from between your thighs soaked the fabric of your dress. 

. . .Blood!? Damn you for forgetting. This really was the end. Lost, stranded, alone with a vampire who could probably smell your fear and smell the blood on you. Was this really the end for you? It couldn’t be, right? You shuddered, just thinking about it, and mindlessly ground the balls of your feet into the dirt, leaving a mark in the desolate place. If someone came looking for you, if someone ever came looking for you, they’d notice where you had tried to escape, and where you faced your fate.

Your eyes were squeezed shut as footsteps approaching you sounded in the forest. Leaves crunching under what you assumed were heavy, waxed leather boots. There seemed to be a different, strangely soothing air about this monster. Originally, your fight-or-flight response had kicked in, but when you realized there was no escape, you halted in your movements; but now that this vampire was so close to you, you felt a little drowsy, or droopy, even. Your unmoving limbs felt like liquid, and you almost even wondered why you were scared in the first place.

Brining you out of your train of thought, you heard the figure come to a stop, just a few feet before you, and he stooped down low—almost as if in a squatting position—to examine which poor thing had stumbled into his domain whilst he was present.

“You’re dressed far too nicely to be related to that village, and your face is too painted to be a commoner,” he spoke at a leisurely pace, and his voice was more smooth, and cold, than you would assume for a beast. “A princess? No, no. The clans don’t visit until the winter, and they definitely lack any women who don’t look like descendants of pigs. Tell me, girl, who—”

“I—I’m,” you stammered, eyes snapping wide open at the mention of yourself. You feared for your life, and if his lordship wanted an introduction, an introduction he would get. “I’m just a—”

“A sacrifice, that’s what you are. I know. Before you interrupted me, I was going to ask who sent you here. Of course, you don’t need to answer that question. I already know, after all.

“Over there,” he pointed behind you, in the direction of the village, “those puny humans sent you? Oh, you poor, unfortunate soul. Ha! They get more ridiculous every year. Sending me beautiful brides as if I’ll ever help them. I am a beast, not a god. I must say, however, it is amusing how they mock me.”

Formidding, the vampire looked; like a prince, the vampire spoke.

Your eyes curiously looked up and down the monster before you. He wore clothes far nicer than any gentleman’s; his coat and dress shirt were both dark as night, his boots gleamed in the moonlight, his face more handsome than any man you had ever seen—despite not being a man himself, and his eyes. . . Oh, God. There were four of them, and they were all equally red as blood, beautiful as rubies, and sharp as daggers. Entranced you were, though you could feel your heart nearly beating out of your chest in fear. Your body quivered, and despite donning the garments of what a village chief’s daughter would wear, you felt far inferior.

Suddenly, his eyes drifted down to where the blood between your legs had soaked through your robes, and his stare turned cold, eyes narrowing.

“You are . . . injured. Are you aware of that? Or have humans become stupider than they already are? Somehow regressed, perhaps, and lost their sense of feeling pain?”

You shivered under his hard gaze, giving no answer.

“What a foolish creature you are. Have you suddenly become mute?”

“No. No, sir. Err,” you bit your lip, wondering how on earth you should respond while to someone who could end your life right then and there. “I was—The blood is from. . .” Your voice drifted off, and you fell silent.

“Hush, girl. I need not hear about how you lost a duel, or clumsily shot yourself with a bow and arrow. I see enough of that every day I indulge in little wars with your people,” he muttered, laughing to himself. “You humans are all weak, trying to challenge someone like me? — Pfft, it is a victory after I snap my fingers, I dare say. But, I must admit, your spirits are strong; that much is true.”

You tilted your head ever so slightly. “Thank . . . you?”

“Huh, you seem to be surprised by everything,” Sukuna noted, standing back up to his full height. “Was that the first compliment you ever received? I feel sorry for you. Ah, never mind that. Tell me, human, do you wish for death?”

“I . . . beg your pardon?”

“It is simple. Would you prefer the gods smite you where you sit on this . . . mud, or would you rather my cook, Uraume, make you into a feast?”

“Is choosing neither an option?”

The beast laughed, “You are smarter than you look. Ha! You creatures surprise me again and again. Amuse me, girl, tell me about yourself.”

You were at a loss for words. Just what in the world were you doing? Entertaining a vampire in the middle of a desolate forest at night? Ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous, you thought.

“I can juggle?”

Dismissing your statement, the vampire waved his hand around in the air. “I didn’t mean that. Tell me how you can make yourself useful to me—besides being a jester, that is—and perhaps I’ll spare your life. It would be quite a shame if I had to kill you; for, you definitely make a funny human.”

“I can . . . herd sheep. You, sir, must eat mutton; am I correct? Oh! and I can produce clothes out of wool—for the winter, sir. I can assure you it will soon be growing cold.” 

“Hmm, that will do. Uraume will teach you everything you’ll need to know. Come along, girl. I will lead you to your new home, where you will take refuge until you seek revenge on your people—when that time arrives, expect my assistance, for it will be a bloodbath. What else?” The vampire seemed to look as if in a train of thought, tapping his chin with his forefinger. “Ah, yes. My name is Ryomen Sukuna, but. . . While you live in my estate, you are to acknowledge my lordship, and address me as your lord. For rightfully so, I am.”

You hesitated, but bit your tongue and nodded in the end. This was your only chance at survival. All you had to do to make it out of this forest alive and in one piece was to serve under a vampire in his abode. You thought it should be easy enough; I mean, you had been a servant your whole life; surely this wouldn’t be too different.

“Uhm, sir,” you called out, just as the vampire had begun to turn his back on you and walk towards his home, “pardon me, but, I am unable to . . . walk. My legs and thighs ache.”

The lord had turned around at the sound of his name, and looked at you with a mockingly pitiful expression. “Humans are so weak nowadays. Back when I was younger, I had fought humans who actually stood a chance. Of course, those humans are now dead, but, I must say I am surprised to see how low you creatures have stooped over the years.”

As he spoke, the beast had picked you up with ease, hooked one arm under your knees, and wrapped the other around your back. You squeaked out of surprise; the motion had happened so fast that you felt like a mere sack of potatoes. As if on instinct—and from fear of falling, though you knew the beast was strong—you wrapped your arms around his neck, and pressed your body closer to his chest.

“Is my strength surprising to you? I can’t say I’m offended, however; the men in your village must not be very burly. Ha! so it really is true, after all; none of you insolent beings hold even a candle to me on the battlefield.”

Now that you two were so close, you could probably infer that your heartbeat was audible and noticeable to the vampire who held you. You just hoped he wouldn’t realize that your body was pumping twice as much blood as usual, and suddenly get the urge to eat you.

As you walked, you could hear the crunch, crunch, crunch of leaves and twigs snapping under the vampire’s heavy boots. You looked around a bit, noticing the trees and bushes swaying in the wind of the night, the occasional burping of frogs, squeaks of mice scurrying around, flies flapping their wings. The whole environment was much more serene than you had imagined it would be, and you noted that it only returned that way after it became obvious that Lord Sukuna was not in the mood for killing. Perhaps even the critters here fear the beast, you thought.

The sky had turned a dark shade of indigo; it was a full moon, and the clouds were few in number. This season of the year had fewer bright stars than any of the others, but you could’ve sworn you were able to make out the constellation displaying Princess Cassiopeia strapped to a chair.

Earlier, you had been sweating out of fear, distress, maybe even both, but now, as the breeze swept against your body, and the wind blew your hair out of its previously fixed updo, a shiver ran up your spine, and you tightened your arms around his lordship’s neck.

You noticed something in the distance, and decided it was better to raise the question now, than later, where you would probably be a bother. “I’ve heard—” You paused, realizing it was probably better to rephrase your sentence. “Are there monsters . . . that live here, my lord?”

Sukuna’s lower set of eyes fixed upon your figure. “What, don’t tell me you are scared, woman. Dying whilst living on my estate is simply out of the question. You’re not under the protection of that scummy village you called home; you’re under my protection, now.”

“I. . . I can see glowing eyes peering back at me from beyond the bushes and the shadows,” you pressed. “There are monsters here, aren’t there—?”

“Only goblins and other small nuisances. I can assure you, I am the only beast in this forest that you should rightfully fear.”

That last comment wasn’t as assuring as Sukuna had made it seemed; in fact, for the half hour that you both spent walking back to the estate, you remained silent, questioning whether what you were doing was really the best choice. But, after every paradox you came across, it always ended with the same conclusion—that you had absolutely no choice. You were neither equipped for nor capable of fighting a vampire—whose strength and speed outmatched that of an average human’s.

And so you sat, in Sukuna’s arms, as he carried you through the almost endless forest, across leagues of mud and tall grass, all the way . . . to his estate—where you arrived tired and eyes drooping, after your long day.

Sukuna had stopped in his tracks upon entering the manor; he stood near the front door, as a servant—which you assumed was the Uraume Sukuna had previously mentioned—attended to him immediately after his return. You felt so drowsy, so sleepy, that you could barely make out the words spoken.

“My lord, you have returned from your hunt,” the white-haired servant bowed, “and I presume you have also returned with a consort. Shall I draw a bath for her ladyship, as well?”

You had fallen asleep halfway through your bath. Uraume—whom you had briefly learned was Lord Sukuna’s most trusted subordinate—had drawn you a warm bath, washed away the leftover blood on your body, and dressed you in garments fit for a queen. Never in your life had you been pampered so gingerly, that, you had managed to drift off to Dreamland throughout the course of it. You were then carried to a guest bedroom, where you fell in the arms of Morpheus.

Throughout the night, your dreams were unnecessarily long, dragged out, and so realistic that you woke up several times in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, panting, and frantic. You saw it. You saw them all. The villagers, the Elders, your father. They probably thought you were dead by this hour, but they were naught but greedy fools. They dragged you to the forest to give your life away as a sacrifice. But you weren’t dead, no; you had been taken in by a generous stranger—the beast whom you were to be sacrificed to.

Had you not been woken up by Uraume in the morning, you would have probably slept until noon the next day.

“I apologize for waking you so abruptly, my lady; you must be tired from yesterday. But his lordship has requested that I show you around the estate—for it is inimitable in size, and a lord’s consort getting lost on his own grounds is indubitably unacceptable.”

You blinked. “O-Oh! That’s . . . alright; I think it shall be a nice activity to explore this grand manor. But—pardon my intrusion on asking—why do you refer to me as a consort?”

Uraume gave a small smile. “Is it not proper to simply address my lord’s wife by her title?”

Your lips parted in surprise, and you rambled on in embarrassment. “I think you are mistaken; I am not Lord Sukuna’s wife, or anything of that sort. I am simply his. . . I am here to make myself useful to him. For, he saved my life, and I am inevitably indebted to him. I owe him my life, and there’s not a chance I’ll be able to go back to my village soon. Being a servant here is not an idea I am opposed to, might I add.”

“Forgive me,” Uraume bowed, an expression of surprise on their face. “I was under the impression that you were both married, given the fact he walked in with you in his arms—a generous act that I’ve never witnessed before.”

“. . .Lord Sukuna has not a wife, I assume, then?” You tilted your head to the side.

“As far as I know, no. There aren’t many women here, either. Most servants, chefs, gardeners, are men. — Merely by coincidence, en passant.”

“Ah,” you hummed, “I see.”

Uraume gestured to the neatly folded pile of clothes in their arms. “I have prepared a change of attire for you, and once you have dressed, I shall ready you further, before we take a tour around the abode.”

True to their word, Uraume had prepared you for a long day ahead, and again, you were dressed so luxuriously that even you began to wonder if you were merely a servant to his lordship. In addition, Uraume had related to you your lack of title. You were more than a servant, but less than a wife. In the end, Uraume had concluded that you were to still be referred to as a lady—despite having no relations to royalty—because Lord Sukuna seemed to have no problem with you being addressed that way last night.

“This way, my lady.” Uraume led you out of your bedroom, and down a hallway. “This is the left wing of the manor, where the guest bedrooms, servant bedrooms, and servant corridors are.”

As Uraume droned on and on about your current location, you couldn’t help but notice the beautiful architecture of the estate. 

The walls were high, as so were the windows—which let sunlight seep through the overall dark palace. The doors had been constructed by magnificent carpenters, and were gilded and decorated with precise carvings. Likewise, they were also tall, and reached high above your head; despite the servants and other residents of the estate (except for his lordship) being of average height.

When you entered the right wing of the manor, you instantly noticed the increase of fussy, overornate, and unsurprisingly expensive furniture. Paintings of battle scenes, scenery, properties, and portraits of people you didn’t recognize, nearly covered the walls from head to toe. In empty spaces stood statues and sculptures of heavily embellished gods, warriors, horses, and other creatures.

Occasionally, you and Uraume would enter and explore the libraries which appeared in intervals throughout each hallway you walked. Enormous bookshelves lined the walls, and were filled with books about magic, potions, curses, taming beasts, and other subjects you were not entirely familiar with. There were ladders to reach the top of bookshelves, and there were spiraling stairs to the upper floor of the library—designed as a kind of reading space.

Tucked in corners of some rooms were grand pianos, which seemed to play music even when no one was sitting on the benches and tapping at the keys. Then again, this was the abode of a notorious vampire; ghosts playing the piano are far from the most unconventional thing to be found here, if you really thought about it.

“My lady,” Uraume began, turning to face you once you both had exited one of the libraries, “would you like to talk a walk in the gardens? This time of year, most nature does not grow—as it is Fall. But all of the plants, trees, flowers, and shrubbery located in this estate do. They are grown by magic of the trusted gardeners—who also reside in the left wing.”

The bushes and plants in the garden were all exactly how you had imagined them. Lacking a variety of color, the most you were able to spot in the gardens was black, grey, white, and occasionally, red. The color scheme fit Lord Sukuna to a T, and you wondered if that was the doing of the gardeners, or of the lord’s orders. As you walked between rows of flowers and shrubbery—conversing with Uraume—you noticed a seemingly endless amount of servants jogging to and fro around the whole estate. A few of them noticed you—an unfamiliar woman on the property of his lordship—and gave you neutral expressions, in fear of your unknown rank.

You bit your lip, wondering if they, too, were also spared by Lord Sukuna, and taken in as servants.

“Forgive my rudeness for asking; but how does his lordship afford all of these . . . luxuries? I can not even estimate how much this would all cost.” You asked.

“Ah, right,” began Uraume. “Through his victories, of course. He wins gold, treasure, weapons—which he occasionally trades for even more profit, slaves and servants, et cetera. His wealth is not from his birth; Lord Sukuna has obtained everything he now owns by his own hands. I have incredibly deep reverence for all his feats.”

You nodded, humming in agreement.

When your tour was finished, Uraume had explained to you what your role was to be whilst you stayed at the manor of his lordship. You were of higher rank than ordinary servants, allowed more free rein of the estate, and you ate at the same table as Uraume and Lord Sukuna. 

Throughout your years at the estate, you served as a sort of maid, seldom a chef, and occasionally a gardener. His lordship called for you whenever he pleased, and you would obey whatever his command was.

Of course, before all of this happened, you had to undergo much training. Uraume was a sort of teacher to you; they taught you how to prepare the meat and vegetables in his lordship’s meals before cooking, explained how the abode was supposed to be cleaned and organized, and gave lessons on which plants needed to be tended to, and how. You both had a mentor and mentee dynamic that, over the years, gradually progressed into a friendship, or something of the like.

You understood Uraume more than others—seeing as you two were both closer to Lord Sukuna than the other subordinates—and you respected them as much as you did his lordship. Uraume had taken a liking to you, because of how good of a listener you were whenever they explained a new task to you. Sometimes, whilst waiting for the food to be finished, Uraume would tell you stories from long ago—about Lord Sukuna’s youth—and you would listen, with great attentiveness.

You were unfamiliar with most of the staff on the property, and you were more close with Uraume than the other maids you occasionally encountered. It came with no surprise, however, that most of the other servants looked at you with a negative eye. Lord Sukuna happened to treat you with more kindness than he would the average staff member, and that consequently led to sparks of jealousy throughout the servants corridors. You weren’t bothered, though; you had been looked down upon since birth.

Sometimes, his lordship requested you bathe him—which, at first, you thought was incredibly scandalous for an unmarried woman to touch another man in that way, but Lord Sukuna had corrected you, explaining your job as merely washing his hair and preparing the warm or cold bath water. For, Sukuna had found that he rather enjoyed the feeling of your nimble fingers carding through his hair, and, that very task was what you were doing now. Or, well, what you were on your way to do.

Whilst carrying a bucket of hot water, you had been stopped by a passing servant. He was a man, of average height, messy hair with loose bangs hanging over his forehead, and carried a broom in his callused, experienced hands. He was sweating—from a long day of work, you assumed—and was nervous in approaching you at first. But once he spoke, the words just seemed to pour out like water; smooth, gradual, and natural.

“Pardon me, miss, I have not seen you on these grounds before today. Might I have your name?” He reached out a hand expectantly, and looked at you with deep interest.

You placed your wooden bucket sloshing with water on the floor, and gave your name. Consequently, you slipped your hand onto his, and the male servant raised your hand to his lips, kissing the back of your palm in simple greeting, or so you thought. . .

Previously, you had expected the man to let you be on your way after that, but no. He had stuck you there in conversation for about five more minutes, asking how you knew his lordship, your origin, how you came to work at the estate, and overall, made small talk that you really weren’t that interested in.

You had tried to excuse yourself several times, saying, “His lordship is awaiting my presence.”

But the man merely waved you off each time. 

“Lord Sukuna would certainly understand my need for taking a break in order to converse with a beautiful lady like you. You may have noticed over the years that the maids here are. . . I am not entirely sure how to put this—They are lacking in good features. It’s unfortunate, really, to be a product of such terrible breeding, but I must say, you are divine. A goddess incarnate, if I’d ever seen one.”

Heat had risen to your neck at the compliment, and you—humbly—were in the middle of accepting it, when, you had felt a shadow towering over you that definitely wasn’t there before.

About to turn around, your movements were halted by the sound of a deep voice, belonging to someone that clearly seemed irritated.

“What on earth is taking so long? Last I checked, bringing water to the bathing quarters does not take nearly half an hour.”

Lord Sukuna! you gasped.

You turned to face his lordship, and then turned back around to face the male servant, but to your confusion, he had already gone.

Turning back to Sukuna, you immediately took a deep bow, and recited multiple sincere apologies. “Please, forgive me, my lord. I was simply engaging in conversation with—”

“—With some nobody,” he finished your sentence for you with a scowl. “Yes, I see, now. You have abandoned your duties, and, instead, taken up a pastime in listening to a man ramble nonsense.”

His lordship crossed his arms over his chest, and scanned your face for any hint of fear, but he found none—which left him dumbfounded. You weren’t afraid, no, you were merely guilty of insubordination. Sukuna mentally took a note of that, evidently interested in you even more at his new reading.

“I was distracted, sir. But I understand my wrongdoing and take full accountability for getting caught up in conversation while on my way to your private quarters.”

For a second, you thought you had heard a snort from his lordship, but you soon dismissed that idea after realizing the absurdity of it.

“Acquitted.”

At this, you raised your head, did a once-over on his lordship’s features—curious as to how sincere he was in pardoning you—and retrieved your bucket. “You . . . appear paler than usual, my lord. Are you feeling unwell, by any chance?”

Sukuna raised an eyebrow, waving you off. “Nonsense.”

Due to Sukuna’s reassuring comment, your observation was soon discarded, but whilst you were washing his lordship’s hair, your concerns had been revived by a prominent sound echoing throughout the bathing quarters. Several coughs, that came in intervals, before concluding.

“My lord,” you began, “am I mistaken in having heard you cough?”

“Of course.”

You let out a soft laugh, believing not even a word of that. “I will be sure to bring incense into your chambers tonight.”

His lordship waved around his hand mindlessly. “Do as you want; however, trust that I am expecting more woolen coats.”

So he was holding that above your head, you noted.

Over the next few days, his lordship’s condition had seemed to worsen. He appeared sickly whenever you passed him in hallways, pushed away meals he often enjoyed, and coughed more often than not. At first, you thought it was a mere cold—seeing as the weather was progressing into winter times. In contrast, Lord Sukuna had started to pale, and his temperature had risen; but, despite the seemingly obvious symptoms, his illness was far from a fever.

It was pointless looking for possible medications; his lordship absolutely despised welcoming the apothecary onto his estate. And so you took matters into your own hands. You had attempted to change the bathing water. Sometimes cold, sometimes scalding. It was all in the name of seeing what would increase his lordship’s health, but all was in vain. Uraume had informed you that Lord Sukuna rarely felt cold or hot; the seasons were all the same for him. So the temperature and the climate are not the catalysts for this illness, you thought.

It just . . . didn’t make sense. His lordship was never affected by weather, and rarely got sick from reasons similar to a human. . . What on earth could this illness be?

“Uraume,” you began, whilst scrubbing bloodied garments on the washboard, “what do you suppose it is?”

“What is it that I am supposing, my lady?”

“His lordship’s illness. I am racking my brain for possible explanations, and I have found none. He is a vampire, a beast; a human such as I am simply not capable of understanding what his condition could be.”

Uraume shook their head, pausing in the middle of their work. “It is not a simple illness, you are correct. But I am not in the place to tell exactly what it is.”

You bit your lip. “How do you mean?”

“Ask his lordship.”

And so you did.

It was a fine evening; the night was young, the air was crisp, and smelled of the incense you spoke of bringing to his lordship’s chambers. You had requested to pay him a visit, and apparently, you were only able to do so late in the night, after most servants had gone to their respective corridors, and the invisible pianists had ceased their playing.

“You asked to see me.” Sukuna crossed his arms over his chest, standing face-to-face with you in the middle of his fussily furnished bedroom. “Speak.”

“My lord, what is it that you are sick with, exactly? You have yet to tell me; and there is no way I can be of assistance if you continue to leave me in the dark about your condition.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Not once have I ordered you to be of assistance regarding my—” Cough. “—state. You waste your time worrying about me, woman.”

“Pardon my insubordination. But if simply caring for my lord is so inutile,” you pressed, putting a hand on your chest as you spoke, “then I shall spend the rest of my years wasting my time.”

Sukuna laughed, leaning down to your level. “You are just so stubborn, aren’t you? Very well. I shall tell you; it is . . . pretty simple, I dare say. It is a mystery how you are so interested in the fact that I am a vampire that has fallen ill—in need of . . . blood. Is my dear strong-willed lady satisfied now?”

You blinked, shaking your head.

“My lord, if you are only in need of blood . . . shall I get a sheep for you to slaughter?” you proposed.

“No. It is not that simple. Blood is what I crave, but cursed energy is what I need.”

Your ears pricked up at the sound of that. Cursed energy. Maybe this was your chance to make yourself useful. You still weren’t entirely sure of what cursed energy was, but you knew it was something that you had, yourself. What a coincidence, you thought.

“So then, how do you usually get this . . . cursed energy?”

“I kill sorcerers.”

You did recall hearing some . . . stories from the drunkards who sat in front of taverns they were kicked out of. Due to their “clear” state of mind, you never paid much attention to them, nor did you care, to be frank. But, you could’ve sworn you heard a tale about a sorcerer with hair white as snow, and eyes blue as the sea, who attempted to take down the formidable King of Curses. You never stuck around the drunkards long enough to hear his fate, and how the story ended, but it was probably best that way.

“So, why don’t you just do that?”

“I have vowed not to lay a single hand on a sorcerer since you came along.”

“And, why’s that?”

“Because they are your kin, woman.”

You knew not what that meant. Kin? You were not a sorcerer; you were human. A sacrifice turned servant. Cooking, gardening, cleaning. Those were your strong suits. But sorcery? Surely his lordship must be joking.

“. . .Pardon?”

Sukuna looked like he was uninterested in indulging your little interview any longer, and hurried to kick you out of his chambers. “This conversation is over. You are dismissed.”

“But, my word! you are still ill, how are you to go on without—?”

“Worry not, human; I am ancient, and I am strong. Surely I can make do for at least a few days more.”

A few days more had passed, and your concern had only seemed to grow. Until, one windy day, you had come up with an idea in the middle of collecting berries. Storming into his lordship’s office was not a common venture for you, but today’s occasion seemed appropriate enough.

“My lord, would you spare some time?”

Sukuna looked up from a pile of letters he had been previously staring at, and gave you an unamused look, almost as if he wasn’t vexed by your interruption. “What is it?”

“I’ve thought of an idea.”

“Elaborate.”

“It is a long story, one I am not very keen on reminiscing about,” you mumbled, fidgeting with your straw-woven basket, “but I was . . . born with cursed energy. And if my memory serves me right, that is just the very thing you need.”

“Are you insinuating I drink your blood?”

“Forgive me; I wouldn’t know if that’s how you wanted to go about this. Are you to perform a ritual on me? A blood oath, perhaps? Excuse my imprudence, my lord, for I am simply not knowledgeable enough in those areas as I would wish to be.” You gave a slight bow.

“Ha! You must be more ill than me to even suggest something like that. I am the great Lord Ryomen. Sukuna the Sinister. King of Curses, girl. Just who do you take me for? I am not Satan.”

“Forgive my insubordination towards your lordship, but,” you casted your eyes downward, hiding a small smile, “some might disagree with that. . .”

“Is that any way to speak to your lord?”

“Pardon me,” you smiled, “I was only joking.”

Sukuna hummed, agreeing. “Of course.”

That was the last conversation you had for the night before you returned to your bedroom.

You had spent the next morning cleaning around the estate, dusting, and replacing water in vases. Whilst in the middle of dusting a mantle, you felt a shadow grow behind you, and, already familiar with the formidable presence, you turned around to come face-to-face with none other than his lordship. Beads of sweat were accumulating on his forehead, his hair was a mess, and his eyes seemed distant and frantic in darting around the room. 

You had never seen his lordship in such an incomposed state, and immediately set down your ostrich feather duster on the table beside you.

“How are you holding up?”

“Terribly. This is . . . unbearable. I. . . I must. . .” His lordship’s eyes narrowed, and seemed to fog up as he got closer and closer to you. He seemed to be in a state of delirium—completely unable to control himself—as he backed you up against the wall, planting two hands beside your head.

“What—What are you doing?”

His lordship’s breath fanned against your skin, as he leaned his face down near your neck, just a breath away from his lips making contact with your clavicle. You squirmed to make an exit from the predicament you found yourself in, but your figure was trapped between the wall and his lordship, unable to leave. 

“. . .Holding back.”

“‘Holding back’?” you repeated. “My lord, pray tell—”

“Fuck,” he grunted. “This would be much easier if I had a less keen sense of smell.”

“Are you—Do you need the blood now?” You blinked, nervously fidgeting with the ties of your corset.

“. . .Another time,” he sighed, abruptly moving back and away from your shaking figure. “My level of restraint is stronger than I had imagined, but it has grown weaker since you turned up.”

With that, he had simply turned his back on you, and walked down another hallway, leaving you flustered, bewildered, and burning hot. You brought a shaking hand up to feel your cheek, and you were warm to the touch. What on earth just happened? you wondered, clutching at your chest in dismay.

Another week had slowly gone by, and his lordship’s condition had yet to subside. Other servants had started to also notice his signs of fatigue and illness, and multiple attempts to help were made, but all were fruitless in the end. Lord Sukuna had made it evident that he wanted no help, and it soon became crystal clear that he was avoiding you lest your nagging.

Disappointment often made its way onto your face whilst you worked; for, you just couldn’t seem to get the thought of his lordship out of your head. He needed help; you could help; but he wouldn’t let you. Why was that? you pondered.

After spending most of your free time in the gardens of the property, you had discovered the secret abundance of cats and kittens that often snuck onto the grounds and played in the grass and shrubbery. Once, you had asked his lordship about it, and whether he would allow that to go on for any longer, but he waved you off. This led to you believing he wanted the animals there—not like you were complaining.

They were cute and cuddly, and came in a variety of breeds, patterns, colors, and sizes. Some were small—just able to fit in your palm. Whilst some were larger—capable of rolling around in your lap. You often sat down and played with them until their eyes grew droopy, and you scurried off to the kitchens in order to fetch them bowls of milk and plates of food.

It was a full moon, on a cold night in the tenth month of the year. Just like always, you had sat down on a wooden bench in the garden’s gazebo, and were playing with the little kittens in your lap and rubbing their little full bellies after mealtime.

“Bless me,” you began, whispering to the little critters, “I might just have to steal one of you for myself. You are just too adorable for your own good, huh?”

You booped a kitten on the nose, and it meowed in response—arching its back. But only seconds later, all of the animals on your lap had perked their ears up, and hurriedly scampered away at the sound of leaves and twigs snapping under approaching footsteps.

“Talking about me?” a familiar, raspy voice joked.

Your head raised, and your eyes widened in surprise at the sight of his lordship. “O-Oh! My lord, I—I was not expecting to see you tonight.”

“Neither was I. But I am—” Cough. “—perhaps more ill than before.”

Sukuna had taken a seat beside you on the bench; you both were so close that your shoulders were touching, and you instantly grew tense as Sukuna drew even closer—resting an arm on your hip.

“What, do you need me to tie you down, woman?” Sukuna leaned closer to your face, an unamused expression on his features; his eyes more red than usual. Was it a trick of the moon? “Is that what it will take for you to stop squirming like a worm all the time?”

“It’s just—I am ticklish, sir.”

“I can assure you, you won’t be laughing any time soon.”

“What do you—nngh.”

You were not at all prepared for Sukuna to bite down on your neck with such unimaginable force, and an embarrassingly loud whimper left your lips.

As you felt his fangs—all sharp and long—sink down beneath and break your skin, you gripped and clawed at the wooden bench. Sukuna sucked at your neck, warm blood trickling down your neck, and it felt so . . . scandalous, so erotic, and so dreadfully painful. In the middle of the garden, in the middle of the night; under the gaze of the moon, and light of the stars; you two were alone, and yet, you felt so surrounded.

With another hand on your hip, Sukuna held your head in his hand; and your head lolled around in his grasps. You felt as if in a trance, and your hands scratched at the wood beneath you, gripped onto his lordship’s bicep, all in a feverish attempt to run away from the assault, but you couldn’t escape, no matter how hard you tried. You knew what you were getting into the moment you offered yourself up, but God, did it hurt like a bitch as Sukuna sucked at the wound, drawing out as much blood as possible.

Mindlessly, a sigh left your lips, and your eyes squeezed shut in a selcouth sense of bliss.

It took you a moment’s time before it fully set in that his lordship was drinking your blood. Hell, he was drinking your blood and it hurt, but it felt so . . . good. 

Was this but a dream?

The hairs on the nape of your neck rose; your skin felt tingly and warm to the touch. It was like a fire had been lit inside of you, and his lordship biting and sucking at your neck was just adding fuel to the flame. You had never experienced something like this before; it was so, so intimate. Should you even be doing this?

Your back arched, and you felt like a lifeless doll in his lordship’s grasps as he frequently let out small, sensuous sighs and groans at tasting heaven after having restrained himself for so long.

It was only minutes later that the beast finally released his fangs from your neck, and gingerly set you down on the bench—seeing as you had seemingly fallen too weak to even hold yourself up.

Through teary eyes, you could make out the sight of Sukuna before you—traces of your blood around his mouth, eyes dark with an insatiable lust for blood, and his jaw clenched.

“Feeling regretful?” he joked, swiping at the leftover blood on his lips with his thumb, and licking the liquid clean off. “Don’t worry, I certainly am not.”

It was afternoon the next day when you awoke in the comfort of your bedroom after having passed out the night before. Your head pounded, clothes were wrinkled, and . . . oh, God. You had totally forgotten about everything. Almost as instantly as it clicked in your head, your hand quickly shot up to feel the skin around your neck. But, to your surprise, there was no sign of bruising or any bloody wounds. The only marks left behind that told you what happened the night prior wasn’t a dream were two small holes, from indentations of fangs.

Your mind ran at 150MPH, and your heartbeat quickened. Were you now going to turn into a vampire? Were you, too, also destined to spend the rest of your life immortal? What on earth was this going to mean for you?

Though you were still dazed, you made quick work of putting on the change of clothes left by the foot of your bed by—you assumed it was—Uraume. And, just because you were possibly going to turn into a bloodthirsty vampire didn’t mean you had the day off, so you brushed your hair, splashed ice water from a basin onto your face, and set off to start the day, or, more like, the afternoon.

Like always, you sweeped the hallways, dusted off statues and sculptures, set out bowls of milk for the stray animals outside, and conversed with Uraume every so often.

You were in the middle of heading to the kitchen, when you passed by Lord Sukuna in the hallways en route. He looked well, different from how he was when he was ill—more alive, lack of fatigue in his eyes. But, besides looking more healthy, his eyes looked darker than before, his frown was more prominent than ever, and his features just . . . seemed so sharp. Now, you knew his lordship was an attractive beast, but, today? You found yourself thinking scandalous thoughts.

“My lord,” you murmured, bowing at the waist, “is there anything I can do for you?”

“Not at the moment, no.” 

His voice was velvety as he spoke; every word he said made you feel a strange throbbing sensation between your legs, and you found yourself frequently squeezing your thighs together. There seemed to be an unfamiliar sense of warmth at your core, and you could practically feel the heat rising to your neck. Flustered, you brought a hand to touch your cheek, and you instantly noticed how much you were burning up.

“Okay, then. I—I’ll be going . . . now. Good day,” you said, hurrying away before Sukuna could hear the thumping of your heartbeat increase in volume.

“You creatures are so strange,” Sukuna clicked his tongue, before walking away, as well.

As if it were fate, that was not the last of his lordship you saw that day. You had run into Sukuna at least five more times, which, despite living in the same estate, was not a normal occurrence, since his lordship frequently kept to himself, locked in his office or chambers.

Most of the times you ran into him, you made small talk, before scurrying away after feeling extremely nervous. It wasn’t like you at all; if anything, you and Uraume were the only ones capable of holding a conversation with the lord of the manor. But today just . . . it was off, you were off, your body felt off—you had no explanation for it.

Every time you saw Lord Sukuna, your heart thumped at extreme velocities, and your face flushed, heat rising through your body. It was hard to form proper sentences, and after adjourning your conversations, you found yourself continuing your work clumsily and with incredibly less expertise than before. Uraume noticed it, too. They frequently had to correct you on the way you swept the floors, and had to snap their fingers more often than not in front of your face a few times to bring you back to reality. God, what on earth was the matter with you?

You had used the rest of your evening to try to calm down, but honestly, your attempts were completely fruitless. It was late—a little bit after supper, when you were called on by a right-hand man to pay a visit to his lordship’s chambers. Of course, you couldn’t deny those orders, although you were a little hesitant on obeying.

As you walked through the corridors, and down the abundance of stairs, you counted every breath you took, and tried to slow down the rapid beating of your heart. Your hands gripped the fabric of your skirt with a white-knuckled grip, and you fidgeted with the lace on the edges. It helped that no one was outside of their respective quarters, so that you wouldn’t have to worry about coming across someone who could possibly stress you out even more than you already were.

You had no idea what his lordship could possibly want at so late a time in the evening, and your mind ran through every possibility. Were you getting kicked out? Or, fired? Were you being sent back to your village? No, no, that couldn’t be, you thought. His lordship was a formidable opponent to have, but he certainly wasn’t cruel to those innocent to his wrath. . . Right?

Once you arrived at his lordship’s chambers, staring hesitantly at the grand, ebony-finished doors before you, you were just about to raise your hand to give three consecutive knocks, when a commanding voice—beyond the door—called out to you, seemingly having noticed the presence of your being even before you made any announcement.

“Don’t tarry like a fool. I’m sure my lady knows better than to act like that. Come forth.”

The doors opened, with magic? ghosts? invisible entities? You knew not, but you refrained from any further questioning. The doors shut closed immediately after you stepped foot into the large bedroom, and you moved closer inside—fearful of being hit by the doors. And there, before you—in all his glory, dressed in robes darker than the night—was his lordship, lounging on a luxurious sofa, sipping an ornately designed silver goblet full of red liquid that you hoped was just wine.

“Good evening, my lord,” you said, leaning into a deep bow. “Is something of the matter?”

Sukuna stood up, set his goblet aside, and stalked towards you until the both of you stood toe-to-toe, and your faces were merely centimeters apart. “You want something,” he stated, completely sure of himself. “Spit it out.”

“. . .If I’m not mistaken, you were the one who called me here. If that is so, then, what—what on earth are you talking about, my lord?”

“Don’t be silly; you’ve been walking around all day as tense as a rock, and fidgety as a newborn about to burst into tears. Being shy will get you absolutely nowhere, for, I can smell your arousal dripping off of you.”

“P-Pardon?” Just as you were about to ask what he exactly meant by that, his lordship shoved his hand up your skirt so quickly that you didn’t even see the extra mouth—with its tongue sticking out—form on his hand. “Oh—Ohh.”

Having never been this close with another man before, you covered your mouth in embarrassment to contain the moans and whimpers that slipped out. Your knees soon grew weak, and your weight became unsteady on your own two legs. Clearly desperate for any sense of leverage, your figure fell onto his lordship’s, and you greedily gripped at his biceps for stability as you felt the tongue on his hand prod at your folds before diving right into your growing wetness.

Sukuna acceptedly held you in his arms, with a jeering smile on his face. “Not so bad, huh? All this time you could’ve just told me how much of a whore you were for your lord, but no, you had to go around the estate practically dripping for your master instead.”

“Nnghh, my lord! You. . . Hahh,” your voice trailed off as you gave in to the unfamiliar, strange pleasure you were receiving. This was all so . . . new, to you. The hand-mouth between your legs dipped into depths you didn’t know existed, sucked at areas deep within you, and had you seeing stars as the tongue curled and moved at an alarming speed.

Wasn’t this what a husband and wife did? you wondered. Though, you weren’t exactly complaining, per se. Everything felt so . . . good; from his lordship’s whispering of sweet nothings and degradations in your ear, the cool touch of his other hand tracing circles and other various shapes on the revealed part of your shoulders, all the way to the throbbing between your legs finally being relieved.

A coil formed in your stomach, and you felt a warm, hazy feeling inside. Your face twisted into an expression of extreme pleasure, and you couldn’t suppress the embarrassingly pornographic-sounding moans—which you worried other servants could hear through the walls—that slipped past your kiss-bitten lips.

“My lady tastes even sweeter than her own blood,” Sukuna laughed. “And here I was, thinking such a thing was impossible.”

You couldn’t respond; then again, how could you? Your face was pressed into his lordship’s bare chest, and your hands gripped his robe-covered shoulders—certainly leaving crescent-shaped marks in your way. The pleasure you were receiving was so different than anything you had ever felt before; it seemed otherworldly, almost, and your mouth remained slightly ajar in the feeling of ecstasy.

Subconsciously, you pressed your legs together, trapping the hand-mouth between your thighs—which, mind you, never stopped in its movements even once. It brought you over the edge, and back up again, repeatedly.

The knot in your stomach tightened to impossible lengths, and you squeezed your eyes shut in bliss as you felt yourself release onto his lordship’s hand—right before the hand-mouth licked up everything you had to offer, and more. You were dripping down Sukuna’s hand an incredulous amount, and it made heat rise to your cheeks at realizing how much you were enjoying this.

You were still riding out your high, when, out of the blue, Sukuna leaned down to your neck, and placed a kiss so gingerly onto your shoulder—in the precise spot of where he bit you the night before—that you even wondered if this was the same man you called the King of Curses. It seemed his lordship had taken a liking to interrupting you, since, before you could even get another word out, Sukuna had bitten your shoulder once more, and sucked on the blood dripping down your clavicle as you whimpered and mewled obscenely.

Was this man never satisfied?

The first time his lordship drank your blood, it felt like you were in a trance, but this time, it felt unbelievably good, and your eyes rolled back inside your head in the feeling of euphoria. Moments later, Sukuna pulled back with a shit-eating grin on his face, and blood dripping down his chin.

The both of you stumbled back towards the sofa in tandem, and you found yourself straddling Sukuna’s legs with your hands planted on his shoulders as he laid back against the cushions of the sofa, a smug look on his face.

With inhuman speed, you felt his lordship grip onto your hips as he raised them up before slamming you back down, entering you in one move. Due to it being your first time, your previous release was just enough to act as a lubricant—seeing as his lordship’s size was far from small. You covered your mouth—stifling a scream, as your walls molded to accommodate the immense girth and length of his lordship.

It was all like nothing you had felt before, and you felt so utterly and impossibly full. Losing balance, you fell onto Sukuna, causing the two of you to be flush against one another, your already pushed up tits—courtesy of your corset—pressed against his lordship’s bare chest, and you writhed at the friction.

Noticing your mouth open in an ‘o’ shape, Sukuna let out a cold laugh. “What, don’t tell me vampire cock is going to be your first. What an honor that would be, my fair lady.”

Your only response was a bunch of garbled words and gibberish that didn’t make sense. The tears that ran down your face went unnoticed by you—who was too busy trying to not pass out due to overwhelming bliss.

“Crying? How adorable.”

Although his lordship was not moving at all, you still felt immense pleasure in the mere feeling of his cock buried deep inside your cunt to the hilt. Despite yourself, you subconsciously rolled your hips, and grinded against Sukuna’s crotch, hoping, praying, begging for more movement, or anything, at least. Everything felt too good to end as nothing at all.

As you sensuously rolled your hips, Sukuna grunted, hands flying to grip the fat of your ass. It hurt like a bitch, if you had to be honest. Really hurt. Claws-dug-in-your-skin level of hurt, to be more precise. You let out a whimper as you felt teeth from his hand-mouth bite into the plush skin of your ass cheek, and you just knew it would leave a bruise and prominent mark the next morning. Oh, what an absolute hell it would be to have to sit the next day.

This was so. . . You couldn’t even say the word ‘scandalous’ because this was practically far beyond that. Not once did you ever imagine you would be giving your first to the man you worked for, much less, a vampire.

Just as you were about to be pushed past your limits merely by being stuffed full by cock, you felt the tongue of his lordship’s hand-mouth slither towards your ass, and dance around your back entrance before finally dipping in.

Immediately, a gasp left your lips at the dirty, dirty act, and you mewled—gripping the fronts of Sukuna’s robes—as the average human-sized tongue entered equally as deep as the dick in your cunt. It felt so large, so wet, and so . . . fuck. This was absolutely insane. You were completely full in both holes; the thin fabric of your skirt was soaked; and tears rolled down your cheeks as you gasped for air; but what took you to your final breaking point was the feeling of a rough, abrupt thrust upwards that you swore you could feel in your womb.

“S’kuna—S’kuna—Sukunnghh! Too much—too much; oh, my—mmph! My lord, I . . . ahh.”

You saw stars as you came—his lordship following soon after, filling you up to the brink with his seed—and a plethora of stuttering and repeated moans of his lordship’s name exited your mouth like a prayer. 

“Yeahh, just like that. You got it, sweetheart. You got it,” groaned Sukuna, as he used two fingers to stuff the cum that oozed out right back into your cunt. 

He was utterly obsessed with the idea of being the first man—no, beast—to corrupt you, to fuck you, to rightfully touch you, to show you all you had been missing out on due to that godforsaken village. You were ethereal in his eyes, the only angel that would ever be by his side, the first and last woman to be called his lady; and his lordship could not be any happier. Each day since your arrival, you had loosened his level of restraint and made him rethink being immortal, but God was he satisfied that all his waiting and preying had worked out. 

He had gotten the girl, sunk his teeth in, and successfully held on.

When I was “I want him” about a male character im not saying I wanna fuck him. I want him like a spoiled little girl wants a pony, I want to him so I can put him on my shelf for safekeeping, I want him like a good hearty stew on a winter’s evening, I want to put him in a jar and shake it.