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queenshelby · 6 months ago

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Siblings (Part One)

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Half!Sister

Warning: Incest

It was around 10'clock at night when you heard a quiet knock on the door. You couldn't help but feel a little surprised—and a bit nervous. You had never had a visitor this late before as usually your siblings were out, getting themselves into trouble, and your Aunt Polly, who had taken it upon herself to look after everyone, was in bed.

Your sister Ada, with whom you shared a room, had sneaked out earlier to see her boyfriend Freddy, so it was just you that night, alone in your small room, lying on your single bed, wearing a nightgown and reading a book.

"Who is it?" you called out, your heart skipping a beat.

"It's Thomas," came the reply. His voice was quiet and calm.

You hesitated for a moment, wondering if you should let him in that late at night. He had just come back from the war a few weeks ago and his demure had changed towards you. It was almost like he had become obsessed with you, wanting to keep you company more often than you were used to.

Thomas was gone for five years and came back more handsome than ever. He had a rugged jawline, and deep-set blue eyes. He wasn't tall, but well-built with a perfect gentleman's body.

The war had hardened him, made him stronger, but also wiser. He had seen the worst of humanity, and you could tell that it had affected him deeply. It was understandable; he had been through hell and back.

"May I come in?" Thomas eventually asked, his voice still composed.

Without saying a word, you stood up and covered yourself with a robe , before opening the door slowly.

The light from the hallway spilled into the room, illuminating Thomas's figure. He looked a bit tired, but his eyes were still bright and clear.

"Of course," you said finally, as you walked back to your bed and folded your book closed.

"I have heard that there was trouble today, at the docks," Thomas said as he sat down on the edge of your bed. He looked tired, but fatigue failed to sap the confidence and dominance from his demeanor.

You sighed and nodded. "Ada told me not to go there, but curiosity got the better of me Tommy," you admitted whereas, the truth was, that just recently you began to involve yourself with Isiah, another Peaky Blinder and your new-found love had gotten you into trouble.

"Curiosity, eh?" Thomas chuckled, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Isiah wouldn't have anything to do with this curiosity now, would he?" he then asked, his eyes locked on yours.

You looked away, feeling a blush creeping up your cheeks. "He never meant for me to get involved, Tommy. It just kind of happened," you replied quietly, seeing how Isiah took risks and those risks involved you.

"Listen Y/N, you are a fucking Shelby," Thomas said, his voice stern but not unkind. "And you need to be careful about who you associate with."

"But Isiah is your friend, is he not?" you asked, slightly confused with Thomas's sudden change of tone.

"Isiah works for me Love. That doesn't make him a friend," Tommy replied curtly, his gaze still fixed on you. "Despite, even if he was my friend, I wouldn't allow him to be involved with my fucking sister," Tommy added, the veneer of calmness cracking a bit.

You sat on the edge of the bed, feeling a knot forming in your stomach. The way things were going, it seemed as though you had made a mistake. With the tension in the room growing thicker by the second, you felt compelled to speak.

"Honestly, I don't even know why I got myself mixed up with him, Tommy," you admitted, shame coloring your voice. "I suppose I was bored," you added as an afterthought.

Thomas looked at you, his eyes narrowing as he surveyed your face. "You're better than that, Love," he finally said, his voice steady and firm. "And if boredom is what bothers you, then I am sure we can make arrangements for you to work at the betting house," he then told you a lot more gently than before, placing some stray hair behind your ear.

"Aunt Pol won't allow it," you said quietly, not because you didn't want to work there, but because you believed that your aunt would not approve of such an idea.

"It is not up to Pol," Thomas said shortly, his fingertips tracing the curve of your cheek gently. "But out of curtesy, I will discuss it with her, alright?" he added after a short pause.

Before you could respond, Thomas's hand dropped from your face, and he stood up, his presence in the small room suddenly overwhelming.

"But Y/N, if you are going to continue seeing Isiah...," he began to say and you quickly interrupted him.

"Not after today," you replied firmly. "Not after what happened at the docks. I promise," you added, reassuring your brother.

Thomas looked at you, relief visible in his eyes. "Good. I'll hold you to that Y/N," he said before leaning down to give you a peck on your forehead.

You blushed slightly, shocked by this sudden display of affection from your half-brother. But before you could react, Thomas walked out of your room, leaving you alone with your thoughts and, when you settled back on to your bed, you couldn't help but wonder what just happened. Thomas and you have always had a close relationship since him and Arthur had assumed responsibility for you after your father got arrested by the police, but you have never witnessed such a display of emotion from him before.

As you lay there in the dark, the silence was broken by the moonlight filtering through the blinds. The light cast a soothing glow on the room and made the floral quilt on the twin bed look more inviting. Your mind was abuzz with thoughts, each one trying to get a different message across. You tried to silence them and focus on the recent events.

This whole situation with Thomas, your curiosity, the sudden shift in your relationship - you knew that it was not something to take lightly. It felt different, and you could not ignore the strange tension that lingered between the two of you.

You sighed deeply and turned to face the window. It was then that you noticed the stars twinkling in the night sky ever so slightly. They were there, silent and unassuming, much like Thomas. You couldn't help but wonder what was going on in his mind.

Thomas had always been a mystery to you, even before he left for France, but now it felt like there was a whole other person behind the blue eyes that you had grown up with.

Days had passed and you indeed started working at the gambling den , which was located in the heart of Small Heath. It was a bustling place, and it was chaotic during peak hours, but you found joy in the chaos. Surprisingly, Aunt Polly did not seem to mind much; she knew that this was one of the ways to keep you out of trouble.

While you were working there, your brother Thomas kept a close eye on you and as different men attempted to flirt with you, they quickly learned that you were untouchable, a notion further solidified by Thomas’s warning glares.

On two occasions, he even threatened gamblers with a gun after you were propositioned for a date, and it was clear to you that he wasn’t playing around. Thomas Shelby never made idle threats, after all.

"You do realise that most of these men are harmless, Tommy," you said to Thomas one evening, after you had closed the betting shop for the night. The sky was a deep indigo and the stars were shining brightly.

Thomas looked at you, his eyes sharp and piercing. "That may be true, but you are my sister and they need to show you some fucking respect," he retorted, his voice steadier than before.

"But Tommy," you began, still unsure of what to make of this sudden outburst. "I am capable of handling my own affairs. I can fend them off," you assured your brother who appeared somewhat overprotective of you.

"I am sure you are," Thomas agreed, a hint of amusement in his voice. "But what kind of employer would I be if I did not at least protect my employees from unwanted advances, eh?" he asked, one corner of his mouth twitching upwards in a half-smile.

"A pretty shite one I suppose," you admitted, returning his half-smile with a lopsided grin as he locked the door.

"Exactly," he concurred, shaking his head as you stepped onto the sidewalk, right by your brother's side. "Now let me walk you home. It's late," Thomas said as he always did when you worked in his betting house until after dawn.

As Thomas and you walked side by side, the silence between you was comfortable, but there was still something that kept niggling the back of your mind. You couldn't quite put your finger on it, but it seemed like Thomas was hiding something from you.

Nonetheless, as you walked to the house you shared with Polly, Tommy and the others, you couldn't help but steal glances at him, trying to gauge what it was that was causing this strange behavior lately.

It was like he took a liking in you that almost felt, more than brotherly, but you decided not to focus on the matter and instead enjoyed the warmth of his company while it lasted.

Days passed, and your routine at the gambling den turned into sort of a normality, despite the occasional tensions between patrons and your brother that threatened to boil over.

On evening, at your house when you and Tommy were on your own, you ought to address it, his overprotectiveness and the strange tension that kept building between you.

But, Tommy simply brushed it off and told you that he was simply concerned for your safety.

"But I am safe here Tommy, with you and the others," you reminded him, your tone gentle yet firm. "And at the gambling house, even if some of the customers are inappropriate, it is a safe place because no one would dare to fuck with you, Arthur or John and I think you know that," you said, unable to mask the frustration that crept into your voice.

Tommy looked down at you, his gaze intense but soft. He took a deep breath before speaking, as if choosing his words carefully.

"Y/N, I know that you can look after yourself but, what I have learned over the years, is that no one is safe. Not here, not anywhere," Thomas said, his voice still firm but softer than before.

You stared into Thomas's eyes, feeling a strange mix of emotions coursing through your veins. Awe, admiration, and... something more. Something you couldn't quite put your finger on yet.

"The war changed you, you know?" you said the words before you could stop yourself.

Thomas sighed and looked at you, his expression filled with a mix of sadness and guilt. "Yes, I know," he admitted quietly. "I can't help it, Y/N. I've seen and done things that most people couldn't even imagine."

You nodded, understanding dawning on you.

"No, you are right Tommy. I can't imagine," you said softly, caressing the scar on his cheek, causing Tommy to lean in closer, his eyes locked on yours.

You felt your heart race as you looked into Thomas's eyes. There was something about him that made you feel safe, yet also intensely aware of your feelings for him. You had never felt this way about anyone before.

"But you know what's amusing though?" you murmured, breaking the silence that had enveloped the room as Thomas leaned over some more, his fingers lightly traced your jawline, you couldn't help but play along. "You are so overprotective towards me when it comes to potential suitors and there is almost no reason for you to be that way, because I never even kissed a boy before, so it just seems so absurd to me," you continued, allowing yourself to drop your guard, just a little.

"I find that hard to believe, Y/N," Thomas murmured, the pad of his thumb brushing the corner of your lips before slowly moving to trace the length of your jawbone.

Your breath hitched in your chest, hearing his low voice uttering your real name; you always felt an odd sense of familiarity from him, especially when he chose to use your given name, just for a brief moment. It almost felt like the two of you were not step-siblings.

"No, it's true. I never kissed a boy before, Tommy," you confessed, the words slipping out before you could stop them. You didn't know what had come over you, but suddenly, you couldn't help but feel drawn to your half-brother. "What is it like?" you

asked, your lips barely moving as Thomas continued to trace a path along your jawline.

"What's what like?" Thomas asked, his voice low and husky, as he leaned in even closer to you.

"Kissing," you clarified, a slight blush creeping up your cheeks as you admitted this.

Thomas seemed taken aback by the question, his gaze lingering briefly on your lips before meeting your eyes again.

"I guess it depends on who you are kissing," he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Sometimes, it's just a kiss and it feels like nothing because it means nothing. But other times, it's more than that. It can be a way to express your feelings for someone. To show them how much you care about them," Thomas explained, his gaze still locked on yours.

"Do you think you could show me?" you whispered, surprising yourself with your own boldness.

Thomas's eyes narrowed as he looked at you, taking in your flushed cheeks and the way your breathing had quickened.

"Seeing that you are my sister, that would be inappropriate, don't you think?" Thomas said, a subtle hint of amusement in his voice.

"It's just a kiss, Tommy," you replied, a nervous laugh escaping your lips. "And no one needs to know," you continued, your heart pounding in your chest as you confessed this vulnerable part of yourself to your brother.

Thomas looked at you, his eyes searching yours as he processed your words. You could see the wheels turning in his head, and for a moment, you wondered if he was going to tell you no . But then something shifted in his gaze, a heat that made your heart race.

"Alright. Fuck it," Thomas muttered, his hand reaching up to cup your cheek as he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours.

You gasped slightly, surprised by how sudden the kiss was and how soft and gentle his lips were.

Your hands reached up to grip his arms, feeling the firm muscles beneath your fingertips as you leaned into the kiss. Thomas's other hand reached up to tangle in your hair, pulling you closer as he deepened the kiss.

Not knowing what to do, you followed his lead and when he parted his lips, you did the same before tentatively touching your tongue to his, experimenting with the new sensation.

Your brother's lips were warm and as the kiss deepened, you felt a fire ignite within you, spreading from your core to every inch of your body. Your heart was racing as Thomas's hand dropped down from your hair, tracing a path around your neck as he deepened the kiss once more before, suddenly, he pulled away.

You stared at Thomas, your lips still tingling from the kiss. You could see a storm of emotions raging within his eyes, but you couldn't quite decipher what he was feeling. Was it guilt? Shock? Excitement? Pleasure?

"I am sorry Love, but I have business to attend to," he told you with a horse voice, his breathing heavy and uneven from the kiss.

You nodded, trying to catch your breath as well. You could feel a blush spreading across your cheeks as you moved away from him, giving him some much-needed space. Thomas looked at you, his eyes heated with desire, before turning away and leaving the room without another word.

Even after he had left. a jolt of pleasurable heat still lingered on your lips where Thomas’s mouth had just been, you couldn’t believe what had just happened. Your stepbrother, fucking Thomas, he had just kissed you and you didn’t know if you should feel guilty about it or if you should be elated.

“You’re an idiot,” you muttered to yourself as you ran your fingers through your hair, still feeling dazed. Your mind was racing, replaying the image of Thomas kissing you, over and over again.

Your lips were still tingling from the contact, but the room felt cold and empty once he left, leaving you alone with your tumultuous thoughts.

You couldn't believe what had just happened. Thomas had kissed you. He fucking kissed you and you were the one that had asked him to do it.

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loafgeto · 11 months ago

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FANTASIZE — 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭. gojo satoru

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ having sexual fantasies about your landlord seems illegal, but what can you do when it’s gojo satoru?

⌗contents ⤥ fem!reader, she/her pronouns, explicit language used, landlord!gojo, no curses au, gojo and reader are in their 20’s (range not specified), masturbation (gojo catches you), pussy hungry gojo, oral, unprotected p in v sex, orgasms, creampie, deep penetration, pet names, not proofread

⌗wordcount ⤥ 4.7k

⌗notes ⤥ i literally thought abt this while on the toilet

finally, after a long and exhausting shift, you finally arrived back home. you were standing outside of the gates that lead into the apartment complexes, showing the security guard your identification before being allowed inside. you were tired and hungry, thinking about what to cook once you got into your home.

just as you’re reaching your apartment complex, you pass through the play area built for the children, and you notice a tall, white-haired man standing by a bench while a young child is running around with another on the playground. your heart stops when you realize it’s your landlord, gojo satoru.

while he was on the phone, you notice another man sitting on the bench, his dark hair nearly blending in with the night. you gulped, hoping to walk by without getting caught by either of them. why? because— you haven’t paid your last months rent.

you promised satoru you’d pay, but the next rent payment was due in a week and you hadn’t even sent him money. satoru didn’t bother with it during the first two weeks, however— he became impatient and was slowly demanding you pay the rent. even the co-landlord, suguru, was reminding you but rather, in a more gentle manner.

as you quietly passed by, one of the children spotted your presence. “oh! miss [name]!” the young megumi shouts out, putting the unwanted attention onto you.

oh… megumi, why?! you cursed mentally at yourself and made a quick hesitating expression before forcing a sweet smile and turning around. by that time, megumi and the other child, yuji, had jumped off the playground to greet you. they both approached you with their cute giggles, each hugging one of your legs. “megumi, yuji! what are you guys doing out here?”

“gojo and geto-san let us play outside for a little bit!” megumi answers when looking up at you. nodding, you glance at the two other men, who were deliberately surveying you— especially satoru. you clear your throat and look down at the two kids again.

“can we come to your house on saturday, miss [name]? i wanna bake cookies and watch pokemon again!” yuji questions, jumping up and down slightly.

“o-of course.. just make sure you guys get permission from your dad’s!” you reply, maintaining your smile as they pushed themselves off your legs. “i have to get home super quick now, ‘kay? just let me know by tomorrow.”

“okay, miss [name]!” they both cheered happily at the same time before scurrying back to the two men.

therefore, you took that as an opportunity to leave quickly and back to your apartment. when you arrived, you quickly unlocked the door and entered, nearly sinking to the ground. a smile slowly crept on your face and you slipped off your shoes before walking further into your home.

you glanced at the ground, noticing your broken vase was still scattered to pieces. you sigh, remembering your purse accidentally knocked it over and since you were rushing to work, you decided to clean it up once you got home. grabbing a broom from the kitchen, you swept it to the side by the wall, figuring you would gather it into the trash later.

after changing into something more comfortable, you went to brush your teeth and get ready for the night. a smile was still on your face, and well, the reason was simply because of satoru.

three months ago, you were apartment hunting after saving so much money— one of your work friends suggested you to tour an apartment from a landlord named gojo satoru.

the apartments he owned were absolutely marvelous and in your price range. but what even tempted you to sign rental agreement was satoru himself. he was someone everyone wanted: he had handsome features, a perfect build, an alluring voice, and most all, earned loads of money. to others, it was obvious that you had a huge interest in him, but it’s gotten to the point where you began developing feelings— way too much feelings. so much that you began fantasizing about him everyday.

it started off as fantasizing going on romantic dates with him— eventually to getting married, having kids, being the mom to little megumi. eventually leading to fantasizing you underneath him, holding him as he fucks into you. most would think it was absurd— to be obsessing over your own landlord who dislikes you at the moment.

but you liked the attention you were receiving from satoru. you two interacted many times before, but that’s mostly because of megumi. the child often ran into you, eventually getting close enough to where satoru allowed him to go to your house to bake cookies or for you to babysit. however, when you missed your first rent, satoru had came to your place— which, caught you by surprise, you thought he’d bring megumi but he was all by himself.

therefore, you intentionally pretended to forget to pay your rent, even though you did actually have the money to pay. of course, you were going to pay eventually, just so you don’t lose your apartment, but you were keeping up the act due to satoru’s appearances nearly everyday— demanding you to pay your rent. he’s gotten slightly aggressive over the past two weeks, but it never necessarily bothered you.

you pretend to avoid him, while still try to be around him. it was weird, maybe, but when you have a crush on someone, you usually end up doing things you don’t normally find yourself doing.

after getting into bed, you relaxed and got comfortable— but you feel as if you needed something else to cool your mind: thinking about satoru.

you felt lazy to grab one of your vibrators, so you decided to use your hands, imagining as if it was satoru’s instead.

“gojo, gojo, can i pleaseeee go to miss [name]’s house on saturday? pleaseeee,” megumi was whining to satoru repeatedly as they were heading back to their home. after saying their good nights to yuji and suguru, megumi just couldn’t shut up about you.

satoru was helping megumi get ready for bed, but the kid just couldn’t sleep until he said yes. and if satoru didn’t say much less of a no, or a simple no, megumi would throw a tantrum. satoru honestly didn’t know how to calm the child down whenever that occurs, so he makes sure to answer properly.

“maybe if she pays her rent, you can go,” satoru smiles at the kid, realizing his words slipped out without care.

“she did pay it! you just don’t check!” megumi pouts.

“oh megs, please just go to sleep. i’ll think about it tonight,” satoru replies with a sigh as he stands from kneeling beside of the bed and walks towards the door.

“nooo!! i wanna go, please!!” megumi begs, nearly crying at this point.

“gosh.. why are you so stubborn at this age,” satoru shakes his head as he was about to walk out. “fine, fine! you can go! just go to sleep, it’s late and if you don’t wake up in time tomorrow, you will not go, understand?”

suddenly, little megumi’s demeanor changed completely. he was now bubbly, smiling like crazy before getting comfortable underneath his blanket. “thank you, gojo! can you please go tell her that you said yes! i will tell yuji tomorrow, i’m so excited!” and without anything else, megumi was able to fall into a slumber.

satoru sighs yet again, shutting off the lights of megumi’s room before closing the door. honestly, he didn’t know what to do anymore, but he was glad megumi found company in someone else other than him— not that he does. satoru decides to flip through files, rental agreement files.

and of course, he stumbles upon yours. along with the papers that wrote payment overdue. satoru was pissed, to say the least.

satoru was lenient the first time, almost to the point of considering to not have you pay the rent— because, well, he also has an interest in you. his feelings began developing the day you both encountered, and he remembers trying so hard to get you to like the apartment. you both exchanged contacts that day once you signed the rental agreement, but it was nothing more than that. it initially surprised him when megumi asked to go to your place the first time, he hadn’t known then that you two were slowly becoming close as you’re adjusting to the new environment. but he shortly felt as if this was an opportunity for him to get closer with you.

now, they’re are definitely times satoru wanted to straight up say he had a fat crush on you, keeping it behind his mouth felt as if he was in high school again— however, he just couldn’t get the courage. he didn’t understand why, and most of the time, megumi would be cutting him off and grabbing your attention.

a few weeks ago, satoru was coming home with megumi, after picking him up from school. carrying the kid on his shoulders, megumi was saying this and that about wanting to visit your place. satoru was going to say yes, until: he detected you with someone else.

and that someone else ended up being suguru.

you both were chatting casually, it seemed you had also returned from work and stopped by to chat with suguru while little yuji was running around the playground with another child. watching at how you two interacted triggered satoru— the way you two smiled and laughed together, the way you tapped his arm when he said something that made you laugh. suguru was much bigger than he was, and definitely had more of the ladies’ attention.

however, in hindsight, satoru mistook your gestures and friendliness towards suguru as having feelings for him instead.

therefore, satoru suddenly became harsher towards you— but only because he was jealous of suguru and believing you liked him instead. even though his best friend didn’t show any display of affection towards you, satoru remembered the first impression you gave to suguru: “she’s pretty,” he complimented, but nothing else.

honestly, satoru felt quite immature to act like this. you weren’t even his girlfriend and even if you did like suguru, there wasn’t anything he could do about it.

satoru walked to his room, feeling utterly exhausted but still reached for his coat. as megumi wanted, he was going to deliver the message about him being allowed to go to your house on saturday to you, as well as remind you again about the rent.

the walk took no less than five minutes, though satoru often paused his steps or made circles because he felt anxious seeing you. of course, earlier he did see you when the kids were greeting you, but you barely even looked at him: at least, that’s what he perceived.

and when satoru approached the front of your door, he began anticipating as he hesitantly raises his hand to knock on the door. he leans back slightly, biting his lower lips as he thinks about what to say once you open the door. ‘hey, just wanted to say that megumi can—’ no, that wasn’t a good idea, he thought. ‘it’s time to pay your rent—’ well, not that either.

satoru shook his head, trying to surpass the feelings of nervousness before knocking on the door. and well, he must’ve knocked way too hard since the door cracked open. he stood there puzzled, and for a moment, he thought you were already on the other side. but realizing it was silent, he pushed the door open.

the first thing satoru noticed was the broken vase on the floor, causing his eyes to widen. did someone break in? is someone threatening her, is that why she can’t pay rent? dozens of thoughts were processing through his head as he enters further into your apartment, swallowing hard as more anxiety crawled up his back.

“[name]?” satoru calls out, and when you didn’t answer, he panicked even more. were you hurt? did something else happen here that he couldn’t grasp? satoru knew you lived alone, often inviting several friends or family members over but there was never anyone who looked threatening or intimidating to cause harm.

your apartment was clean, even though there were boxes and other things stuffed in corners and shelves, and there were no signs of any other damage aside from the broken vase. pulling out his phone, he readied to dial anyone. satoru was approaching your room at that point, bottled in his own thoughts as he looked around— he stands ahead of your bedroom door, realizing it was slightly cracked open, enough to where you can see the bed.

however, what satoru’s eyes laid upon was something unexpected.

the sight of you lying back on your bed, thighs spread open with your panties and underwear pushed down to your ankles, soft moans circulating the room caused blood to rush quick to satoru’s dick. while you were in your own world, satoru had been worried that something terrible might’ve happened to you. but you were just.. masturbating?

“f-fuck.. satoru..”

satoru’s eyes widened more when he hears you call out his name, causing his heart to thump and cheeks to burn red. were you imagining him right now? were you thinking about him touching you like that? the tightness of satoru’s pants began to poke out, throbbing nearly in pain as he watches you pleasure yourself because of him.

“need you to fuck me.. please..” your pleas and whines reached satoru’s ears like a melody, and he swore he could cum just by the sound of your pretty voice.

was this how you sounded like? was this how you moaned his name? it was driving satoru mad, making him want to push that door open and fuck you just like how you wanted. but, he felt like a creep— just standing there and watching.

satoru continued to watch you pleasure yourself before getting lost in his own thoughts, not remembering his phone in his other hand and dropping it to the ground. the loud thud causes the two of you to snap back into reality— sending you into an alert state and satoru into a panicked one. he cursed himself under his breath as he tries picking up his phone to quickly scatter out, but by now, you were already by the door.

“who’s there—?!” you nearly shouted, ready to attack and defend yourself against the person. but you were caught by surprise when you made eye contact with satoru.

the room became silent, as you both awkwardly stood and stared at each other for who knows how long. the embarrassment immediately got back to you, causing your face to burn and you could barely even formulate a proper response as satoru rubs the back of his neck.

“g-gojo…” you anxiously let out, averting your gaze in another direction. you could barely look him in the eyes.

“i didn’t mean to watch- or, i mean disturb you. i came at a wrong time, i’m sorry,” satoru slips out the response, also looking elsewhere while glancing back at you several times.

“you were watching..?” your face shoots up and satoru’s face nearly went pale.

“i- i just wanted to let you know that megumi is allowed to come over saturday, he wanted me to deliver the message!” satoru switches the topic as you avoid eye contact with him again.

“oh… i see,” you reply. the atmosphere was severely awkward, and you both didn’t know what to exactly or utter. “guess—”

“need help?” he blurts, eyes lowering back to you.

“help?” your eyes remain wide in shock and you can feel your heart pulsate quicker, nearly making your legs weak. you try to avoid gazes with him, but satoru reaches for your wrist just to get your attention.

satoru can feel his dick throb knowing that your needy pussy was underneath those tight shorts of yours, being forced to act normal when rubbing your thighs together out of embarrassment. he only imagines how wet you are— no, to feel how wet you are, to really know what kind of filthy girl you are. it was turning him on, and it was obvious from the bulge in his pants.

“i mean, from the way you were moaning my name, i figured you did,” satoru replies in a hushed tone, sending chills down your spine.

the moment was cut short when satoru leans in to kiss you, shocking you even more, but you instantly melted into his lips. you kissing him back with immense passion drove satoru insane, now that he figured out he had been the one all this time. he pushes his tongue pass your lips and into your mouth, hungrily searching for your tongue. you both share several soft groans before satoru grinds himself against you, allowing you to feel his erected dick.

“feel that?” satoru whispers when he leaned his head back to catch a quick breath, only receiving a small nod from you. “‘m so fucking hard, just because of you. gonna do something about that?”

“mhm.. of course..” you shyly replied, looking up at him with those nubile eyes.

you eventually find yourself on top of satoru, completely undressed aside from your soaked panties. you were facing his hard cock that was still being suffocated underneath his pants, meanwhile, satoru was beginning to tease your clothed clit with his middle finger. it made you whine, since you haven’t felt another’s touch in so long.

satoru pushes the material of your underwear to the side, getting a good view at your soaking cunt just dying to have someone’s cock drilled inside. “so pretty ‘nd perfect,” he whispers, his breath softly blowing against your clit.

“o-oh.. satoru,” you moan, feeling his tongue lap over your slit.

satoru circles his tongue around your clit, sucking it several times before working around your wet folds and pushing slightly pass them into your sopping cunt. you can feel ecstasy pump throughout your entire body, all just from his tongue.

“fuck.. your tongue- feels s’good..” you utter through your soft moans. “always fantasized you eating my pussy out like this.. a-ah..”

“yeah?” satoru hums, bringing a finger to rub circles on your clit while his tongue messily explored your cunt, licking and slurping all of your arousal that gradually coated down to his chin. your words dumped roughly on him, making his dick throb. “fucking hell. suck me off too, angel. need to feel your mouth around me.”

you push satoru’s pants down, along with his boxers that immediately causes his cock to spring out. you hold a breath as you take his length into your hand, watching as his pre-cum leaked out. you start with a lick around his tip, gathering the pre-cum on your tongue and earning a soft grunt against your pussy from him.

pushing your head down, you begin winding your tongue around his girth, sucking several times while pumping the rest with your hand. satoru’s cock twitches several times, nearly becoming sensitive under your touch and warm mouth. he proceeds to fuck your pussy with his tongue, thumbing your clit that causes your moans to vibrate around him.

“mm- ‘toru-”

“hush, baby. ‘ts okay, don’t want ya to choke. unless you like that,” satoru whispers, sinking his tongue into your pussy again, trying to slurp up all of your wetness. his nose easily brushes against your aching hole, sending you waves of pleasure.

you push satoru’s cock further into your mouth, bobbing your head up and down, trying to maintain a pace. you could barely focus due to satoru’s tongue lapping your vulva and folds, inching into your cunt as if he’s marking as his territory. the tip of his cock softly slams against your throat, slowly pooling your eyes with tears.

“don’t forget to breathe, baby. oh fuck- keep sucking my cock like that- mhm- good girl,” satoru praises, grunting as he feels your mouth taking almost all of him. you could barely even handle it, yet you’re trying so hard— it was amusing, in a cute way.

your muffled moans sync with the sloppy sounds of your cunt being lavished with satoru’s tongue, the pad of his fingers rubbing your clit faster and causing you to reach an orgasm. grinding your hips slowly on satoru’s face was enough to tell him that, and he uses his other hand to slap the fat of your ass, eventually gripping it.

“gonna cum, baby. s-shit, in your mouth?” satoru glances at you, noticing you were bobbing your head as a response.

when satoru’s warm cum shoots into the back of your throat, it causes you to orgasm at the same time. your legs twitch from the sensations, but capturing his load was the main thing occupying your mind. you’d never thought you’d be situated with satoru like this— it’s just as if your fantasies are becoming a reality.

swallowing his cum, you push your head away and inhale several breaths while coughing lightly. shortly enough, you feel satoru pulling you back against him and turning your head. after sharing a long and sloppy kiss, he pins you on the mattress, spreading your thighs apart so that he’s in between them.

from what you could see, he was still hard. very hard. his aching tip was pressed against your entrance, teasing your clit and making you whimper. glancing up at him, you could see his flushed face— full of energy, arousal, and passion.

“d-do we need lube?” you innocently inquired, which choked a soft chuckle from satoru.

“not at all, baby. you’re so wet. feel that? feel how wet you are?” satoru hums when he guides his tip along your wet entrance, hoping it’d be an enough of a satisfying answer. you only nod, giving satoru a look and he reassures you with another kiss. “i’m gonna put it in now. tell me if it hurts, ‘kay?”

“‘kay..” you nod, biting your lower lips.

satoru groans as he inserts his cock past your folds, pushing your walls apart that clenches around him each time he inched deeper. you gasped as both hands went around his biceps and your fingers press into the skin, notably marking the area. your walls fluttered around him, accepting his thick and hard cock so earnestly.

“feel okay, love?” satoru questions, glancing down at you.

“mhm.. i’m okay, ‘toru..” you reply, indicating for him to move.

satoru slowly begins to move his hips, groaning at the feeling of your pussy when his cock slips in and out. for you, his cock was already kissing your most sensitive places that had moans fall from your mouth constantly. satoru gropes one your breast, pinching the nipple with two fingers as he nudges your deepest parts.

“f-fuck! satoru- your cock feels soso good-” you cry out when his pace fastens, nearly having your eyes roll back.

so, this is how her pussy feels like? satoru was lost in his own mind, lost in the feeling of your pussy. he was already addicted, wanting to be inside you forever and be able to dump his cum into you. to him, you’re perfect: everything about you is. he loved the feeling of your soft and delicate skin rubbing against his own, aside from your pussy kissing around his cock.

“you fantasize about this too, angel? fantasize about my cock fucking into your pussy like this?” satoru huffs as his thrusts initially became quicker— rougher, nearly filling you entirely up.

“yes! yes, ‘toru. always fantasizing about it.. about you- ngh..”

you could feel a knot slowly forming in your core as his cock continues to stimulate pleasure to your pussy. you could care less about the neighbor’s ears, knowing that another tenant’s room was on the other side of your headboard. as of right now, your landlord was fucking you, just like how you’ve always imagined about. the fact turned you on even more.

satoru groans, now pounding his cock into you, deep to the point it’s kissing your womb. the sound of skin slapping circulating the air along with your moans, making the room scream perfect sex. satoru presses a finger against your lips, signaling you to lower your voice when loud knocks on the wall is heard, telling you both to shut up. but how could you?

“i can’t- ‘toru. feels so good- ‘ts too much-” you cry out, bringing his finger into your mouth and swirling your tongue over.

“naughty girl. you really want to get a noise complaint, don’t you?” satoru chuckles, before throwing both of your legs over his shoulders. well, since he’s the landlord he could just dismiss the complaint whenever it came through.

“want them to know- how good you fuck me.”

and how could satoru deny such request? wrapping his hands around your thighs and pushing them against his chest, he pummels his cock deeper into you, getting screams out of your mouth. your breasts bounced each thrust, matching the gentle slams of the headboard ramming into the wall.

the angle of the position allowed satoru’s cock to perfectly grind against your g-spot, which is already sending you towards your next orgasm. his balls slaps against your vulva as he penetrates his cock deeper and deeper, feeling your walls clench around him each time.

you don’t know how long it’s been until you’re on your knees and hands, ass in the air as satoru fucks you from behind after another orgasm. gripping onto the sheets, you repeatedly cry out his name, just to feel his dick twitch inside of you.

“you’re such a perfect girl, you know that?” satoru proceeds to blurt out compliments, caressing your skin and pressing soft kisses on your shoulder blades to your neck. right now, he was just grateful that it’s him— that he is the one able to do this with you.

“sa-satoru— ngh- i’m cumming-”

satoru was close to cumming too. he wanted to dump his next cum load into you, stuff you up to the brim and feel you milk him dry. “cum on my cock, baby. c’mon,” he encourages, pushing your hips back with both of his hands as you reach your climax.

“cum in me, ‘toru! pleasee!” you cry out next, turning your head to make eye contact with him.

satoru’s eyes wide at the sight of your lewd expression, telling him to fill you up. and so he does. he does a final deep thrust, dumping his heavy and warm load all saved just for you. satoru feels your walls pulsate around him just before he slips his cock out.

from there, you both remain in silence once more, catching breaths before satoru collapses on top of you.

“three months..” satoru whispers against your ear, utterly confusing you.

“what?”

“i’ll give you three months free of rent, maybe more if you go on a date with me.”

“that’s not fair to the other tenants though.”

“they don’t have to know.”

you giggle, turning around so that you’re completely facing him. cupping his cheeks into your hand, you lean in to give him a kiss— a more subtle kiss. “alright then. a date is settled.”

as satoru entered his apartment, he was surprised to stumble upon— a rather, agitated suguru. arms crossed over his chest, it seemed as if satoru had done something to piss him off.

“sugu—”

“do you know how many times i’ve called you? 17 times! i even messaged you and you answered none of them!” suguru rambled and satoru easily noticed fumes erupting from his ears. “you should be grateful that megumi can take care of himself.. gosh, he’s only what? seven? i can’t believe you left him home alone. what if something bad happened?”

“look— suguru—”

“ugh, whatever. i made sure megumi got to school safely with yuji. make sure you pick them up later and drop them off at [name]’s house, we have a meeting this evening,” suguru cuts satoru off again as he grabs his coat, not leaving any room for satoru to explain.

“suguru—”

“why do you look like you just..” suguru pauses once he got a good observation of satoru’s appearance. “did you drink last night?”

“wh— what? ABSOLUTELY not!” satoru defends himself.

“uh huh.. hurry up and get ready,” suguru dismisses it once more before leaving the apartment.

well, guess satoru didn’t really need an explanation after all.

LOAFGETO. thank you for reading! please do not copy my work or publish in another media without my permission.

a/n: me after using the word cock

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4suke · 22 days ago

Text

return.

tsukishima kei x reader oneshot, fluff/angst, exes to lovers crossposted on ao3 as higashikatas.

his undoing first came in the form of a thick white envelope stamped in curlicues of golden ink.

SHIMIZU KIYOKO WEDS TANAKA RYUUNOSUKE! reads the stiff card inside and he allows a small smile to appear on his face, before opening his messages and congratulating them both. he won’t deny that he’s happy for them; they’re the only high school couple he knew that ever truly worked out. never mind the fact that it felt vaguely like a slap in the face when he thought about his own first romance.

now, kei’s thinking to himself that maybe he should have been a dick and not shown up. the wheedling and whining of all his ex-upperclassmen would have been preferable to the scene unfolding before his eyes right now.

it was stupid of him to not consider that you would be here too… but wasn’t that the point of the last seven years? the amount of time it had taken for him to forget about you felt pathetic in itself. the amount of time it took for all that work to be undone was even worse.

you were laughing. head tilted back, eyes crinkled and your hair cascading down your back. he doesn’t know why he’s surprised to see that it’s grown longer- a lot changes in seven years, he has to remind himself. you’re being twirled around by hinata, who’s own beaming face only seems to amplify your joy. the lighting hitting both of your faces made things worse. kei felt like a side character now- which he supposed he was now. the chapter about the two of you had long been shut.

he doesn’t know how long passes before the song comes to an end. hinata bows low over your hand, pretending to bite your finger instead of kissing it, and you both start giggling all over again. you glance away from hinata for a second, collecting your breath, and your gaze slides onto him.

it’s like time has stopped (as cheesy as it feels) and neither of you have changed and grown and matured; he’s still the sharp-tongued, short-tempered high school boy and you’re still the beautiful, perfect high school girl who would playfully place daisy chains in his hair before a game and grin when he took them off and tucked them protectively into his backpack. the same girl who intertwined hands with his during video games just to mess with him and crow over his loss. the same girl who kissed his swollen eyelids on the rare occasions he let himself cry. the same girl who told him you loved him every single night without fail.

your grin falters and the facade is broken. nodding in response to something kageyama is saying, you duck your head and slip away.

kei doesn’t blame you in the slightest.

the rest of the afternoon seems to pass like a blur. he vaguely remembers sugawara cackling about ennoshita being the one to catch the bouquet and yamaguchi hovering by his elbow for a few minutes talking animatedly before wandering off with yachi, until he ends up at a table alone watching everyone else on the dance floor.

“i know being a bitter asshole is kind of your trademark, but could you try to tamp it down a bit?” you side eye him while taking a sip from your drink, passing him an identical glass. “it’s a wedding. be nice. don’t scare the children.”

he’s not sure if he jolted with the surprise, but can you blame him? the last time you spoke was the five minute video call seven years ago when he’d ended the horribly optimistic and unrealistic long-distance relationship the two of you had vainly kept up almost half a year into college. the shitty wifi connection had done nothing to hide the wetness in your eyes and he’d stared at the blank screen for almost an hour afterwards trying to convince himself that he’d done the right thing.

compared to the last version of you he remembers, the you that is now coolly surveying him over the rim of your glass seems almost scarily calm. some of his thoughts must have shown on his face, because you sigh and almost roll your eyes before sitting down opposite to him.

“so what have you been up to?”

he scoffs. “really?”

“really.”

he fiddles with his cuff. “i graduated.”

you nod. “tadashi showed me pictures. your hair was longer.”

“yeah. i’m working at the museum now.”

“just like you’d always wanted,” you murmur, smiling. it doesn’t reach your eyes.

all i’ve ever wanted is you, kei wants to cry out. instead, like the coward he is, he manages a weak nod and watches you take another sip of your wine.

the silence stretches awkwardly and you make to get up, murmuring something about going to get another drink.

he can’t have that. he knows if you walk away now, he’ll never see you again, so he grabs your wrist desperately. “what about you?”

you stare at his hand, an indecipherable look in your eyes. “i graduated.”

“yamaguchi didn’t show me any pictures.”

“yeah. he and shoyo also made me block you from seeing them. they said i should let you die of curiosity while i moved on and that it was what you deserved for being a jerk.” your voice tapers off awkwardly and kei feels like he’s been dunked in an ice bath.

“you and hinata… are you…” he can’t bring himself to say it.

you raise an eyebrow. “this is none of your business, but no.”

“i know,” he says a little too quickly. “sorry.”

“i’m working at that firm, by the way,” you continue. “just like i-”

“-always wanted,” you both say in unison. you give him a faint smile and he tentatively loosens the grip on your wrist, moving to intertwine his fingers with yours. you don’t stop him.

he doesn’t make an effort to continue the conversation from there, terrified of ruining something and making you leave all over again. meanwhile, the party is slowly dying down- the speakers are blaring progressively less aggressive music, and most of the dance floor has split up from larger dance groups to couples swaying together in each other's' arms. he watches as your eyes follow tanaka and shimizu (except technically she’s a tanaka too now) smiling softly at each other in the middle of it all.

the last dance is announced, and kei clears his throat. “do you want to…?”

you turn back towards him, raising an eyebrow. “you don’t dance in public.”

“a lot changes in seven years.”

“fair enough.” you let kei lead you between the dancers, hand never leaving his, and curl your other one around his shoulder. his other hand finds itself gently on your waist, unsure of the exact amount of distance to be putting between the two of you. this brings another hint of a smile to your face, and you effectively close the gap. your head is almost leaned on his chest and he’s sure you can hear his heartbeat as you take a deep inhale.

“was there anyone else?” you ask suddenly, and he almost trips.

“just one,” he says carefully. “girl in anthropology named miyawaki all through junior year. and some one night stands. you?”

you hum. “engineering guy named nakamura for a year and a half. that was all.”

was he better than me? he wants to ask. handsomer? funnier? kinder? what was it that made you stay with him for almost two whole years? most of all, he wants to know why you broke up. apparently you’re thinking on similar lines, because you beat her to the question.

“so why did you end it with her?”

“why did you end it with him ?” he doesn’t mean to rebuff your question with another one- his defense mechanisms are kicking in.

you shoot him an unimpressed look. “why do you think?”

he nods, smiling slightly. “me too. i think.”

“crazy.” your smile reaches your eyes this time. “still in love with me after all this time.”

“how could i not be?” he shifts you closer to him, tucking your head under his chin and wrapping his hand tighter around yours.

“why’d you do it, then?” you mumble into his jacket.

“do what?”

“tsukki.” you graze his knuckle with a sharp nail tip.

he sighs. “it would’ve been hard. i was just trying to stop it before it got too hard.”

“selfish,” you mutter. “considering how it was harder for me without you.”

“it was harder for me too.” he swallows, holding you even closer. “and i’m sorry.”

you don’t respond, but he feels the hand on his shoulder curl tighter into the fabric of his jacket, and allows himself to smile a little.

“you still know me better than anyone else,” you say. “and we’re both never getting over each other.”

“you’re saying you want to…” he can’t finish the sentence, terrified of having misread the room horribly.

“yeah.” for the first time, he hears some nervousness leak into your voice. “maybe we had to grow apart before we-”

“-came back together,” you say together, him finishing your sentence for the second time that afternoon.

you tilt your head upwards, brushing noses. “and i know you better than anyone else too, tsukishima kei”

“can i kiss you?” he murmurs, hand coming up from your waist to cup your face gently. you don’t even respond, simply going up on your tiptoes to meet his lips.

seven years and two broken hearts and oceans of what-ifs and broken promises later, he’s still a boy in love with the same girl. if he imagines it just right, it’s exactly like your first kiss on the steps of the volleyball team’s gym, the warm summer breeze and bright stars above the only witnesses. like then, it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him, the one thing he knows he’ll never get tired of.

neither of you notice your upperclassmen breaking out into frenzied whoops, money exchanging hands, pictures being taken. but none of that matters- because right here in your arms, he’s never felt more complete. when you pull away, he knows you, the only other person that knows kei more than anyone in the world, who knows exactly how he feels with a single look into his eyes, feels exactly the same way.

beaming like the sun itself, you kiss him again.

#🌙.work #tsukishima kei x reader #tsukki x reader #tsukishima kei #tsukki #haikyuu #haikyuu fic #haikyuu oneshot #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x reader #haikyu x reader #4suke #karasuno #haikyuu fanfic #haikyuu fanfiction #tsukishima #kei tsukishima #kei tsukishima x reader

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hoejosatoru · 2 years ago

Text

Roster Hopper

Pairings: Fem!Reader x College Au Karasuno players (separately, except for Tsuki & Yamaguchi)

Summary: You make a bet with your best friend and co manager that you can sleep through the entire Karasuno roster, without the team finding out.

Word Count: 8.4k

Warning: reader having sex with entire team lmfao, maybe reader is slightly manipulative at times? I don’t think so but tagging just incase, oral (fem receiving) in multiple different positions, light spanking, p in v sex in different positions, men whimpering lol, oral (male receiving), fingering, thumb in ass, squirting, spit, sorta voyeurism, threesome (Tsuki and Yams) virginity loss (Yams), semi public sex, brief drinking mention MDNI

A/n: Changed my original idea to just y/n trying to go through the roster bc you plus a friend is a lot and trying to write around the team not finding out would be hard SO here we are. Y/f/n = your friends name. I didn’t want to have to think of a random name. If you don’t have someone you can just slot in Kiyoko or something. I also bolded each players name so if you want to skip to a specific dude, hopefully it is easier to find. Enjoy!

“How long have they been at it?” you asked your friend as you were filling up water bottles for the third time this practice. If you weren’t so used to the sound of volleyballs being smacked around, it would probably have driven you crazy by now. It was your second year as Karasuno University’s volleyball team manager and you loved it. Water bottle fill up runs and all.

“Too long,” your friend replied, “I don’t get where they get the energy from. I’m tired just watching them.”

“Same.” You screwed the last bottle shut. “But the first years are really good. I think we have a shot this year.”

“Oh without a doubt,” y/f/n’s nodded. “And if they keep practicing like this they’ll only get better. They’re pretty cute too, not that is going to help them win games.”

You laughed. “I was waiting for your say something.” Your voice dropped a little, so none of the boys could overhear you. Not that they were really paying attention to either of you at the moment. Volleyball is life and all. “We have a really cute team, don’t you think?”

Your friend nodded and whispered back. “For sure. Who do you think is the cutest?” This is why you were glad you convinced your best friend to manage with you. Nothing passed time like gossiping about boys with a friend.

“Hmm,” you considered, “Kageyama is cute. But you know how I like dark haired guys. Nish too. Never thought I would think a short guy was so hot. Don’t tell him I said that.” You didn’t want to offend him, but you had a sneaking suspicion all he would care about was that you called him hot. Him and Tanaka were a bit girl-crazy. They were the only players that shameless flirted with you and your friend. You liked that about them; it was fun.

“No, for real! I think Asahi has to be the cutest though,” you friend replied.

You nodded. They were all pretty good looking guys, so you couldn’t argue. “But the real question is, who do you think is the best in bed?”

Your friend took a second to think about it before answering. “Daichi.”

“Really?”

Your friend shrugged. “I mean he’s one of the oldest, so he’s probably got experience. Plus he’s the captain.”

You snorted. “What does being captain of a volleyball have to do with being good in bed?”

Your friend huffed in faux annoyance. “Well it makes sense in my head. Who do you think then?”

“Honestly maybe Nishinoya.”

“I think you just have a crush on him.”

“Shut up. But also Sugawara. It’s the quiet ones you gotta look out for, you know?”

Your friend nodded. “Totally. Maybe we gotta hunt down their past hook ups and do a survey.” You both laughed, drawing the attention of Tanaka.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing!” You both answered in unison, before turning your back to the court to laugh more. As ridiculous as the conversation was, it sparked your curiosity. You couldn’t deny that you'd thought about hooking up with some of the players. You watched them run around and get sweaty for hours everyday, what else were you supposed to think about? You’d never actually done it, though, not wanting to ruin any friendships with the guys. They could be a rowdy bunch, but you did love them dearly.

That, however, didn’t stop you from hatching a crazy idea. “What if we didn’t need other people to find out.”

Your friend’s eye brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“I will do all the research,” you replied. She gave you a look that told you she still didn’t understand what you meant. “I sleep with all of them and then we’ll know who the best.”

Y/f/n looked at you like you were crazy. Which, to be fair, maybe you were. “You can’t be serious. All of them?”

“Well not at the same time,” you replied, like a smart ass. Your friend rolled her eyes.

“Obviously. But that’s still crazy! There’s so many of them.”

“There’s not that many. Just nine of them. Give me the whole school year and I could do it,” you responded.

“No way you can,” she replied.

“Wanna bet?” You challenged.

“Absolutely,” your friend replied, “500 bucks says you can’t sleep through the team by the end of the school year.” Damn 500? But a big challenges calls for big stakes.

“You're on.” You shook hands. “Now let’s figure out the rules.”

After a little discussion you both agreed that besides the obvious of having to get through the 9 players by the last day of school, they couldn’t find out about what was going on. If you were to tell them about the challenge, some of the players might do it just to help you. You had to get them in bed organically. Additionally, you couldn’t request certain sex acts. You both wanted to know how they tried to please women without any bias. If you started telling them what to do, it would mess with the data. Because this is super scientific, obviously.

Y/f/n allowed you one get out of jail free card if someone found out, but it had to be contained to the one person. If the whole team finds out, game over. You didn't need to provide any proof, but you did have to share your ranking with y/f/n at the end, which you were more than happy to. Any other issues that came up, you both agreed to figure out as needed. Simple enough.

“I’m not even going to bother asking you who you think will be the easiest,” your friend said. Both your eyes floated over to Nishinoya and Tanaka, making you both snicker. “But who do you think will be the hardest?”

“Daichi for sure,” you replied, “Doesn’t seem like he’s a hook up guy, but we’ll see. And Tsuki, just cause he can be a jerk.”

Your friend snickered. “He seems like the type who wants spank girls and make them call him daddy.”

You grinned. “I guess we will find out.”

A week later you were at party hosted at the team house. It was the perfect venue to make your first move. Only the upperclassmen could live in the house, but during parties the whole team plus many others were invited. Tonight’s party was particularly crowded, being that it was still early in the year and most people didn’t have much work to do yet. The crowd would make it easier for you to sneak away unnoticed, even with other teammates around.

You set your sights on Nishinoya first. You figured he’d be easy to get in bed, plus maybe you did have a little crush on him. You were super keen on finding out how he was in bed. Maybe it was because of the drink you had, but you were feeling bold. You decided to take a super straight forward, simple approach with Noya.

“Noya, do you want to have sex with me?” you asked when you managed to pull him to a private corner of the party. You almost laughed at how his eyes bugged out of his head.

“Are you serious? Tanaka didn’t, but you up to this as a joke, did he?” he asked.

“I promise he didn't,” you replied. “Just think you’re cute. Do you wanna?”

Nishinoya thought this was better than his birthday and winning nationals combined. “Fuck yes I do. When?”

You giggled at his enthusiasm. It was so endearing. “Right now?”

God he really was a lucky guy, he thought. “Fuck.” He chugged the rest of his beer for good measure. “Yeah let’s fucking do it.” You looked around to make sure no one was watching, before slipping up the stairs to his room. Luckily, his bedroom was on the second floor, which no one really came to. The parties stay in the basement or on the main floor, so you felt safe now that you made it up unnoticed.

The second he closed the door to his room, you pounced on him. You couldn’t help yourself. To be fair, it was very much a mutual pounce. Nishinoya kissed you eagerly, bordering on desperate, but in the best way. You pulled away, both of you breathing heavy.

“Before we do this, do you mind if this stay between us?” You asked, batting your eyes innocently at him. He was putty in your hands at this point; you knew he would agree to anything to get in your pants. “I don’t want it to be weird if the other guys found out.”

“Of course, I won’t tell anybody,” he nodded. You were back to kissing him, very desperately now. You were still standing by his door, pulling clothing off each other. Instead of wasting two steps to get to the bed, Noya just spun your around and bent you over the dresser right there. He was not a patient man and you were not complaining.

He slid your underwear odd, cursing. “Fuck you don’t know how much I’ve wanted to do this,” he cursed. You giggled, glad your crush had been reciprocated. Before you could get any words out, Noya was on his knees behind you, burying his face in your pussy. You gasped in surprised as he licked up your arousal, his tongue sliding through your puffy lips.

“Fuck Noya!” you cried as he sucked on your clit. His hands massaged your thighs and ass, keeping you spread for him. He hummed and groaned into your cunt as he ate you out, clearly enjoying it very much. Much like when he kissed you, it was eager and desperate and so fucking good. It didn’t take long before you were cumming all over his tongue.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he gushed, wiping your release off his face. He dug a condom out of the top dresser drawn, grinning eagerly at you.

“And you’re so fucking good at that,” you replied.

“I’m even better at this,” he replied, sinking his cock into you. Your body arched, surprised by the stretch. Noya’s thrusts were rough and frantic, clearly chasing after his high. He gripped your ass tightly, giving it a few smacks, but nothing too hard. You pressed your body back against him, loving that he wasn’t afraid to go for it. Your fingers scratched along the wood of his dresser as you tried desperately to hold on.

It was no use, though. Within minutes you were moaning his name and cumming on his cock. Noya, who was overjoyed he didn’t bust the second his slid in, let himself go the second he felt your velvety walls clench around him.

“Fuck, y/n, so fucking good.”

You gave Nishinoya a long thank you kiss before getting dressed. You agreed to go down first and then he’d come down a few minutes later so it wouldn’t be obvious you were together. You left his room grinning. And just like that, one was crossed off the list.

A week later you decided to try your luck again. Tanaka mentioned he was going to check out a frat party and you asked for a ride there, which he happily agreed to. As far as you knew no one else on the team was going to this party, so it would be the perfect opportunity to cross him off the list.

The party sucked; it was way too crowded and the music choices were awful. Not to mention, the house was a mess. It made the volleyball house look spotless in comparison. It worked in your favor, though, as Tanaka was more than happy to take you up on your suggestion to chill in his car.

“Dude I thought frat parties were supposed to be the best,” he said, closing the car door behind him.

“Did you see the bathroom? That shit had to be a biohazard,” you replied.

Tanaka laughed and nodded. “So gross. Sorry I dragged you here.”

“No worries, I wanted to,” you replied. You gave him a faux shy look. “I just wanted to hangout with you, honestly.”

Tanaka perked up. “Really?”

“Really.” And since being so honest worked the first time, you figure why not just go for it again. “Would it be weird if I said I was trying to get in your pants.”

Tanaka blinked at you, certain he didn’t hear you right. “You wanna get in my pants?”

You laughed and nodded. “Yeah, is that a bad thing?”

He shook his head. “No that’s a good thing! A great thing.”

“So...” your eyes flicked down to his lap. “Can I?”

“Right now?”

“Why not?” you replied. “We are in a dark spot. Your windows are tinted. No one will see.” You leaned in a little further, letting him peek down your shirt. “It will be fun, don’t you think?”

Tanaka did not need any convincing. Fucking his hot manager in his car? He may have dreamed about this exact scenario. Literally. Tanaka pushed back his seat as far as it would go and helped you climb on top. The way he kissed you was so similar to Noya you had to bite back a laugh.

You wasted no time pulling your top off, which Tanaka was very happy about. His face was in your tits before you could even get your shirt fully off. He sucked at the sensitive skin, flicking your nipples with his tongue. His hands gripped your tits roughly, but not unpleasantly. You rocked your hips against his, letting out a hum of pleasure. Tanaka was already hard underneath you.

“I could die happy right now,” he mumbled against your tits, making you laugh.

“At least fuck me first,” you replied, half joking. But also half serious because you were on a mission.

Tanaka took that as instruction. “Shit, I got you.” He pulled his cock out of his pants then cursed. “I don’t have a condom.”

“Don’t worry, I brought one.” You fished it out of your purse and handed it over.

“Damn you really were trying to get in my pants huh?”

You smiled. “Maybe.”

Tanaka rolled the condom on, then pushed your skirt up and underwear to the side. He let his tip run through the slick before slowly pressing into you. He hissed a little, feeling your pussy suck him in. Once he was all the way in, you pressed your hands against his chested and rolled your hips.

“Fuck, just like that,” Tanaka groaned, watching where his cock disappeared inside you. His hands ran along your hips and ass, helping you rock yourself on him. He leaned in, continuing to suck on your tits. The car windows fogged, the small space filled with the sound of your breathless moans and his cock thrusting into your wet pussy.

Tanaka wasn’t one to make the woman do all the work, so he planted his feet on the car floor bucked his hips up to meet yours. The deep spot he hit made your head fall back. “Tana-nngh-” your words were cut off by a cry of pleasure. You creamed around him, setting him over the edge. He spilled into the condom while groaning into your chest.

“Tanaka, can you do something for me?” you asked once you caught your breath. He was still buried inside you.

“I’d do anything you ask me right now, not gonna lie,” He replied.

You laughed, even though he wasn’t joking. “Don’t tell anyone we hooked up. I just don’t want the other guys judging me, you know?”

“It’s in the vault,” Tanaka replied seriously. “And if you ever want to do that again, please call me.”

Two down, seven to go.

Your next opportunity didn’t come until about a month later. You were alone with Asahi in the library studying for midterms coming up. “I need a break,” Asahi sighed, pushing his books away from him.

There was your opening. “You took the words right out of my mouth,” You replied. “My roommate is away right now. Wanna go back to my dorm and watch a movie?” You gave him a look that hinted that maybe it wasn’t just a movie on your mind.

Asahi blushed. “I-I don’t want to intrude.”

You waved him off. “You won’t be. C’mon it will be fun.” With that, you both packed up your things and headed to your dorm. You told Asahi he could sit on your bed while you set up the movie. He sat on the edge of your bed, looking a little nervous. It made you laugh that such a large, handsome man was easily flustered. “Relax, Asahi, you can lay down if you want.”

You hopped on the bed, laying down in front of him. You were in the spooning position, but not touching. You rectified that by slowing drifting closer to him. When your ass met his front, you wiggled as innocently as you possible could. You could feel Asahi shift nervously, though he unmistakably pressed closer to you. It wasn’t long before you could feel something hard poking at your ass.

“I can feel that, Asahi,” you teased.

“I’m so sorry y/n, I didn’t mean-”

“Shhh,” you hushed him, “I don’t mind.” You reached back, taking his hand in yours and leading it down into your leggings. “Maybe this will make you feel better.” You guided his hand to your pussy, letting him feel your wetness. He let out a low groan. You took your hand away, letting him touch you how he pleased.

“Do... do you want me to...” Asahi trailed off as he continued to play with your pussy.

“I think you know what I want, Asahi,” you purred his name. He cursed into your hair, breathing in the sweet scent. He brushed it aside, kissing your neck a little. You titled your head, allowing him better access. Then you got needy, so you craned your head back, allowing you two to kiss. He a gentle kisser, sweet and passionate. His hand slid up your shirt, giving your breasts a few soft squeezes. “Do you have a condom?”

Asahi’s cheeks tinted but he nodded. “In my wallet, yeah.” He fished his wallet out of his back pocket, pulling the little foil out. You wiggled your ass agains him, urging him on. He slipped his cock out of his pants, rolling the condom on. His tip nudged at your aching hole. “You sure?”

“Please.” Asahi slid into you slowly, letting you adjust. His arm wrapped around your waist, holding you to him while he thrusted into you. You arched your back, getting him deeper.

“Y-you feel good,” he mumbled against your neck. You quickly learned that Asahi was not shy about moaning. Hell, he was practically whining as your swirled your hips. He was so close to your ear, the sound giving you goose bumps. It was fucking hot. When he slid his hand down and started rubbing your clit it was your tone to moan.

“Asahi don’t stop,” you said breathlessly.

“Fuck I think I’m gonna-” His voice broke off in a low groan as you felt his cock twitch inside you. He didn’t stop fucking you even as he came, which pushed you over the edge. A warm rush filled your body as you finished. You finally turned around, giving him a soft peck. “Sorry about that,” he mumbled, embarrassed.

“Don’t be silly, I really enjoyed it,” you assure him. “But if it’s okay with you, let’s not tell anyone we did this. You know how the guys are. If they found out...”

Asahi nodded in agreement. He definitely didn’t need his teammates knowing he came quick. “I promise I won’t tell.”

A few days later, you were sitting in practice, reflecting on how your strategy to get through the 6 guys left. It was half way through the first semester and you only had 3 done. You weren’t too concerned yet, but you knew you couldn’t keep letting so much time pass between each guy. You were so deep in thought that you didn’t notice Tsukki come up beside you.

“I know what you’re up to.”

You startled, giving him a confused look. “Huh?”

“You’ve been hooking up with the guys on the team.” It wasn’t a question.

You tried to keep your voice even, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Tsukki rolled his eyes. “Don’t play stupid. I saw you leave the library with Asahi last week. Then earlier in the semester you were sneaking around parties with Noya and Tanaka.”

You raised a brow. “You stalking me or something?”

“We are in the same friend group at a small university, it’s not that hard to put together. If you have half a brain at least,” Tsukki replied. “I just don’t understand why.”

You let out an annoyed sigh. Your back was to the wall, you had to tell him. “It’s for a bet. To see if I can hook up with the entire team by the end of the year.” It felt stupid saying it out loud, especially with Tsukki’s judgmental eyes watching you.

“So why are you hiding it? I’m sure these idiots would be more than happy to sleep with you for whatever reason,” Tsukki replied.

“I can’t it’s part of the rules,” you explained, “So if you tell anybody I’m totally fucked.”

“I’d say you’re already quite fucked,” Tsukki replied with a shit eating grin.

“Haha,” you replied dryly, rolling your eyes. “But seriously, don’t blow this for me.” He went to open his mouth but you cut him off. “And no blow job jokes.” His mouth shut, but you could see the gears turning.

“So you kinda owe me a favor, don’t you?”

“If you’re going to ask me to sleep with you, don’t bother. It’s already a part of the plan unfortunately,” you replied.

“Ouch,” he yawned. “But that’s not what am I asking. At least not exactly. I want a three way with Yamaguchi.”

You were shocked but also not at the request. You knew they were best friends, but they seemed like they would be completely different in bed. “Have you told Yams about me hooking up with the other guys?”

“No, I figured I’d keep my mouth shut until I had more information,” Tsukki replied. “But I’ve been trying to help Yams lose his virginity. This seems like the perfect opportunity.”

“Wow what a selfless friend you are,” you replied sardonically

Tsukki shrugged. “I can admit I want to try a three way for selfish reasons, too. What guy doesn’t.”

“And you think Yams wants to lose his virginity with you there?”

“Yeah, he’ll be less nervous. I promise I won’t tell him or anyone else about your stupid bet if you do this.” You agreed. Although Tsukki was annoying, you couldn’t deny that a 2 for 1 would help a lot. You just had to text your friend to make sure it was within the rules.

Y/f/n: hmm I think as long as neither of them no what it’s for, one three way can be allowed

Y/n: Tsukki knows. that asshole figured it out. I have to use my get out of jail card on him -_-

y/n: but Yams doesn’t know, Tsukki will make up some other story to tell him

y/f/n: As long as Tsukki doesn’t tell Yams and no one else finds out then I think it’s fine. Good luck with that lmao

A week later you were in Tsukki and Yams’ shared dorm room. They’d pushed their beds together for the occasion, which was honestly quite funny. Tsukki looked almost bored and Yamaguchi looked nervous. Typical.

One thing led to another and you were on their combined beds kissing Yamaguchi while Tsukki pulled your bottoms off. For his lack of experience, Yams was a good kisser. Definitely a little nervous, but sweet. You went at his pace, twisting your fingers through his hair making his breath catch.

“Watch this, Yamaguchi. You have to get her nice and wet before putting it in,” Tsukki told his friend. His fingers were rough and warm as he dragged them through your lips. He rubbed circles over your clit, making sure his friend knew that spot was very important. His long fingers easily slid inside you, pressing spots that were hard for you to reach. You let out a little gasp, which made him smirk. “Take over for me Yams, you gotta practice.”

They swapped places, Tsukki slipping his cock out when he reached you. “Suck me off.”

You narrowed your eyes. “A please would be nice.”

Tsukki gave you a fake smile. “Please suck me off.” You didn't bother arguing, taking his cock in your mouth instead. He was annoyingly big. Maybe the biggest you had yet. Asahi may have been thicker, but Tsukki was definitely longer. You used your hand on his base while your lips and tongue focused on his tip. Meanwhile, Yams was getting the hang of fingering you. He copied Tsukki exactly, his whole face and chest flushed at the sight of your wet pussy sucking in his fingers. Your moan vibrated through Tsuki’s dick as he hit a sweet spot.

“Fuck,” the blond cursed, pulling out of you. He didn’t want to cum just yet. “Move Yams, let me show you how to fuck her.”

Yamaguchi’s face flushed a deeper shade of red. “Okay.” Tsukki spread your legs open after slipping a condom on. He pressed inside you slowly and you so badly did not what to gratify him with a moan, but you couldn’t help but let one slip.

“Sh-should I put it in her mouth?” Yams asked.

Tsukki shook his head. “You won’t last. You need to be hard so you can fuck her.” Yams nodded, watching his friend roll his hips into you. “I’ll make her cum so she’ll be nice and sensitive when it’s your turn.” Tsukki rocked his hips against yours, holding your thighs wide open for him. You hated to admit it, but it did feel really good. His cock, like his fingers, hit spots deep inside you. His thrusts were surprisingly heavy for his thinner frame. A damn near devious smily spread across his face as he felt your pussy clenching around him. He rubbed your clit with quick circles, finishing you off.

“Fuck!” you cried, your head falling back on the pillow. Pleasure pulsed through you as Tsukki fucked you through your high. He pulled himself out of you with a hiss, stopping himself from finishing. He wanted to do that in your mouth.

“Your turn Yams.” Tsukki yanked his friend down between your legs. Yams cock ached as he look at your fucked out expression. He couldn’t believe he was going to lose his virginity to the hot older manager. He said a silent prayer that he didn’t cum the second he put it in.

You sensed his nerves and comforted him. “Don’t worry, Yams, you’ll do good. Let me.” You took the condom out of his shaking hands and rolled it onto him. He whimpered a little, sensitive to even your touch. “Whenever you’re ready, yeah?”

He nodded, holding your thighs like Tsukki did and slowly pressed inside you. He slid in easily, thanks to Tsukki. He let out a whine feeling your warm, wet walls squeeze him. He tried not to focus to hard on that as he rolled his hips into you. You were extra sensitive, just as Tsukki said, making each movement feel extra good.

“So good, Yamaguchi.” You had no problem encouraging the younger guy. You always thought he was sweet. “Doing so good.” Yams blushed and kept it going.

“Now, where were we?” Tsukki asked, an obnoxious ring in his voice. You rolled your eyes at him but took his cock back in your mouth without protested. You took him deeper, urged on by how his composure cracked. Your tongue ran along the vein on the underside, making him curse. Yams continued to rut desperately into you, making you moan onto Tsukki. You emphasized the sound both for Yams’ confidences and to break down Tsukki.

Tsukki used his free hands to play with your tits. He gave your nipples a hard squeeze, sending a jolt of pleasure through you that made you cum again. Yams cried out your name, summing the second your walls pulsed around him. Tsukki’s hips twitched as your lips tightened, spilling into your mouth. Everyone was a panting mess by the end.

“Thanks, y/n,” Yams said as you finished getting dressed. “And I won’t tell anybody, I swear.” You exchanged a look with Tsukki, who nodded a silent agreement that he would continue to keep his mouth shut. You couldn’t help but smile as you left; you were over halfway done.

You went the rest of that semester without crossing anyone else off the list. You were okay with that, though, since you were still on track. Your next opportunity came during the last week of the winter break. Practice had started again, but not everyone was back to campus yet meaning they were smaller. And meaning Hinata was more desperate for someone to stay and throw him extra tosses.

“Sure Hinata, I’ll help you out,” you agreed. Everyone else had cleared out of the gym, glad to not be the one Hinata targeted. You tossed him for awhile, admiring the strength of the small first year. He was the biggest wildcard to you. You weren't sure if he was gonna be really good or really bad.

“Ugh, I need to get stronger,” Hinata grumbled after his last spike. It looked plenty strong to you, but it gave you an idea.

“I've heard increasing testosterone can make you stronger,” you replied, tossing up another ball for him.

“Really? How can I do that?”

“Having is sex is one way.” Hinata dropped out of the air, the ball you tossed bonking him in the head. You laughed at the surprised look on his face.

“Sex?”

“Have you not heard of it?” you teased.

Hinata grumbled, “I have! I just didn’t know it could help like that.”

You shrugged. “That’s just what I’ve heard at least.” You took a step closer to Hinata, looking him in the eye. “We should give it a try.”

Hinata’s eyes widened. “Wait are you serious? Like right now?”

“Yeah! Let’s do it and see if your spike gets better.” You knew he couldn’t resist the offer, which he did not. Hinata practically pounced on you. Have sex with he pretty manager AND improve his spike? Sounds good to him. You were all over each other as you got down to the floor. Clothes flying off as you went. You weren’t sure why you felt so particularly excited, maybe it was the risk of getting caught. All you knew is that you suddenly wanted Hinata badly.

Hinata was just as eager with you, his hands all over you. His kisses were a little sloppy with need, but you loved it. Your tongues mixed slid your hands over his toned torso. Hinata bunched up his t shirt and put it under his head like pillow. He hooked his arms around your thighs and pulled you up his body. “Sit on my face?”

How could you say no to that. The second your pussy made contact with his mouth he was all over it. His tongue pressing into your soaked entrance, then his lips sucking your aching clit. You forgot yourself, rocking your hips against his face, though Hinata didn’t mind one bit. He loved how your plush thighs squeezed his face as you chased your high.

It didn’t take long for it strike you, swift and strong as lightning. You bit down on your lip as your moaned his name, trying to not alert anyone who may be walking outside what was going on in the gym. Hinata lapped up every bit of release before you slid off him. In an instant he had you flipped over, with him now on top.

“You taste good,” he grinned, his lips shining with your release. You pulled him in for a sloppy kiss, tasting yourself on him. “I think I have a condom in my gym bag, give me a sec.” And he really meant ‘a sec.’ Hinata was back at one top of you in a flash, rolling a condom onto his hard length. You didn’t get how he was so damn fast.

You both let out content sighs as Hinata pressed into you. Hinata fucked you hard and fast. He just couldn’t hold himself back when he felt your velvety walls wrapped around him. You were not surprised by his energy in the slightest, but you were surprised by his strength.

“Nngh- Hinata! Right there,” you moaned. You wrapped your legs around him, keeping him close to you. With just a few more heavy thrusts, your orgasm was milking his cock. Hinata’s head fell back while he filled the condom with his release. A mixture of a moan and a whine slipped from his parted lips.

When you were both redressed, Hinata was already asking for a toss to see if worked. You couldn't help but laugh. Only Hinata would be thinking about volleyball after sex. You indulged him, tossing the ball, which he rocketed over the net.

“Holy shit! You were right y/n, that was so much better!’” Hinata beamed.

“I knew you could do it!” you replied, “But can I ask you not to tell anyone we just did that. If the other players found out, they may pester me to help them like that too.” Hinata agreed, happy to have his only little secret weapon for better spikes.

6 down, 3 left.

A week or so later, Hinata and Kageyama were bickering in practice, as they do. However, Kageyama seemed more annoyed than usual, so you decided to check in with him after practice to make sure everything was okay.

“Oh, yeah Hinata’s just been... particularly annoying,” he replied, seeming oddly nervous. Or maybe uncomfortable.

“Particularly? What do you mean?”

Kageyama shifted. “Well, he's been bragging about hooking up with this girl...” You stiffened, wondering if Hinata spilled the beans.

“What about it?” you asked, trying to keep your voice even.

“I thought he was bull shitting at first because he wouldn’t tell me who it was. But then he started going into a gross amount of detail and I knew he wasn’t lying.” You let out a sigh of relief, which Kageyama misread. “I’m sorry that was probably weird to share.”

You shook your head. “Not at all. Why does it bother you so much, though?”

Kageyama blushed a little. “Well, it’s kinda of embarrassing, but Hinata and I compete about everything. He’s hooked up with 4 girls this year and I’ve only 3. I guess it’s kinda fucked up to compete over that.” No more fucked up then your own competition, you thought.

“Not at all,” you assured him, “Friends do shit like that all the time. I’m sure those girls would have hooked up with you both either way.” In your case with Hinata, you knew it was true. They were nice, good looking guys, who wouldn't want to? “Why don’t you tell Hinata you hooked up with someone else.”

“Lying would be so lame. If he realized, I’d never live it down,” Kageyama replied.

“Who said you had to lie?”

Kageyama’s brows furrowed then raised when he realized what you mean. “Are you saying...”

“I’m saying, we hook up and then you can tell Hinata you’re back to being tied without lying,” you finished for him. “We don’t have to tell anyone either. Hinata not telling you is the perfect excuse to not tell him. He won’t have to know it was a favor.”

“Seriously? Are you sure y/n? I didn’t tell you to make you feel like you had to,” Kageyama replied. He was trying to be polite but you could tell the wheels were already spinning in his head.

“I’m sure. I’d do it even if it wasn’t for a favor.” Kageyama blushed.

“Thank you so much.” No, thank you, you thought.

And so a few days later you found yourself in Kageyama’s dorm, sitting on his lap with your back pressed to his front. An interesting request, but you didn’t deny it. And now you were very glad you didn’t

“Fuck Kageya- oh,” your voice was a strangled moan as he played with your pussy. His calloused fingers moved expertly over your most sensitive spots. You felt almost like his opponent. You could tell he was observing you closely, noting every spot that made you tick. The whines that escaped your lips meant he found the perfect pressure to rub your aching clit. Your hips bucking showed him the sweet spot inside you that drove you crazy.

“You like that?” it was more of a statement than a question, really. He knew you loved it. All you could do was nod. Kageyama had both of his arms wrapped around you from behind. His middle two fingers on one hand plunged into your pussy, pressing your g spot. The other hand rolling your clit, driving you crazy.

If it didn’t feel so good, you’d almost be embarrassed at how fast you came. Kageyama felt it immediately, letting you fuck yourself on his fingers. You ground against him, his erection pressing into your ass. It made you both desperate for more.

“Need you,” you gasped, reaching back to give him a squeeze through his pants. Kageyama groaned deliciously before pulling his sweats down just enough to free himself. He was riding high from just making you cum and couldn’t wait to feel your walls squeezing him. After he rolled the condom on, he angled your hips back so he could slide in.

“Fuck,” he hissed. Even better than he imagined. You couldn’t help but immediately start rolling your hips. Kageyama sat back a moment, watching you fuck yourself on his cock. He squeezed your hips and ass, keeping your rhythm steady as you rocked your hips.

He spread your ass a little, a gasp escaping your lips as you feel him spit on you. You did not expect that from Kageyama. His thumb circled the tight rim of your ass before pressing inside.

You cried out something incoherent as the pleasure you felt heightened. Each roll of your hips felt extra intense, now that he occupied both holes. As if that wasn’t enough, Kageyama reached forward to toy with your clit again. Your body surged with pleasure as you squeezed around his cock and thumb. Even as your orgasm hit, the pleasure didn’t subside. If anything it was build and -

“Oh god,” you whine as a gush of release left you. The composure Kageyama had been holding crumbled at the sight. He groaned, burying his face in your neck as he came. Even lost in his own pleasure, he never faltered, letting you ride out your high completely. You didn’t move from his lap when you finished, not trusting your legs to hold you. “Holy shit Kageyama,” was all you could manage.

“Was that good?” This time the question sounded genuine. You almost laughed, as it sounded like how he asked the spikers if they liked his set.

“Very good.”

Two to go.

You debated saying fuck the whole competition and going back to Kageyama for seconds. It wasn’t against the rules, technically, but your competitive spirit kept you from straying from the goal. Besides you really wanted that $500. Still, you hadn’t pursued either Sugawara or Daichi yet, knowing you’d have to be careful with them. They weren't as easily... won over as the others. Little did you know, Sugawara had his sights set on you,

“Hey, y/n, need any help?” he asked. You were in the team’s storage room, taking account of all the equipment. It was part of your job to make sure everything was in good shape and put in orders for more as needed. Normally, your friend and co-manager helped you with the task, but she was sick, leaving it to you.

“That would be great, if you don’t mind,” you replied. Sugawara joined in organizing and taking stock of everything. The two of you chatted easily as you worked. Sugawara was one of your favorite players on the team. He was incredible kind and you appreciated his sense of humor.

“Hey, y/n, have you ever had like a bucket list? Or something like that?” Sugawara asked.

“Sure there’s a list of things I’d like to do,” you replied. “Why do you ask?”

“Well... I’ve always thought it would be fun to hook up with someone in the team room. I guess that makes me a stereotypical jock, huh?”

You laughed. “Oh? So did you only offer to help in hopes of getting laid?”

“No I swear, I didn’t,” he laughed, “But this does look pretty bad now.”

“It’s all good,” you replied, “I’d be happy to help.” If only he knew how much he was help you.

Suga smiled. “I promise I’ll make it worth it.” He pressed you agains the wall, gently, and kissed you. You welcomed his soft, warm lips. His kiss was sweet and soft, but there was a hunger behind it that made your stomach flip. The next thing you knew, Suga was on his knees.

“Can I?” his warm, brow eyes looking up at you pleadingly. You nodded and he hooked his fingers into your leggings sliding them off you. Suga put one leg over his shoulder, placing a soft kisses on your inner thigh. Once he’d teased you enough, he went for your pussy. He had a gentler approach, almost like making out with your cunt, but it still drove you wild.

“Suga,” you let out a content sigh. Your hands tangled in his hair, pushing him further into you. Suga hummed approvingly, loving the pretty noises you made. Your leg went weak as Suga sucked on your clit, but his grip kept your firmly upright.

“Cum for me, pretty,” Suga murmured. With the flick of his tongue you did just that. Breathless moans fell from your lips as a warm surge of pleasure filled you. The second you finished you were pulling Suga up to kiss. You tasted yourself on his lips, kissing him deeply. Your hands went to his shorts, pulling at them. Suga chuckled at you. “Lemme.”

He pulled a condom out of his pocket before slipping his cock out. You hugged him tightly as he pushed into you. Suga rocked into you slowly at first. You kissed his neck, murmuring how good it felt. Suga hooked his hand under your knee, pressing it up so he can get deeper. The angle urged a moan from you that made his cock ache. “Feel good?”

“Yes,” you gasped into his neck. You dug your nails into him as you reached the limits of your sensitivity. He continued as he felt your pussy tightening around him. He was panting and moaning in your ear, a sound you could only describe as pretty.

“That’s it let go for me,” he urged. You couldn't help but comply, your body going slack as your second orgasm washed over you. Sugawara sounded even prettier when he was cumming. His hips stuttered as he released, holding you close. You held each other as you caught your breath.

“This will stay between us, right?” you asked.

Suga smiled. “It will be our little secret.”

Just one left.

It was spring break and the end of the school year was on the horizon. You had a lot of big assignments due at the end of the year, opting to stay on campus to get them done. You found out Daichi was doing the same, leaving him alone at the team house for a week. You knew this was probably your only shot.

You offered to work with him so he wouldn’t be alone at the house, which he happily accepted. You spent the days being each others moral support getting through your tough assignments and insuring the other person took breaks. It did help a lot, Daichi was good at keeping you on task and you were good at helping him not over stress himself. It was the last night of break and you both finally finished your assignments. The relief was palpable, but so was the tension. You got the sense that Daichi was flirting with you at times, but he was hard to read. You were anxious to finally finish your other assignment. You knew if it didn’t happen now, it probably wouldn’t at all.

“So how should we celebrate?” you asked. You were sitting on this counter, swinging your legs idly.

Daichi looked at you, catching something suggestive in your voice. “Sounds like you have an idea.” He held your gaze in a way that felt like an invitation.

“Well, I have been thinking about something...” you trailed off, smirking a little.

Daichi stepped closer to you. “Oh? And what is that?”

You leaned forward slightly, which drew Daichi closer to you. “Might be easier to show you.”

“I hope you do.” He was standing between your leg then. There was only another beat of tense silence before you pulled him in. He gripped your hips, kissing you deeply. You wrapped your arms around his neck, letting Daichi control the kiss. “Wrap your legs around me.” When you did, Daichi lifted you off the counter.

He carried you to the bedroom, placing you gently on the bed. You continued to kiss as clothing came off. Daichi slipped his fingers between your legs, sliding them into your pussy. He pumped them into you, stretching your pussy and making it slick. “You want more?” he asked against your lips.

You nodded and he pulled a condom out of his bedside table. He put it on positioned himself between your legs. Daichi was really thick, maybe thicker than Asahi. Even with him fingering you, it was a stretch. “Fuck you’re tight,” he groaned as he bottomed out. He kissed and sucked your tits as he snapped his hips against yours. Once you got used to it, the stretch felt good. Your hips bucked up to meet his, pressing him deeper inside you

“S’big,” you whimpered. Daichi pressed on your lower stomach, heightening the sensation of him inside you. His thumb went down to your clit, rubbing circles over it. Your back arched of the bed as a surge of pleasure seized you. Not just pleasure, pleasure and triumph. Your orgasm was heightened with the satisfaction of winning the bet.

Daichi fucked you through your orgasm until his own took him over. He groaned into your, slowing his thrusts to enjoy every last moment. He pulled out when you both finished, rolling over on the bed next to you. “Well I am significantly less stressed now.”

You laughed. “Same.” He had not idea how much stress he just took off your plate. “Would it be okay if we didn’t tell anyone, though? The guys on the team are kinda immature. If they found out...” You let him fill in the blanks of his teammates finding out he hooked up with the manager. He absolutely did not want that mess to happen.

“Absolutely. It stays between us.”

Success.

A few days later you sat with your friend in your dorm filling her in and counting your cash. “I still can’t believe you did it.”

“I know, honestly I’m impressed with myself.”

“Okay but I have to know, how did they do?” You friend has asked you for details along the way, but you insisted on saving it for the end.

“Let me preface this by saying they were all good, and I would hook up with any of them again,” you stated. You explained that Yams was last, mostly just because of his inexperience. You would, however, not mind being with him again one on one and really rocking his world.

“You’re gonna scare the poor guy,” your friend commented.

You grinned, “I think he’d like it. Anyways...” In a surprising turn of events, Daichi was next.

“No way.”

“Yeah I mean it wasn’t bad, but he needs to do more foreplay,” you explained.

“Fair enough.”

Next way Asahi, another surprisingly low 3rd year. You explained that he lost points for cumming quick, but the way he whimpered and moaned was hot so you couldn’t be that mad about it. Next came Tsuki, who you wished could be lower, but alas it was good.

“And his dick was really big. Like the biggest on the team.”

Your friend laughed. “No wonder he’s so cocky.”

Tanaka was next. A solid fuck, no complaints.

“He is super into boobs.”

Your friend rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I think anyone who’s ever met him coulda told you that.”

Next was Suga. “He’s just like... so sweet dude. It was almost kinda romantic.”

“You really need to go on more real dates if you think fucking in the team storage closet is romantic.”

You laughed, “I swear it was! He was best of the third years by far.”

Next was Hinata. “You did WHAT in the gym?” your friend questioned.

“Yeah, I know, I know. Kinda crazy.”

“Very crazy. But please go on.”

“Unsurprisingly, he had tons of energy. But I was surprised by how good he was. I should’ve known better than to underestimate him.”

Next was Nishinoya. “He was so good. And so eager. I just know he’d be super fun in bed the more you get with him.”

“You sure it’s not your crush talking?”

“Shut up. This is all totally objective scientific work.”

“Wait... so does that mean... Kageyama?”

“Yes!” You told her about how he took you by surprise. That he was amazing with his hands and knew exactly how to work you up. And that he made you squirt.

“No fucking way.”

“Believe me, I was shocked too.”

You spent the rest of the night gossiping over the experiences and who you wanted to have a round 2 with.

A/n: this was kinda a convoluted idea and I didn’t really know how to end its lmao. But hope you enjoyed tysm for reading<3

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qwimblenorrisstan · 6 months ago

Text

Glimmering Shadows | Azriel x Reader

Summary: While visiting Spring Court on political business with Rhys, Azriel meets you, a Faerie with little glimmering sparks that help you in the same way his shadows help him, and he decides that visiting you a few more times afterwards couldn’t hurt.

Word Count: ~ 1.8k

Warnings: None!

A/N: This was so cute to write, hope you enjoy<3

Requests are open!

Masterlist | Next

It had been an ordinary visit to Spring Court, Rhysand arriving with only Azriel flanking his right side. Cassian was off in Windhaven, probably about to bite Devlon’s head off, per usual.

Spring Court had shaped up since Tamlin had gotten himself together. The Court was working better now, still recovering from the war like many were, but after a few changes and adjustments to the system and ruling, the citizens seemed happier, the land and economy thriving, and most of the houses were put back together from the previous damage. Azriel’s shadows surveyed the area around them while Rhys walked to Tamlin’s manor, it also being freshly restored it seemed.

They entered, a slightly tense welcoming from the Fae at the door, before walking in, only to meet Tamlin, seeming unhappy as ever to see the High Lord of Night, gesture them to follow and led them into his office. The house was made primarily of wood and vines, with delicate colored windows that, when the sun hit them, portrayed wonderful patterns of flowers and vines shining onto the floor.

The office had a few windows open that were quickly shut by vines, those of which moved on their own, it seemed. The desk was made of what looked to be expensive wood in a deep chestnut color, bookshelves coating the wall to the left, a large map of Prythian on the right, and underneath it a map of Spring Court in personal detail. Tamlin was freshly shaven, his blond hair silky and shimmering as it flowed down, his green eyes clear, clothes ironed and expensive as any other ruler’s.

Try as he might, the son of Spring could never acquire the same casual power as Rhysand. Azriel knew that for sure.

That was when he felt it. A small feeling of something flickering, and going out, before a shadow slithered back up to him, seeming agitated. Tamlin noticed, eyes narrowing.

“I’d rather our discussion stay private.”

His voice, carefully neutral to Rhys, said. A pair of violet eyes glanced back at the shadowsinger, before Rhys gave a casual shrug, and Azriel, knowing what that meant, promptly left the room and began wandering the manor. He felt it again. More flickering, then the shadows returned to him despite his repeated attempts to make them go back out. They were agitated, but wouldn’t tell him what was wrong, it made him wonder what it could be.

Nothing around the manor seemed to be causing it, though the bugs that made his skin itch were annoying. He huffed, exiting the manor, only for his mind to promptly be told something.

‘Don’t go too far. Wouldn’t want Tamlin thinking you’re spying on his precious bug-infested land.’

The smug voice of his High Lord rang out in his mind, before retreating as quickly as it had come. A few of the servants, mostly lesser Fae, glanced at him as he passed. Some with wonder, some with fear. However, the closer he got to the area where all his shadows that had been had gone out, he found one female who only looked at him with amused curiosity.

It was a bit far into the woods, trees in hues of deep amethyst purple and a light shimmering pink hanging down like a curtain, he pushed them aside, met with an area with long grass and blooming flowers, and you, the female sitting on the somehow-not-rotting fallen tree that was hollowed out, holding the tiniest little bunny he’d ever seen.

As soon as he’d caught sight of you, the bunny had hopped off, his attention now directly on you. There were tiny little sparks around you, but when he looked closer it seemed more like globs of see-through glitter, like a toddler’s art project come to life through the shimmering pieces of what he could’ve imagined as pixie dust surrounding you. Not to mention the wings, nothing like his own, yours being thin and delicate, shaped like a butterfly’s, with a rich hue of translucent colors. A rare species of Spring Court faeries had such wings, most choosing to hide them from sight, as you promptly did when seeing him, the delicate appendages slowly fading from view.

He’d been staring.

“Who are you?”

He asked with a mild frown, you raised a brow, an amused smile on your face. The gesture sent an odd aching feeling in his chest flaring up that he tried to shove down.

“I’m guessing you’re the one who’s been sending all those shadows?”

You asked, completely ignoring his question. He sighed through his nose.

“You’re the one that's been putting them out?”

He asked with a knowing tone, shadows darting out from him to meet your little tiny pixie pieces, both warring against each other as they intertwined, some shadows sending the glittery things back to you, some of your sparks sending his dark, shadowy creatures back to him. It was almost as if they were playing.

“That would be me, yes. What’s your name, … shadowy figure?”

You asked, and he then realized that he was cloaked in the shadows that had returned to him, making him look like a splotchy black figure in this Court’s bright light. No wonder the servants had been giving him weird looks.

“Azriel. And yours, pixie-dust?”

You giggled a bit at the name, finding it amusing. He found it odd how much he liked hearing and making you laugh.

“Y/N. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Azriel.”

You said with a small smile, offering a hand to shake in greeting. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had offered him a hand besides maybe Elain, and even she’d been scared of him at first. He took your hand, suddenly feeling self-conscious about the scarring that coated his calloused hands, compared to your soft, gentle ones.

“A..pleasure to meet you as well.”

He replied, cautiously watching you, the way you held yourself. A hint of recognition entered your gaze as you examined him further.

“Oh! You’re that Spymaster, aren’t you? Night Court?”

You then asked, and he internally cringed at the fact that the only reason you knew him was because of his occupation that involved slaughtering and torturing people, not to mention spying.

“Yes..”

Before he could even finish his sentence, you continued talking. You were very talkative and friendly. It was almost overwhelming, but he found that he liked it, surprisingly.

“That’s what those shadows are for, like little spies, I’m guessing? My little pixies work the same way, they just run around and help me with things, it’s honestly —“

He stood there, listening to you talk before he was pulled to sit down by his shadows next to you on the log. He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, listening to you rattle on and on first about your nieces then your one nephew who would always sneak out of his crib, or your mom who still treated you like you were a little girl despite you being at least a few centuries old….

‘Someone’s lovesick~’

A certain High Lord’s voice in his head called out, and though Azriel wanted to deny it, he knew better.

He was an absolute goner.

*********************************************************

He’d been looking for any excuse to see you, honestly. Even lying straight to Cassian’s face about why he’d missed training. The truth? He’d been flying to Spring Court, visiting you.

It had become a real problem, honestly, how distracted he was because of you. Even on missions he couldn’t stop thinking of your smile, how he loved listening to you speak about things you loved, like the flowers and flora of your homeland, or the way you’d showed him your delicate little wings after his first few times visiting you. A few months passed, and his little crush hadn’t gone yet, in fact, it had blossomed into something much more than a crush, and the others were starting to notice.

“What’s got you so distracted lately, Az?”

Cassian’s confused but intrigued voice rang out from in front of him where they sparred, iron clanging against iron, bodies moving in a dance of death they’d practiced too many times before.

“Nothing.”

He said simply, shaking his head. Cassian only laughed, a sound that only reminded him of you, and your —

And then he was on the floor, Cassian’s sword at his throat as he grinned triumphantly.

“What’s her name?”

His annoying brother asked in a teasing and knowing tone, Azriel only huffed, getting back up and dusting his leathers off.

It wasn’t anything serious, he told himself.

Even when he found himself flying hundreds of miles to go see you again that very same night, he found you on the windowsill of your house, watching the sky with a sleepy smile. He landed silently, walking closer to you and stepping on a twig on purpose, so he wouldn’t frighten you. Your gaze snapped over to him, and you beamed, getting off of your windowsill in a smooth motion to pull him into a warm hug, a gesture he always melted into.

“Do your wings not get sore from all that flying?”

You asked him, separating only enough to look at him. He smiled, barely, but any sort of smile from him was enough to make you happy.

“It’s worth it, for you.”

He replied before his lips curled into a more genuine grin.

“Though maybe you should come visit sometime.”

He suggested, tone joking but also with a hint of actual meaning. He’d talked about his home, Night Court, to you before, and tried getting you to come visit it or even just let him fly you over it, but you’d always denied it.

“What would I tell my family? They wouldn’t support me with you, and-“

That was when it happened, when your eyes met, his pleading, yours empathetic, when it snapped right into place. Everything was warm despite the cold chill of the night, and the breeze as it blew past. Both of your eyes widened, the only sounds being that of the leaves rustling for a few moments, but you both knew what had happened.

Before you could get a word out, his lips were against yours, yours against his, both savoring the feeling of finally crossing that final bridge and letting each other feel. Your little pixies danced with his shadows that night, in harmony for one moment, despite being the opposite of each other.

When you finally separated, he smiled, full this time of warmth and happiness.

“Does this mean you can come visit now?”

He asked, and you only laughed despite the tears in your eyes, and the ones in his, and pulled him closer into another kiss.

He’d be lucky if you ever weren’t visiting now.

Tags:

@hqmsby

Part 2

#acotar fandom #acotar fanfiction #writers on tumblr #acotar x reader #azriel acotar #azriel #azriel x reader #acotar fluff #azriel fluff

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johnbrand · 7 months ago

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Yusuf Says

When Raymond and I had decided to pause take a break so I could reorganize my life a bit, I had thought that him moving in with his coworker Yusuf was a smart play. My lovable white twink of a partner had nothing in common with the brutish Arab whose scattered English revolved around soccer scores and picking up girls. Raymond and I had even lightheartedly joked that he would pick up a thing or two from Yusuf by the time he came back, somehow be influenced by the overwhelming persona. I would have never expected for that comment to become more than just something to laugh about.

Three months, that was how long we had planned for our separation to be. I had so much on my plate with work and family that I needed time alone to figure everything out. Yusuf had been more than welcoming to Raymond, poking fun at the fact that the two would become “closer than boyfriends” by the time my lover returned back to me. He had even promised to take him out on “dates”, taking over my role as I got knocked back like a divorced dad who only got to see his son on weekends. It was hard, but Raymond and I both knew it was for the best.

The first time I got to visit Raymond at Yusuf’s apartment, I was greeted by the immediate blast of pure masculine stench at the door. It was a combination of used gym clothes, foul-smelling shoes, and strong body odor all fruitlessly covered up with some cheap body spray. I commented on it immediately after hugging my boyfriend, although he noted he did not smell anything. “Yusuf says men should show off their body odor,” Raymond shrugged. “Men should stink and let their pheromones flow naturally.”

This “Yusuf says” statement became a recurring phrase in all of our conversations. Whenever I brought something new up, Raymond would respond with what Yusuf had to say about it. “Yusuf says that men should be muscular, helps us secure our place in society,” “Yusuf says men should spend more time worrying about sports than literature, as it helps relate better to other men.” I should have been worried by my boyfriend’s newfound obsession with Yusuf, but I knew the Arab was not his type. Raymond liked guys that looked like me: hairless, a little twunky, but just barely large enough to make it evident who was topping.

Over the first month, I did not notice many changes about Raymond, but some things did point themselves out as odd. The first time I discovered body hair on my boyfriend I was shocked. “What?” Raymond had asked innocently. “Yusuf says that growing out your hair is natural, it displays masculinity.” I had had no comment to that, surveying the black fur that had begun to coat my boyfriend’s arms, legs, and chest. I had not even known Raymond's body hair was black, as he was a natural blond.

It was not long until the muscles came too, although I knew that had been coming from the get-go. Yusuf had promised to take him to the gym frequently, and the results were beginning to show–just faster than I had expected. Structured biceps, rippling abs, thick thighs. But eventually when I had met Raymond at the door and his eyeline was above mine, that was when I had started to ask questions. “Yusuf says a grand height is expected of men.” He then swaggered over to the couch, opening up his longer legs before stating “Yusuf says men need to be above 187 centimeters.”

I had not known Raymond easily understood the metric code (as most Americans did not), but I quickly learned there was a lot that I did not know about my boyfriend. When I had tried to gift Raymond new shoes, I had been scolded that they were too small for his big, meaty EU Size 46 feet. When I had politely advised him to be more vigilant about sunscreen, he had rebuked that his olive tan skin was natural. And at one point, I had even accidentally referred to him by the wrong name. “It’s Rahim,” he corrected, his response deep and accented. Of course, all of these responses were followed by some iteration of “...that’s what Yusuf says.”

Finally, the three months came to an end, but by that point it was obvious that Rahim and I’s relationship had too. Rahim wanted to live with someone more masculine, more alpha, more like him. “More Yusuf,” Rahim had dumbly concluded, scratching at his thick, black beard. I could only sigh with disappointment, trying my best not to bone up over the half-naked, manspreading Arab god displaying his glory before me.

I should have known nothing would have ever happened between Rahim and I. As Yusuf had said through Rahim, “Real men like to conquer pussy and continue the traditions that have protected them for so long.” If the state of affairs in the apartment had not been enough of a clue, then Rahim’s constant back-and-forth pit-scratching and finger-sniffing should have been enough to cement his heterosexuality. Bummed, I stood up to leave, but Rahim quickly protested.

“Where you going, bro?” he asked.

“Home,” I replied, lifeless. “We have nothing in common.”

Rahim frowned, “But we do! Are you not a man?”

I paused, watching as Rahim got up and lifted his arm over my head. My eyes widened in fear as I was brought into a damp, musky pit.

“After all, Yusuf says men should show off their body odor.”

#gay to straight #male tf #male transformation #jock tf #dumbification #arabization #unintended results

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im-totally-not-an-alien-2 · 2 years ago

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First break in:

Alfred watched with raised eyebrows as Alfred the cat trotted in through a side door. Usually this would be nothing worthy of note, but the fact his fuzzy namesake had another much bigger kitty trailing after him had the butler a bit flummoxed.

He didn't know if the boy was a meta, alien or some supernatural equivalent, but the cat ears on the boys head swiveled around enough as he surveyed the room for Alfred to know they were the real deal. He watched as the boy locked eyes with him. The stared own only lasted a few seconds before the boy dismissed him being a threat and followed the cat further into a manor the child had no business being in.

The audacity.

Bruce would probably adopt this one too if he could. In the meantime he got to work making some cookies and milk for thier guest. Waking up in the batcave should teach the little scoundrel a lesson or two. Even though he wouldn't be harmed the scare might set him straight.

Alfred found the boy in the library, laying in the sunlight atop one of the grand bookcases. Alfred the cat laying next to him as they both purred with contentment.

The butler let the smell of his prize winning cookies waft into the room they were in. The intruder lifted his head to crane his neck in thier direction, but instead of looking hungry or eager, he looked suspicious. As if he figured the cookies were drugged.

That changed things.

The day progressed as usual but the boy never took a cookie. Eventually Alfred found the catboy gone and his namesake curled up in Master Damians lap. Master Tim was inspecting the long black cat hairs left all over one of the benches. How dare.

---

Lmao, Catboy Danny and Alfred the cat are besties while Catboy Danny and Alfred the human are semi-foes.

---

Second break in:

Damian did not foresee his day going like this. To be fair, who could have guessed a catboy meta would break into the manor, dodge his weaponry with practiced ease, and then ask for his help/advice on kitty ear care.

Nor did he expect Drake to walk in on him cleaning the catboys ear so he could apply the medicine for the infection properly. Tim took a picture of them before running off.

He supposed this did look a bit strange considering the boys head was laying on one of his thighs for him to get comfortable access to the ear. Alfred the cat was kneeding his other thigh with his paws and both were purring loudly.

This days events were unexpected but pleasant nonetheless.

#dp x dc #fanfiction prompts #prompts #danny fenton #catboy danny au #danny phantom #tim drake #damian wayne #danny repeatedly breaks into wayne manor au #i can probably come up with more

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helplesslypurple77 · 3 months ago

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Day 11-Missionary-Kurapika/Reader

Notes: ok so this one is also gonna be a bit shorter because I decided to add some honeycomb smocking to my Kurapika cosplay and i WAY overestimated how long that would take lol.

Anyway, enjoy!

.....

Kurapika follows his new client down the hallway of a large house, feet loud on the hardwood floor. Two sets of footsteps echo in the hallway, bouncing off the high ceilings and the paintings lining the walls. The house is gigantic, it had taken his new Boss ten minutes of relative silence to lead Kurapika through the maze of courtyards and hallways and dining rooms. Mostly empty rooms, occupied only with maids and butlers of various ranks. They eye Kurapika with curiosity as they pass by. There are no bodyguards on the premises.

Interesting, considering that was Kurapika’s new job. The Boss must be very sure of his own abilities. Mafia leaders frequently are. Still, this man seems to be different. More quietly threatening than the blustering threats and red faces of the men he was used to.

“You're aware of your duties?” The Boss says, tossing the words carelessly over his shoulder as he turns the corner into yet another hallway. The are white with pink and black stripes running up and down a startling in comparison to the beige and white ones Kurapika had just walked through.

“I will be your bodyguard, correct?” Kurapika responds, blinking his eyes to adjust to the violently pink and black walls. What a color change.

“Almost.” The man in front of him says, arms folded across his chest.

“I'm sorry?” Kurapika questions. The job posting definitely said that was what the opening was for. The lady at the job office had even commented on it, calling it a rare posting. “I was sure tha—”

“I intentionally misled you, and I apologize.” The Boss laughs, as a maid dressed in a baby pink maid uniform walks by, smiling brightly at the two of them. Kurapika blinks. All the other servants had been dressed in simple black pants and vests, regardless of gender. Two more maids walk by, one dressed in black and the other in white. They match the walls.

“Mislead me?” Kurapika questions, wondering if he's being led to his death.

“For safety reasons.” The Boss says, dodging yet another maid, this one running down the hall at breakneck speed, her bubbly pink maid dress bouncing brightly. She speeds past him and Kurapika gets a quick lungful of expensive perfume and baked goods. These maids are clearly very different from the ones in the rest of the house, what is going on here.

At the end of the hallway is a single door, painted pink, with designs of little black hearts scattered haphazardly all across it. The rest of the doors in the hallway were white. They come to a stop before it, and the boss tosses a small smile over his shoulder.

“Straighten your shoulders. You don't want to make a bad first impression.” He laughs, tapping quietly at the door. “Your job depends on it.”

Kurapika adjusts his posture, mind running at light speed to figure out what the hell is going on here. He dusts off the lapels of his black suit, hiding the chains that adorn his right hand. It's better to hide them.

The door opens a crack and a stern looking woman peeks out, surveying their small group.

“Hey Rosanne, the new bodyguard is here.” The boss says. Rosanne opens the door wider, eyeing him up and down through a small pair of thick rimmed glasses. She's probably middle aged, with dark black hair pulled into a tight bun. Her dress is different from the other maids. She must be a head maid of sorts.

“Do you really think this is wise?” Rosanne says, not even bothering to speak to him. Kurapika frowns slightly, standing still a few feet behind his Boss.

Kurapikas ears perk up. Who’s she? The boss just chuckles.

“Worth it to try, Rosanne.” He says, clapping Kurapika roughly on the shoulders. “I wish you luck.”

“Thank you sir,” Kurapika says, watching as the boss departs down the hallway, dodging around busy maid after busy maid. There are no male employees in this area of the building. Kurapika doesn't think he’s seen one since the butlers in the main entrance. Maybe that's a bad sign.

“This way.” Rosanne says, opening the door wider, tapping one black heeled foot. Kurapika steps through the door, trying not to wince as she slams it behind him.

“May I ask where we are going?” Kurapika asks as they start down another long hallway, the walls still black, white and baby pink stripped.

“No.” Rosanne says, marching down the hallway. Kurapika sighs as they turn the corner into yet another hallway. The few maids that pass Kurapika eye him curiously, whispering to each other as they pass by. Kurapika feels a bit like a exotic pet, being viewed curiously from all sides by curious maids. At least these ones aren't as obviously hostile as the woman marching in front of him.

Finally, Rosanne stops before another pink and black door. She leans forward, knocking twice.

“Young miss, I'm here with the new bodyguard.” She says, leaning her head against the door.

Kurapika stands a few feet behind her. Young miss. She must be speaking of the Boss’s wife. A small silence echoes in the hallway, and then someone speaks.

“Send them in, Rosanne.” A voice says from behind the door. Rosanne pulls away, laying a hand on the door. She eyes him up and down, her blue eyes piercing into the depths of his soul. And then she opens the door.

The first thing Kurapika sees is a large bed, shrouded almost completely by thin lace curtains that fall from the ceiling. Someone is sitting on the bed, one leg over the other on the edge white and pink duvet. The walls are baby pink and white, the vanity in one corner of the room is pink, and laden with pots and sprays of various shapes and sizes. Kurapika can see himself in the large floor length mirror opposite him. He stands out in the sea of pink and white, a lone figure dressed in black.

“Oh, a girl!” The figure says, and Kurapikas are drawn back to the figure on the bed as you jump down, sock covered feet hitting the white carpeted floor without a sound. The white floaty dress you wear dances around your thighs, just touching the skin a few inches above the top of your knee. You tilt your head, hair tumbling from your white headband around your shoulders.

“How new! Take your shoes off, ok?”

Kurapika shakes himself out of his pink induced daze and nods, slipping off his black dress shoes and stepping forward onto the white carpet. It's soft beneath his feet as he moves towards you, extending his hand when he arrives before you.

“I'm the new bodyguard your father—”

“Oh, you're a boy?” You question, taking his offered hand a firm shake. Your hands are warm. “And I know why you're here.”

“Oh,” Kurapika says, a bit off his game. You smile, a pretty face glowing under the soft white light of your overhead chandelier. You can't be the boss’s wife. You can't be much older than him.

“You can sit there.” You say, letting go of his hand and gesturing at a single pink chair, sitting awkwardly in the middle of your carpet. It's the same shade of pink as the vanity in the corner.

Kurapika shakes himself out of his confused pretty girl pink induced coma, and follows your instructions, sitting upright on the white lace cushion sitting on the chair. You smile, hopping back up on the edge of your bed with a smile.

“Well then,” You say, crossing one leg over the other. “Let's get to know each other.”

✶✶✶

Kurapika settles into his job quickly. It's pretty easy, all he has to do is accompany you wherever you go, occasionally stepping in to deal with weirdos who follow you home or assassins contracted by your fathers enemies. They're never really that powerful, and he's always able to dispatch them quickly enough. The maids are sweet to him, always ready to clean blood out of his suits or occasionally help him dispose of a body or even a living person. Even Rosanne doesn't regard him with outright disgust now, only a face of apathy.

But very soon, a problem is starting to become apparent. You. It's not like you're difficult to work with. Far from it actually. You're quite normal and sweet for the daughter of a major criminal, and always ready to give him days off or presents or thanks for his hard work. Actually, you're too nice. Too sweet. Too pretty. Kurapika might be developing a bit of a crush on you.

He noticed it one night when he had finished mopping up a batch of assassins that had targeted you. You had been so pleased you yanked him around, pulling him into a tight hug. You smelled of flowery perfume and sweet sugar candies, and Kurapika could feel the press of your boobs against his chest, and you whispered in his ear a thank you and his heart was beating too fast when you pulled away. He had assumed it was a one time thing. You were a pretty girl, it was only natural that he would be a little embarrassed if you hugged him like that.

And then he started noticing details about you.

Your smile, your laugh, the low cut tops of some of your dresses.

How kind and generous you were to your employees. How all your maids loved you, loved working you and often gushed in the employee only areas about how sweet and cute you were. How welcoming you were to him as a newcomer, how you often invited him to just hang out with you and watch some show, or worried for his safety after a fight.

So maybe he had a problem. It was not right to have a crush on someone you were employed to protect. Worse yet were the beats of lust he felt when he saw too much of the skin shown by those little nightgowns you favored. Kurapika shoves down the images that rise as he thinks about those stupid nightgowns, looking around the empty hallways surreptitiously for any maids that might have stayed behind.

But thankfully he was the only person in the long hallway. Kurapika sinks against the floor with a sigh, body folding down the striped walls with exhaustion. Thank god all the maids are away for a training session. Even Rosanne is gone, visiting family for her younger sister's wedding. You offered him a day off as well, but he had refused it, a bit too worried to leave you alone. Admittedly, he was a bit of a simp, but the worry he felt for you also doubled as part of his job, or so he could justify to himself.

Kurapika had done bodyguard work before. But never solo. He was the only bodyguard employed at the whole estate. When he had asked, you had told him that the main estate maids were just as good. And that your father was very powerful. Not like you needed to tell him. He knew. Everyone did.

He had asked you softly why he was employed there, and only a single bodyguard at that. You had informed him with a giggle that your father was a worrywart. That he worried about yucky men stealing his daughter away in the middle of the night. Kurapika couldn't blame him. He would steal you away if he could.

Kurapika stands up abruptly, smacking the stray thought out of his head with a sigh. What the actual hell kind of thoughts is he giving himself permission to repeat. Hurriedly, he sets off on his patrol of the empty hallway. There's nothing better to do anyway. You had shooed him from your room, your head tilted down and your ears red. You must have something important to do.

Kurapika reaches the end of the hallway, opening the door silently and looking up and down the white corridor that marks the rest of the estate from your quarters, and then starts back down the hallway towards the forbidden lacy depths of your room.

As he nears, he notices something odd. The door to your room is cracked open, a thin sliver of white light pouring over the hardwood flooring. Kurapika stills, straining his ears into the silence of the corridor. You always close your door. You like your privacy.

All he hears at first is silence. Not a sound leaks from your room and into the corridor with the light. Kurapika moves forward on silent feet.

Dread builds in his heart. There is a window in your room. What if someone had creeped into your bedroom through the small window and made off with you in your pink lacy nightgown and white bedroom slippers. Kurapika shudders. He cant feel any nen, but a skilled nen user could easily conceal their presence, not alerting him that anything was wrong at all. He avoids any noise, moving silently on his toes, concealing his presence as he steps towards the cracked door, avoiding the light leaking out of the room.

And then he hears it. A soft little sound that fills his heart with fear. A whimper.

Kurapika moves fast, opening the door with a slam, chains already flying around him. It takes him a minute to realize what's happening. You're safe, ok and lying on your bed, the lavender light of your mood lights slanting your body with lowlight. Your head rests on your pillow, your eyes closed. Your mouth parts in another whimper, and Kurapika frowns. You dont look like you're in pain. He scans your body carefully checking for injuries.

Your still in the nightgown he left you in, and Kurapika gulps as his eyes scan past the mounds of your boobs, down your abdomen to where the hem is rucked up above your hips, so that your hands can reach—

Kurapika coughs, finally realizing what the hell is going on as his cheeks flush with mortification, blood running between his cheeks and ears, and down south.

Your eyes open, and you sit up abruptly as you spot him. Your hand leaves its spot between your legs and you avoid his eyes, flushed a pretty pink. Your hair is mussed, tousled by the tossing and turning you had been doing on your pillows. You cross one leg over the other, shifting slightly. You aren't wearing any panties. Kurapika feels himself swell to life, rubbing painfully against the slacks of his work suite. He hopes you won't notice.

“I apologize name,” Kurapika gets out, clearing his throat hastily as he continues. “I heard—I mean I thought you were—I um…”

He trails off, and the room sinks into uncomfortable silence permeated by a slight tension. He turns away, staring resolutely at your cluttered vanity, praying his arousal will go down.

You cough.

“Kurapika?” You question tentatively, voice sounding a bit flustered. Kurapika jerks his head towards you again, fearing the worst.

“Yes?” He asks, perhaps a bit too eagerly. Your eyes are looking at him. Kurapika watches in horror as they sink down, taking in the probably obvious arousal pressing against his work pants, begging to be freed. He winces.

“I'm sorry.” He says. The silence seems to last forever, but it probably only lasts for a couple seconds before you speak.

“Do you know much about it?” You say tentatively. You're biting your lips, hands winding around in your lap as you look up at him. Kurapika shoves down the arousal that rises again as his eyes are drawn to your bitten lips.

“About what?” He asks, moving a bit closer. Not to close, but not ten feet away.

“Um,” You whisper, your cheeks flushing as you wave him closer. Kurapika is treated to a view of your cleavage as you lean forward, whispering the word as if it's forbidden. “Sex.”

“Oh,” Kurapika says, voice stilted. “A bit.”

He doesn't know much, but he probably knows more than you. You're a few months younger than him, but you're much more sheltered than he ever was. But then again, Kurapika was always more focussed on his revenge to bother with girls or sex or anything of the like.

You wind a finger in your hair, cheeks flush prettily. Kurapika knows his own cheeks are flushed as well, not to mention the obvious sign of arousal that just refuses to go down.

“Can you teach me?” You ask, voice trembling slightly. Kurapika chokes.

“Teach you?” He asks, once the coughing fit finally subsides. You nod, eyes wide and curious, hands knotted in your lap.

“Yeah,” You whisper, and Kurapika watches in shock as your hand reaches out, pressing gently against the bulge in his pants. A groan gets out before he can muffle it, as the heat and pressure of your hand shoots a blinding line of pleasure up his spine and into his brain. Kurapika grips your delicate wrist, pulling your dealy hand off of his growing bulge. You look up at him, all nervous smiles and curious eyes.

“Did that not feel good,” You mutter, hand trembling a bit in his fingers. Kurapika shakes his head.

“No, it did.” He groans, resisting the temptation to put your hand right back where it belonged. ‘But we can't do this.”

You look up at him, a small line appearing between your eyebrows.

“Why?” You ask, a small hint of insecurity in your tone of voice. “Do you not want me?”

“No,” Kurapika says, perhaps a bit too quickly. How could he not want you? Wasn't it obvious, in his town, in his eyes, in his arousal. Oh god he wanted you so bad, and here you were practically offering yourself to him. But, he couldn't.

“Your dad—” He starts, trying to protest. You giggle.

“Daddy doesn't have to know.” You whisper, the hand that isn't clasped in his own coming up to smooth over the lapels of his suite. You look confident, but the trembling in your fingers and the nervous darting of your eyes betrays you, your breath is heavy when you speak again. “The maids are all gone. We're all alone. Please?”

Kurapika takes a deep breath. Breaths in the flowers of your perfume and the musky underbreath of your arousal. And he gives in.

“Fine,” He mutters, hand coming up to gently caress your flushed face. You smile, pressing your cheek into his hand. He almost melts at the adorable action. “I'm going to kiss you. Alright?”

You nod, leaning up into him. Kurapika leans down slowly, giving you time to move away if you want to. He half expects you to move, to tell him to leave. He half expects to wake up alone on his bed. Instead you close your eyes.

Your lips are soft, moisturized every night with exfoliants and pasts that Kurapika doesn't understand. But they're soft, and your body curves into his as you lean up, letting a little breath escape your mouth.

You taste like candy. How is that possible? Kurapika doesn't know, and he isn't going to pull away enough to ask. Your lips move against his, moving with the practice of someone who knows how to kiss. Kurapika moves with you, slowly and carefully winding a hand around the back of your neck. It tangles in your tousled hair, and Kurapika touches you as if your glass, as if you might break. You whimper against him, your own hands winding around his waist. Kurapika bites back a whimper. How embarrassing. He's coming undone at the seams already, just from your touch.

You fall back, your back hitting the comforter with a soft thump. Kurapika falls with you, teeth clanking against yours at the unexpected move. You pull back with a giggle.

“You're a good teacher,” You smile, hands tugging gently at his suit jacket. Kurapika takes it off, obeying your wandering fingers.

“Really?” He questions, discarding his jacket somewhere on the floor of your bedroom. You nod, smiling gently against the white of your bedspread. You look like an angel.

“Uh huh,” You murmur, hands tugging at the hem of your nightgown, pulling it higher and higher. “So sweet, so handsome.”

Kurapika flushes, dick twitching at the praise. His eyes follow your hands, pulling and tugging the teasing hem of your nightgown. He knows you aren't wearing panties. He gulps, propped up over you on his hands and knees, suit jacket discarded on the floor. His dick is painful against his pants. You seem to notice, your manicured hand coming down to trace the bulge cupped in his pants. Kurapika groans, controlling his arousal at the touch of your hand. You smile

“It looks all squished in there,” You say, your eyes curved in hazy mirth. “Doesn't it hurt?”

Your fingers gently stroke him over the fabric, and Kurapika desperately resists the urge to cum.

“Yes,” He admits, biting his lips against the moans. Your hands trace the outline, and Kurapika almost sobs in relief as you undo the zipper, giving him some relief.

“Wait,” Kurapika groans. You freeze, looking concerned and uncertain. Kurapika hurries to continue. He never wants you to feel uncertain. “Do you have any Condoms?”

You nod, scooting out from underneath him and towards the end of the bed. Kurapika gets treated to a flash of your bare ass as you hop off the bed, sauntering over to your vanity and digging through the drawer. Kurapika takes the opportunity to shed the rest of his clothes, leaving him naked besides for his boxers. You smile, holding up an unopened box of condoms victoriously.

“Rosanne gave them to me,” You explain, shrugging your shoulders. “I don't know why.”

Kurapika thinks Rosanne might know more than she's letting on. He sighs. Is he that much of an open book or is she just insane. He thinks it is probably the latter.

“You're very strong,” You say. Kurapika looks up, standing a few feet away from you. You're looking at him, eyes taking in his body. He's thin, lith, not as built as some people but not all bones. You look curious, a box of condoms still clutched in your hand. Kurapika can barely think enough to be self conscious.

You tear open the box, reaching inside to pull out a single foil wrapped package.

“Is this good?” You ask, discarding the rest of the box on your bedside table carelessly. It joins a mostly empty yerba mate can and some other nicknacks, looking wildly out of place.

“Yes, this is fine.” kurapika says, taking the foil wrapped package out of your palm. You smile, body swaying distracting as you turn towards the bed.

“You put it on,” You say, and Kurapika watches as you pull your nightgown over your head. The lace drags over your skin, pulling up to reveal your pussy, your stomach, your breasts. Kurapika bites back a groan, dick twitches in his underwear.

When he finishes putting on the condom you're already on the bed. Your legs are propped up, your head resting on your pillows, surrounded with a halo of hair. You look like a princess. You are a princess.

“Are you ready?” Kurapika asks. His hands tremble slights as he pulls your legs wide, lining himself up with your drooling pussy. He can feel sweat dripping down his back, blond hair dripping over his eyeline. You're a hazy mess beneath him, your body on full display for his viewing pleasure.

“Yes,” You nod, body a tense line on the bed.

As Kurapika slides into your body he knows he won't last long. And by the way your back arches, the way the walls of your pussy flutter against him, you won't either.

Your walls are so warm, contracting around him as you whimper, back arching off of the bed. Kurapika groans, resisting the urge to thrust deep into you, letting you adjust slowly to the unusual intrusion.

When he finally bottoms out deep inside you Kurapika has to desperately resist the urge to whimper. Your body is so warm, your face full of pleasure as you gaze up at him, pretty pink lips parted in a moan.

“Can I move?” Kurapika grits out, trying to remain controlled and deliberate. You nod, and immediately your back arches as Kurapika pulls out, and then thrusts deep inside you. He won't last.

The pace he sets is slow, steady, more focussed on hitting the right spots than speed. And it seems to work, your hands scrabbling at anything, his shoulders, his arms, the fabric of your bed.

Your hand settles on his shoulders, nails digging into his back. Kurapika pretends the pain doesn't turn him on a bit.

“Gonna cum!” You whimper, back arching against him as he thrusts deep. Kurapika groans, hand winding down to find your clit. He's gonna lose it.

“Me too.” He groans, hand winding between your bodies. He's so close. He needs to tumble off with him.

The reaction when he finds your clit is immediate. Your body tenses, your walls clenching down against him, and Kurapika falls.

“Cumming!” You moan, and Kurapika cums with you, hiding his grunts and moans in the heavenly sounds that exit your mouth. He leans forward as the pleasure courses through him, swallowing your moans greedily into his own mouth, savoring them for later.

He doesn't know what's going to become of this, if anything at all.

But for the moment, Kurapika finds comfort in you, as the two of you tumble off the cliff or arousal and into the sea of content.

....

Endnotes: I wrote this in one night through a blinding headache so i hope you enjoy it!!!

#mariannacrxss #helplesslypurple77kinktober #hunter x hunter #hxh smut #kurapika x reader #kurapika #kurapika kurta

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luvrxbunny · 11 months ago

Text

churn

pairing: knight!Miguel O’Hara x princess!reader

summary: Your royal knight helps you in a way your fiancé never could.

warnings: 18+ MDNI, reader has hair that can be pushed over her shoulder, reader has visible collarbones, infidelity, miguel seems to have a little thing for readers collarbones.. Idk, f! masturbation, IMPORTANT LINK (ill be refering to this throughout the fic)

wc: 4.9k

a/n: i don't even think this is good guys cry i just needed to post something but i tried ilya 🫶🏾 (not proofread one bit)

He hated this part of the day.

Miguel isn’t allowed to feel many things, he is even more limited in who he can feel them for, but he hates this part of the day. When you finally finish your chores and duties. You always tell him that you’re not going to get excited this time, that you know he’s busy but he always sees the excitement build in your face as you search tirelessly for your fiancé.

Ser Isaac was one of the more well-known lords of the land. He’s known for his outstanding looks and entertaining charm. Everyone has heard of his endless generosity, empathy, and care for others. But in Miguel’s experience. He’s a selfish dick.

He doesn’t hate Ser Isaac, of course not, that’d be treason. He is allowed to hate his actions, however; the way he neglects you. He hates how Ser Isaac is using you for your position, stature, and admiration throughout the kingdom. He spends all his time sucking up to your father, thanking him for his daughter's hand in marriage rather than worshipping the daughter for tolerating his artificiality.

You round the corner to find your father and fiancé at the bar, once again. This is where they’ve been for the past few weeks. You’d asked them to try to spend less time together, to make some room for you, but they both laughed you off and continued their boisterous chatter.

Miguel watches your smile melt off your face as you take in their inebriated state. You turn to him for a moment with a small smile, knowing he’ll give you the same pitying look you get every time this happens. It’s a small comfort; knowing that at least one person in your life cares about you, even if that person is your assigned guard.

You approach the pair of drunks with a brave smile. “Have you saved any for me, my love?” The two men pause to look at you before slowly turning back to one another and breaking out into a fit of laughter. Miguel can see your expression flush into one of embarrassment and anger. You open your mouth to speak again but their laughter raises in volume, drowning out anything you would’ve said.

Miguel sees a heartbreaking sadness flash over your face before you compose yourself.

In his mind though, it’s the same as you begging him for help, so he steps in. He moves from his corner by the doorway to stand at your side. His presence gives you a small boost of confidence and commands the men to give you more than 3% of their attention.

Your fiancé is the first one to quit his laughter and sober up a bit. He takes a deep breath and rolls his eyes at Miguel’s presence. “Is he necessary?” He doesn’t even look at Miguel, his eyes don’t flicker in his direction once. Miguel does the same, keeping his eyes forward and surveying his surroundings. He can’t help the slight smirk that worms its way onto his face, however.

You stand up straighter at the acknowledgment of your muscle. “Miguel is mine, therefore he stays by my side.” Miguel’s eyelids flutter and flicker to you for a moment. He tries his best to ignore the swirling in his stomach but his breathing stutters. “I’d like to confer with you about your schedule, dear.”

Your fiancé smirks maliciously at you before changing it into a faux kind smile. “Of course, sweetheart. I’ll make so much time for you.” He stands up, looming over you but not taller than Miguel. “When I’m finished organizing all of our affairs, paying all your maids.” His voice gains more and more venom as he stalks closer to you.

Your confident gaze is gone, now looking at the wall rather than your soon-to-be husband. “Yes, dear. I’ll spend time with you when I’m done with cleaning your messes.” His voice raises to a shout, screaming right in your face as your eyes stay on the ground. Miguel’s hand goes to rest on the hilt of his sword, just as a reminder of what could happen if Ser Isaac decides to do more than yell. But that negatively catches his attention.

He scoffs loudly and turns to Miguel, who still isn't meeting his threatening eyes. “You think to strike me? You?” Miguel hears you take a breath, like you’re preparing to speak up for him but he can’t allow that. “I only mean to protect the Princess, Ser.” Miguel keeps his smirk from crawling onto his face this time, he keeps his expression stoic and straight ahead.

“Oh? OH? I’ll I have you know that I shall do whatever-” He raises his hand. “I’d like-”

It comes down toward you “with MY wife.” Miguel grabs his wrist, stopping all movement. You watch his grip tighten before your eyes, so tightly you swear you can hear Isaac’s bones cracking.

“You will not. Not in my presence, or ever, if I can help it.” You’ll never forget the look on his face. The pure shock on his face, the look of disgust and disdain. You don’t even want to think of Miguel’s face. The anger, and unwavering confidence. He exudes this certain dominance over Isaac that you can’t help but admire.

Isaac’s face shows a look of embarrassment once he sees how easily Miguel can hold him back, so he scoffs and goes back to his seat, grumbling about your ‘big oaf of a guard.’ He complains about the both of you to your father as if you aren’t even in the room. You’re not too sad about it, you’ve grown a bit used to his rejection, and it doesn't sting as bad.

A clock in the corner of the room catches your eye and excitement runs through you with a soft gasp. Miguel looks over to you and follows your gaze to see the time, 3:00 PM. The swirling in his stomach returns as you clear your throat and begin to leave the room. Although you know Mguel will follow, you keep pace with him once you both exit the room, choosing to walk by his side.

You’re always different for the next two hours. You linger by him more, find more excuses to touch him and talk with him. He knows why, he knows how princesses like to play their games, how they love all their suitors. But sometimes he slips up, sometimes he believes your advances are genuine, that you honestly wish for him to whisk you away from your castle life, your perfect, royal life. Then he comes back to reality.

You enter your chambers and stand by the foot of your bed, Miguel by the door. His heart is racing because he knows what comes next. It’s- unfortunately, his favorite time of the day. You stand by your wardrobe, just looking into the mirror before catching his gaze in the reflection. “Mig?” Your soft tone sends a suppressed shiver through his body. “Do you think you could help me?”

He’s walking towards you without hesitation. “I- I’d ask one of the maids but they’re all busy and-” He doesn’t need a justification, you don’t need an excuse. “Of course, Princess. I understand.” You do this every time. Your maids are always ‘too busy’. You both know it's a ruse, but neither of you wants it to stop.

He lets his hands rest on your side for a moment, relishing the way he can feel you expand with the deep breath you take. He slides them back to where you’re laced into your dress and takes his time untying the strings. You wish you could see his hands, the way they’d thread through the strings, how careful and gentle they’d be. Or how small the strings would look between his thick fingers.

Once he finishes loosening your corset he opens it for you, reliving the extreme pressure it puts on you and you thank him with a soft sigh. He’s in a trance though, he slowly removes the fabric from your body. Your spine seems to compress itself, making you seem even shorter than usual now that you don’t have this brace forcing you upright. You’re just watching him in the mirror as his hands come up to your shoulders and slowly turn you around. He’s not looking you in the eyes yet, he’s just looking at you. He looks at your collarbones and slowly pushes your hair over your shoulder to reveal more of you to him. But something snaps him out of his trance and he puts distance between the two of you before you even take a breath. “S- I’m so sorry, Princess.I—” You cut him off before he can say more.

“There's no need for an apology! I didn’t say anything, did I?” There’s a shy flirtiness in your tone that causes Miguel’s face to sink into a dark red color, bringing a giggle to your lips that only worsens his condition. He turns and walks back to the door while you finish undressing.

He keeps his eyes dutifully out the window. Pretending he can't hear the fabric sliding against your naked skin. How he yearns to look, it's like you have your own gravitational pull. It’s a constant struggle to hear you undressing and redressing yourself into something he knows is going to screw with him. You’ll probably change into your favorite nightgown. It’s an adorable sleeved gown with feathers at the top. You always mention you don’t like how long it is, and that it’s “unflattering” but in truth, everything you wear is flattering. You make it so.

Miguel suddenly becomes aware of the silence in the room. No rustling, no sliding fabrics. He risks looking over at you and his heart almost beats out of his chest. It’s new. You must’ve gotten it tailored because he’s never seen anything fit you so well. It’s a night dress, flowy but short, very short. It barely reaches the halfway point of your thigh. It has no sleeves, your neck, collarbones, and shoulders on full display, and the top hugs your breasts in a way he’s never witnessed.

You watch him admire you for a moment before speaking up with a soft “Hmm?” and his eyes fly to yours. “I think it’s quite cute!” You smile at him brightly, waiting for his opinion. He doesn’t give you one though, he just stares at you for a little longer. You grow conscious under his stare and anxiety begins to eat away at you. “W- What do you th—”

His face twitches before he blurts out. “Yes. Yes, you look-- It’s very- You look very cute. It’s beautiful. You- You look amazing, Princess.” His sentence ends with a sharp inhale that's followed by a calm exhale as Migusl straightens out. He’s been slowly leaning down, subconsciously trying to get closer to you. “You look incredible, Princess.” He tries to place his eyes forward again, trying to turn the environment back to professional, he can’t help but look at you one last time as you thank him.

Your eyes are on the ground and your hand sliding up your arm, uncomfortable with all the skin you’re showing. “You do.” Your eyes snap up to his upon his third confirmation. You seem to be searching his eyes for something, looking deep into him in a way he’ll never get used to.

Your brows furrow and you chew on your lip for a few seconds before declaring that he follow you and starting a rapid pace. He follows behind you urgently before realizing where the two of you are headed.

The castle has a lot of tunnels and hidden passageways, these passageways sometimes lead to other rooms in the castle or secret rooms in the castle. One of your handmaidens was kind enough to show you a passageway right by your washroom that leads to a secret chamber. You’d instantly fallen in love with what you found.

Miguel was there the first time you saw it, you laughed so loud it echoed off the walls. You thought it was a novelty. He was there when he saw it pique your interest for the first time. It had been late at night, and Miguel hadn’t retired to his quarters yet so he was guardian of your door. Inside your room, he could hear you giggling with a drunk Ser Isaac. Your giggle soon turned to breathy whines but they were interrupted with a dull ‘thump’ before a very disappointed sigh from you. It was a matter of seconds before you opened your chamber doors and told him to follow you with about the same amount of urgency that you just did.

You told him to guard the door and quickly shut it before you could see any opinion on his face. He was almost hyperventilating at his post. First of all, he was uncomfortable being out here, staring at your drunk, passed-out, fiancé, while you’re in that room doing god knows what. The other thing that bothered him was how he could not stop thinking about how he’d be so much better for you than that machine.

You opened the door again far too quickly with an even more frustrated expression on your face. “I cannot figure it out. It- It doesn’t work.” Your words come out as an exasperated whine that tugs at his heartstrings. “Show me.”

You chew on your lip for a second before opening the door to let him in and shutting it behind the two of you. There’s a single, yellow light overhead, shining down on where you would be sitting, where the heavy, metal rod protrudes from the seat. “This thing? It will not move, no matter how hard I try!” He examines the churning lever, immediately spots the problem, and starts removing his gloves.

“It’s rusted over, Princess. I can fix it.” You watch as his thick fingers curl around the lever and his biceps tense as he pushes, trying to break it free of the rust. There’s an awful screeching sound and Miguel grunts roughly as the lever begins to move. You try to hide your smile of excitement as Miguel rotates the handle a few more times before letting go. “There.”

You rush over to test for yourself and make sure you can operate it on your own. You smile and turn to Miguel after moving it around with ease. He smirks back at you while he brushes his hands together to remove the rust, and something about the whole scene does something to you. His hands are dirty, his knuckles hairy, his hands huge and thick as he stares at you with something you haven't seen before. You still have one more problem.

“It also…” You trail off before clearing your throat and starting again. “It doesn’t seem to fit.”

Miguel has to shut his eyes for a moment as arousal floods his veins. He takes a deep breath before looking up at you with the softest expression he could muster, hoping it would hide his lust. “You need to start with your fingers, Princess.”

Your eyes widen at his answer and you quickly nod despite him being able to see the confusion written all over your face. He smiles fondly before explaining further. “That.” He gestures to the machine. “Is too big for most girls.” He looks you directly in your eyes as he speaks, slowly bending to your height. “So you have to start with your fingers.” Your eyes dart to his dirty hands for a moment. “You put them inside you, however many you can take.”

You start blinking rapidly like your innocent little brain is having trouble processing what he’s telling you. All you respond with is, “Oh.” Miguel chuckles quietly before standing upright and putting his gloves back on. “Yes. I hope that helps.” You walk up to the door with him, to open it for him or accompany him out but you both pause when you hear a bit of commotion on the other side of the door.

You watch him as he identifies the noise, and breathe out a soft sigh of relief when you see his tense expression relax. “They’re cleaning up Ser Isaac.” He states with a certain disdain that makes you smile softly. You stare at him.

“Okay, then you stay here.” You walk over to the seat and churn the lever a few times to ensure you could do it yourself before sitting on the edge, not quite on the metal penis but close. Miguel is watching from the corner with wide eyes, unable to rationalize what’s going on. You simply tell him “Don’t look.” And he whips his head back around.

He stares at the dark wall, unknowing what he’s waiting for until he hears it. A soft sigh leaves your lips. He waits. He receives more. You grow in volume as you become wetter, he can hear it, the little squelching sounds getting louder, and faster as you get more desperate. Miguel is using all his willpower to not turn around and take in what he has no doubt is a beautiful sight.

He hears your whines muffle as you bite your lip and he wishes you could tell you not to, that he wants to hear them all and more. He heard you let out a ragged breath as you added another finger and he couldn’t help his desire to do it for you, but he happily settled with only hearing your beautiful sounds and movements.

He thanks the Gods every day for letting him stay in that room, for giving him the saccharine memories of you pleasuring yourself for the first time.

This time feels different though. You’re all dressed up and giving him that look. The one that swirls fantasies into his head and makes his hands clam up.

He follows you to the room and assumes his position in the corner, but never hears the metallic clink of you situating yourself in the seat. He waits and waits but hears nothing, no movement from you. So he turns around. He has to see what you’re doing, even if it's only for a second, just to make sure you’re safe.

He finds you standing directly behind him, staring right at him so you guys make eye contact the moment he looks over his shoulder. He instantly turns back around, embarrassed that you found him looking, and worried you might get the wrong idea.

Miguel tries to explain himself, stumbling and stuttering over the start of his sentence before you cut him off. “How come you never look?”

The question silences him.

“Do you have no desire to?” He turns around again. You seem genuine in your questioning, he feels like he detects a bit of hurt in your voice as well, but that’s most likely in his head.

“You know I cannot desire.” He states softly. He, as a knight, cannot desire any woman, and most definitely not a princess. Yet he sees anger flash through your eyes at his statement.

“Just because someone tells you you’re not allowed, does not mean you can’t.” Miguel stays silent, not knowing what you want him to say in response. He can see you scanning his face, examining his features to try and find any crack in his exterior. You must find whatever you’re looking for because you suddenly nod and take a step back.

“Who are you more loyal to, your oath, or me?” The question baffles him. “If I, your princess, were to tell you to disobey your oath… Would you?”

His eyes widen and you can see the gears turning in his head, trying to understand where his loyalties should lie. His mouth opens and closes with unsaid words and you decide to give him a break.

“Come here.” You demand, pointing next to the machine, by the churning lever. You take a deep breath, seat yourself by the metal phallus, and slip a finger under your gown before you can give it a second thought.

You slide your fingers over your panties for a moment, teasing yourself. Through a lot of trial and error, you’ve found that this is your favorite part; exploring your body, what makes you feel good, and feeling yourself soak your panties throughout the process.

You hear Miguel take a sharp breath of air, reminding you of his presence and sending a jolt to your core. You’ve never been like this in front of someone, aside from what Miguel could hear and the few times your fiancé was sober enough to attempt to get you off. But even then, it didn't feel like it does now.

You can’t help but imagine what it would be like if Miguel was the one touching you. If it were his thick fingers sliding under the satin fabric of your underwear to finally slide into you. There’s a burning stretch due to you using two fingers instead of one but it only furthers your fantasies of Miguel’s large hands. You peek your eyes open for a moment, your gaze still on the ground but you can see his feet, a small (or rather large) reminder that he’s right there.

You can’t help the whimper that slips out, louder than usual. You’re more desperate. You can’t think of any other reason aside from him. You’re soaking your fingers in a way you haven’t since your first time and it’s driving you wild. “Miguel” His name comes out with a small whine, pitching your voice up and scrambling his brain.

He has to take a deep breath before answering you out of fear that his voice will shake. “Princess?” His voice is rough and gravelly. He hears you take a sharp breath at the sound of it before clearing your throat in hopes of composing yourself.

“You will churn the lever for me today.” His heart stops. “Understood, Ser?” His eyelids flutter as his eyes burn holes in the wall he’s facing. He goes over your sentence in his head, assuming he must’ve misheard you. His brows furrow and twitch along with his face before accepting that he heard you correctly. “Un-” He takes a shaking breath. “Understood, Princess.”

His hand comes up to wrap around the lever without him even looking in your direction.

You stare up at him as you pull your panties aside and slide down the cold metal, your teeth digging into your lip to try and keep any noises inside. You only let out a satisfied sigh once you’ve sunk to the bottom before pushing yourself to the tip again.

You can’t help but focus on him. He’s right there. You can see the curve of his nose and the plush of his lips, the way they purse before his tongue comes out to wet them and pull one into his mouth to bite. He doesn’t have his helmet on so you can see his rich brown curls, the way they frame his face and dance over his neck. You can see his thick, bushy brows, and behind his beautiful lashes are his warm, chocolate-brown eyes looking down at you.

You gasp once your eyes meet and Miguel goes red. He just wanted to see you for a moment. You’re right there, practically whining in his ear as you impale yourself on what should be his cock.

He can’t take it anymore, he can’t hold his feelings back as he feels a ripple flow through him and blood rush to his dick. His head decides to conjure every arousing, heart-warming, lovable memory he has of you. He hears you whine again at the loss of eye contact, even if it was only for a moment. Another ripple flows through him, settling in his lower stomach, and creating a painful pressure as your whimpers grow. He tries to redirect his thoughts and focus ahead as he keeps churning for you, cranking the lever again, and again. Your moans pick up as he regains his steady pace.

He tries not to imagine that it’s him. He tries not to think about the fact that your moaning aligns with the throbbing of his cock. He definitely doesn't think about the way his dick is pressing into the metal plate covering his cock. He doesn’t note the way his free hand twitches behind his back, wishing to provide any sense of relief to himself. He doesn’t get distracted by the thought of him touching himself with you sitting right there.

You feel your orgasm building before Miguel starts to slow down again, his timing uneven again and you look up at him in confusion. He’s staring at the wall, his chest heaving and that same expression on his face. You don’t care to decipher what it means in your impatience. Miguel just feels your delicate hand on his, pushing his hand, forcing him to churn the lever.

You moan as your seat becomes functional. Your chin collides with your chest as you release all the moans and whimpers you’ve been trying to quiet. It almost feels like he’s been toying with you, with all his starting and stopping. You’ve been pushed to the edge of your sanity.

You can’t comprehend how embarrassing this might be for you, a princess burying this rod inside you again and again, wishing it was someone other than who you’re set to marry.

You shake the thought of Isaac from your head and replace it with Miguel. Just thinking about the life you could have with him has you tensing over the metal. Your fingers lace with his before you can even think about what you’re doing.

Miguel’s gaze is now on the ceiling, his eyes already slipping shut as your nails dig into his hand. His dick is leaking behind his crotch plate now, begging for your attention, a feeling he isn’t used to regulating. He feels himself pulse painfully and his free hand twitches again.

Just for a moment. He thinks. Just one second.

His hand comes from behind his back to crush itself against his crotch, trying to relieve any pressure before he loses his mind, but you hear the clink of the metal hitting and open your eyes instantly. You spot his hand over his dick before slowly looking up to meet his eyes. Miguel lets a moan slip out as he massages himself more thoroughly, squeezing more precum from his tip before pulling away and forcing himself to break your stare.

“Please.” Is all he hears from you. It’s weak, pathetic, and punches him in the gut, taking all the breath from his lungs. His eyes wander back to you before he can think better of it and he’s instantly stuck, locked into your eyes.

He watches your body catch alight. You tremble over the steel cock, holding eye contact with Miguel and pushing his hand, forcing him to churn, fuck you over and over as you cum. He can’t do anything but watch. He doesn’t even think about touching himself, not wanting anything to take his attention away from this moment.

He watches you come down, your body melting into a puddle before him. You drape yourself over the front of the machine as you huff. Even out of breath and covered in sweat, your hair a mess and your dress surely mussed, he thinks you look like an angel, and it breaks his heart that he’ll never be able to keep you.

He takes a deep breath before releasing the lever, relishing in the whine that leaves your throat as the rod slides out of you one final time. Despite better thinking, Miguel pats your head fondly, almost petting you before speaking as softly as he can. “Come on, Princess. Let’s get you to bed.”

You only hum and bury yourself in his neck as he lifts you from your seat. He takes his time getting back to your room, letting you rest in his arms for as long as he can allow.

He lays you on your bed gently, propping your head up on the pillow and even going to cover you before you stop him. “Mmm Mig..” You begin sitting up again and stretch before opening your eyes to look at him.

Your eyebrows twitch, furrowing for a moment before he sees recognition in your eyes, quickly accompanied by mischief. “Sit down.” Your voice slurs adorably with your fatigue. He doesn’t get to hear this often. Normally, he’d do anything to stay with you, talk with you just a little more.

But Miguel is still harder than steel in his suit, so pairing that with the hard metal of his armor, and sitting down? It sounds like the most painful thing he could do right now. “Princess… You should get some res-”

“ Sit down, Miguel.” He stares at you, debating his options again in the face of your stubbornness. You, however, take this as more defiance. “Please?” You beg him.

You should know you never have to beg him for anything.

He’s seated before your mouth even shuts. Your mouth is shaped into a smirk before he can take a breath, and you’re in his lap before he can blink.

“Wha-?” Is all he can breathe out before your mouth is on his. His hands find your hips on instinct, grabbing all that he can and pulling it against him. You pull away. “Thank you.” And dive for him again.

He places one hand behind your head to ensure you don’t do it again.

thank you so much for reading!! please please please give any feedback you may have! I want it all! also if you liked it please take a look at my masterlist or send me some motivation here!!

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defectivevillain · 5 months ago

Text

broken vessels

pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Reader

reader's race and gender are ambiguous; no pronouns or physical descriptors are used. there's one mention of glasses, but that's the extent of my self indulgence.

summary:

You sit down across from Hannibal. It feels like a surrender. The food is quite good, but that realization isn’t enough to keep your despair at bay. The chain around your ankle fixes you to this room, to this meal, to this man sitting across from you. And he knows it, judging from the smile pulling at his lips.

You had no idea just how drastically your life would change after becoming Hannibal Lecter's therapist.

word count: 7.8k | ao3 version

author's notes: This fic has been rotting in my drafts for too long. The transitions are a bit choppy, but I just had to realize this into the wild. So... yeah.

The focus of this fic is Hannibal Lecter/Reader; there is no explicit romance, but I am a diehard fan of the inherent homoeroticism that is Hannibal Lecter. If you’re looking for a happy ending or romance, you won’t find it here. Also this won't be canon compliant, since Sam and Hannibal are very different. You have been warned!

And if you aren’t familiar with The Patient… Well, you’re in for a wild ride. For now, all you need to know is that the reader is a therapist and Hannibal visits them for a session. (And you should also watch the series when you get the chance, because it's very good.)

warnings: canon-typical violence, depictions of mental illness, suicidal ideation, self-harm, hopelessness, kidnapping, captivity/imprisonment, blood and injury, cannibalism

Hannibal Lecter is an interesting patient. You’re not sure what compels him to come to you one dreary morning, when the sky is muddled with grey and there is nothing but the threat of a storm on the horizon. You just know that your doorbell rings at exactly 10:00 a.m., and you open it to find a fine-dressed man with perfectly coiffed hair and an easy smile on his face. The expression is nothing short of polite, yet you feel as if there is unspeakab;e malice dripping from the corners of his lips. You invite him in and urge him to take a seat wherever he feels comfortable. The man regards the room for a moment, before sitting in the armchair you typically sit in. Unperturbed by the seating change, you move to the couch parallel to your usual chair.

For a while, there is only silence. You get the feeling the man is surveying you, scrutinizing you in his mind’s eye. You watch him and he watches you back. While you’re content to let the silence settle over the room, after a few minutes, you decide to speak up and ask him why he decided to come for a session with you.

The first session doesn’t prove to be entirely eventful, but it rarely is. Since it’s your first interaction, you spend most of the time trying to get to know him better. You learn that the man—Hannibal—was a surgeon and is now a psychiatrist, rather renowned for his research. Idly, you have to wonder how he came across you—and why he’s giving you a chance. Surely Hannibal has access to any of his colleagues, who are distinguished scholars. Maybe he needs a break from that, you then think.

Ultimately, your first session with Hannibal isn’t cause for concern. Your attention instead falls to your third session together, when you begin to realize that he’s being deliberately vague with his answers—and that he seems to favor dishonesty over truthfulness.

“Hannibal,” you remark, your heart thudding steadily in your chest, “I get the sense that you haven’t been quite honest with me.” You feel unreasonably apprehensive, as if this single accusation will ruin the little progress you’ve made with him. Yet, you can’t even call your past two sessions “progress,” can you? You spent the entire time attempting to stay afloat amidst the fluid conversation, feeling somewhat frustrated and confused all the same.

“I’ve been perfectly honest with you,” Hannibal responds. The look on his face is seamlessly calm. You’re nervous, but you continue. Therapy conducted under pretense is pointless, after all. Besides, this man knows what he’s doing. His behavior has been purposeful.

“You haven’t been,” you say, “and I think we both know that.” Hannibal looks at you—really looks at you—for what feels like the first time. His eyes are a glittering maroon and a slight smile rises on his face. Somehow, you can’t shake the inexplicable feeling that you’ve just made a grave misstep.

You continue to recall that third session as you stare up at the ceiling of your bedroom, your vision slowly growing fuzzy. You’re tired, but it’s taking you a while to fall asleep. Your mind is racing, recalling several different moments scattered across your lifetime that you’d rather forget. You try to focus on your breathing and, eventually, your eyes fall shut.

Your dreams are weird—which is saying something, since dreams are usually weird. These particular dreams feel like omens for the future and, if that is the case, then your future can’t be very good. You dream of sharp mirrors, harsh corners, and neatly-carved lines. You dream of an infinite winding labyrinth that you can’t escape from, of a puppet-master watching you stumble through a never-ending maze with amusement, of your tattered visage reflected in the jagged shards of a broken mirror.

You jolt awake with a gasp on your tongue, your throat feeling extremely dry. It takes you a few moments to internalize that you’re awake and no longer dreaming. There’s a cup of water on the bedside table and you reach for it, wincing at how heavy your limbs feel. Eventually, you reach the water and take a sip. The glass is cold against your skin and, when you put it back, you nearly miss your nightstand entirely. That’s a little strange—the nightstand has occupied that position for years. Why would your muscle memory fail you now, all of a sudden?

You swing your legs to the side of the bed, only to hear an ominous rattling sound—almost reminiscent of metal clinking against the ground. You reach down and try to feel your way around in the dark, grabbing your glasses from the nightstand and putting them on. The darkness momentarily sharpens and a sense of foreboding prickles along your skin. Your surroundings look strangely unfamiliar. Unease pulling at your gut, you reach down, down, down—only to find a thick chain secured around your ankle. You tug at it, panic rising in your chest as you realize it’s not coming off. You then push yourself to your feet and walk a few steps, testing how far the chain will go. It doesn’t reach far enough for you to thoroughly explore the unfamiliar space—just barely getting to the small room that looks to be a bathroom. Upon further investigation, there’s nothing in the bathroom that would help you get the chain off. The toothbrush and disposable toothpaste resting inconspicuously on the counter throw you off guard. Was this planned? It’s abundantly clear to you now that you’ve been kidnapped. Did your captor plan this out and configure this bathroom for a captive?

You manage to convince yourself to move back out to the main room, only to find a meal placed on the small plastic table situated past the end of the bed. You don’t recognize the food and, frankly, you don’t want to know what it is. The thought of food right now is enough to make you nearly throw up. You instead decide to continue testing how far you can move with your chain. It turns out you can’t move very far at all: you only have access to the bed, the nightstands, and the nearby bathroom. There are a set of glass doors across from the bed and hints of the morning sun illuminate the room in a hazy glow, revealing polished furniture and elegant decorations. It seems your captor has rather distinguished tastes.

In hindsight, seeing Hannibal Lecter come down the stairs moments later is more of a shock than it should be. Your eyes widen and you blink a few times, convinced your mind is conjuring illusions. Hannibal stares at you in return, before sending you a small smile—as if sharing an inside joke.

Meanwhile, you’re panicking. There’s a good chance Hannibal is the one who trapped you here. “Hey, where am I?” You ask apprehensively. Seeing Hannibal simultaneously provokes relief and dread within you. You tug at the chain on your ankle, but it doesn’t budge. “Hannibal? Why am I here?” “This is my home,” Hannibal answers. You feel your heart drop to your stomach. It was a foolish thought to think Hannibal would be here by mere coincidence, but it kept your hopes alive. Now, you’re left to the bleak despair that clings to your ankle like a vice. “I need to speak with you.”

It takes you a few seconds to comprehend that statement, in the wake of all the thoughts running through your mind. “You could’ve called me to book an appointment,” you eventually point out, struggling to keep yourself calm. You’re trapped here, and the chain on your ankle is extremely thick and sturdy. Not to mention, you can’t reach the door; you don’t have your phone; and you have a bad feeling Hannibal is the sole occupant of this house. How on earth will you escape?

“This is… an ongoing concern,” Hannibal interjects. It takes you a few moments to process that statement. Then, at your disbelieving look, he continues. “Our typical environment was not suitable.”

“Not suitable?” Panic is beginning to seep through your voice. You know you should probably be maintaining your composure, but it’s rather difficult to do so when you’re faced with the inevitability of your captivity. “What part of this environment is suitable? I have a chain around my ankle and I can’t leave!” You try to take a deep breath and manifest a level of composure that you certainly don’t have at the present moment. You look eyes with him and attempt to get through to him. “Hannibal. Take this chain off my ankle.”

You don’t expect your attempt at persuasion to work and, indeed, Hannibal is silent. He regards you for a moment before stepping forward, momentarily fooling you into thinking he may genuinely release you. Then, he takes another step and pulls a chair out from the table to take a seat. He motions for you to take the other seat. You shake your head and remain on the bed, opting to keep as much distance from Hannibal as possible. Unfortunately, it still doesn’t feel like enough—as his eyes pin you in place.

You’re not sure how long you spend trapped in your spiraling thoughts, before you attempt to speak to your captor again. “Hannibal,” you say, trying to maintain your composure. You’re grasping at the sheets of the bed with shaking hands. “Whatever you have to talk about, I am willing to listen to you. But not like this.”

There’s a beat of silence. You aren’t deluded enough to think this conversation is getting you any closer to an escape. Instead, Hannibal regards you for a moment, clasping his hands on the table. He holds his utensils in a strangely tight grip, as if they’re weapons. The knife makes you particularly nervous, but it pales in comparison to his next statement. “You would be legally required to share the information I divulge.” Therapists have a firm code of ethics, which dictates that information must be brought to the local authorities if it involves harm to oneself or others. The thought makes an ugly feeling stew in your stomach. You inhale slowly.

“This is your last chance,” you warn, despite knowing you have no power in this situation. “Let me go, and I’ll pretend this never happened. We can go back to the way things were. I won’t press charges or anything. Okay?” You think that’s a pretty generous offer, all things considered.

For a moment, the air is entirely still. Then, the expression on Hannibal’s face flickers. “Would you like something to eat?” he eventually responds.

You stare at him in disbelief. It seems you underestimated Hannibal and his cruelty. Your tongue feels ironed to the roof of your mouth, and you take a deep breath before shaking your head silently. You move back on the bed, your back finding the headboard. You pull your knees up and rest your arms, clasping your hands and closing your eyes. Maybe, if you keep your eyes closed for long enough, this scenario will simply… disappear.

Hannibal takes a bite of his food, ignorant of your internal conflict. The small clinks of his silverware against the plate are the only noises in the otherwise tense air. Even when Hannibal’s gaze is focused on something else, you feel as if he’s watching you. You don’t dare to move a single muscle. There’s an uncomfortable silence settling in the air.

“I met with many different therapists,” Hannibal remarks, apropos of nothing. He levels you with a scrutinizing gaze. You blink and you see your head on his dinner plate. You shake off the grotesque thought. “I chose you.” Is that supposed to make you feel better? It only makes you feel more uneasy.

After some time eating silently, Hannibal gets up from his seat and takes his empty plate. You watch as he steps towards the hallway from which he came—leaving you suspicious and wary as you wait for something to happen. In the time after his departure, you’re still tense. Will he be back soon? You’re not sure how long you sit there, dreading his return.

Eventually, after what must be at least two hours, you conclude that Hannibal won’t be returning. You decide to lie down, curling up on your side. Perhaps if you close your eyes, you’ll wake up from this nightmare.

…But the universe isn’t that merciful, and you wake up hours later with a helplessness that clings to your skin. This wasn’t some twisted nightmare—it’s reality. And your reality is inescapable. You’re a bird with clipped wings, trapped in a gilded cage.

Hannibal visits in the middle of the day. Your eyes follow him the moment he enters the room; as if recognizing this, he seems to take delight in moving as agonizingly slow as possible. Despite the deliberate slow pace to his movements, you recognize the show for what it is. Hannibal is a predator on the prowl. You are his prey, left baring your bleeding flesh before a salivating maw.

It’s not helpful to think about what you could have done instead of pushing him to be honest. But you think about it anyway. If you had let him have his lies, his understanding but strained smiles… what would have happened? The self-defeating part of you wants to say he would’ve left you alone, but you know that’s a desperate thought. No. Somehow, you piqued Hannibal’s interest from the moment you found him on your doorstep.

Realistically speaking, he could’ve been watching you long before that. You’re not sure if he’s the type to stalk people; then again, you didn’t characterize him as the kidnapping type at first, and look where you are now. The thought drags a wry laugh from your lips, inadvertently drawing Hannibal’s attention towards you. He motions for you to join him at the table, where he’s prepared some sort of meal. Despite your growling stomach, you refuse the offer. Hannibal only raises a brow, as if he sees your fleeting attempt at resistance and views it to be a waste of time. Your refusal does give you an illusion of control. You feel as if you have power—however slight—over this situation.

You don’t think you’ll cave so quickly, but by the time he returns that night with a late dinner, you’re fighting off the instinct to join him at the table. As if recognizing this, Hannibal stares at you with twinkling eyes. You grit your teeth. Unfortunately, you don’t really have a choice anymore. If you want to navigate his mind games, you need to be completely focused. Your hunger and aching stomach can’t serve as distractions.

You sit down across from him. It feels like a surrender. The food is quite good, but that realization isn’t enough to keep your despair at bay. The chain around your ankle fixes you to this room, to this meal, to this man sitting across from you. And he knows it.

As you’re eating, you realize you’ve been given a knife. You frown and look at the meal before you. There’s meat on Hannibal’s plate, but not on yours. Why were you given a knife, if you didn’t need one? Initially, you want to think it’s just a mistake. But you don’t think your captor would overlook something like that. Nearly every action of Hannibal's so far has been purposeful, even if that purpose was beyond your understanding. It’s very hard to believe that the knife is a simple oversight.

But the knife’s purpose doesn’t really matter. All that matters is that you have a weapon. Hannibal is well within striking range, since the table you’re eating at is rather small. You could easily reach out and stab him in the hand, but then what…? You would still have the chain on your ankle. If you dealt him a powerful blow, you could incapacitate him at the very least. You’re not familiar with knives, though, so an attempt to incapacitate him could quickly become a murder. That’s a risk you think you’re going to have to take. You’re not sure when you’ll have another opportunity like this.

You reach out and take both your fork and knife, pretending you’re going to cross them on your plate to signal that you’re finished with the meal. Your hand doesn’t want to relinquish its awkward grip on the knife, though. Something about the blade’s steady pressure against your palm is grounding. You realize you’re drawing blood when droplets fall to mark the wooden table. Hannibal’s eyes follow the movement, as if he actually heard the sound of your blood hitting the surface of the table. He’s momentarily distracted.

So you strike.

At least, you try to. When his attention is captured, you slide your grip down to the handle of the knife, winding back and aiming at his neck. But Hannibal is inhumanly fast, and he quickly grabs your wrist with bruising strength until the utensil clatters back to its place on the table. Your eyes meet and you see only raw, unadulterated fury. A shiver crawls down your spine as a bone-deep fear settles past your skin. You’re going to die.

Seconds drag on and, while Hannibal is still holding your wrist, the strength of his grip slowly fades. The silence is almost more painful than the white-hot irritation of the gash on your palm. With bated breath, you watch as Hannibal lets your wrist fall. Dread churning in your stomach, you’re frozen as he leaves the room. Terror stews in your chest at the anticipation he’s leaving you in. What weapon will he choose to end your life?

Hannibal returns moments later with a clear container. You bite the inside of your cheek and watch silently as he approaches you, setting the bin on the table before taking your wrist and studying the minor gash on your palm. Something close to disapproval passes over his face for a quick second, before it’s replaced with a clinical gaze.

Your hand is trembling ever so slightly. If Hannibal notices, he doesn’t mention it. Instead, he obtains ointment from the container of medical supplies and spreads it along your scrape—before wrapping a bandage around your hand and wrist. His movements are precise and practiced; even if you were unaware of his background, you’d know he had experience as a medical practitioner.

“Don’t try that again.” His voice is deceptively light; you don’t need to look far to see the anger coiled in his tight shoulders. You nod silently, your throat burning as you’re overcome with your own helplessness. With that, he walks back to the table, collects the dishes, and leaves the room. You stare down at your newly-bandaged hand, a renewed anguish promptly replacing any hope for escape. That attempt just now was a colossal failure. You didn’t think you were too obvious about your intentions, but he had reacted as if he expected you to stab him. Maybe that knife was placed there purposefully. Maybe, for reasons beyond your current comprehension, Hannibal wanted you to threaten his life.

You really don’t know what to do with that information. You settle for reclining on the mattress and closing your eyes, still fighting off that foolish hope that you’ll wake sweat-soaked in your own bedroom, breathing hard from the fictitious nightmare you just experienced.

Not much is born from your failure to escape, save for a few things: 1) a downgrade to plastic silverware, which makes you laugh in hysterical defeat; 2) pervasive hopelessness; and 3) a need for a new coping mechanism. Planning to escape no longer seems like a productive use of your time—trying to create something out of nothing is just insanity. Instead of maniacally going through every physically possible way to escape—a list which currently has zero items on it—you find yourself meditating.

You were never the meditative type; you had many therapists who told you to meditate on your problems, and you promised yourself that you would never give that kind of advice to your patients. Mindfulness itself isn’t a bad suggestion, but the suggestion of meditation—crossed legs, pinched fingers—always felt like a slap in the face.

You were so desperate once that you gave it a try. Predictably, your skeptical nature prevented it from actually working. But, ironically, when you tried it again a few days later, you found that you were able to compartmentalize your thoughts better. It didn’t necessarily make you feel calm in the way everyone claimed it did, but meditation helped you sort out the seemingly infinite tangle of problems in your mental cobweb. And if that cobweb was tangled before, it’s an absolute wreck now. Trapped in a man’s basement with no means of escape is a never-ending fountain of dread, regret, fear, and stress.

At first, you just try to count to large numbers in your head. It helps you pass the time, in a room with no other form of entertainment. You slowly work your way up to tackling actual thoughts from there, and you find that, with time, you’re able to suppress unwanted feelings slightly. It’s nothing ground-breaking. But coping with your situation is one hell of a difficult task, so you’re proud of yourself for making any progress at all.

This meditation becomes somewhat of a routine. You find yourself retreating into the depths of your mind at least once a day, if not two or three times. It’s a welcome escape from the unfamiliar room around you. Everything fades away, until you’re submerged in an endless void. Memories flicker before your eyes in brief flashes of light, visible but intangible.

This meditation has one flaw: it leaves you entirely unguarded and defenseless. You were preoccupied with this notion during your first few attempts, but after you returned to the empty room each time, you began to forget your fear. But losing that fear made you complacent. You soon found yourself entirely ignoring the room around you—ignoring footsteps, ignoring shadows passing across the walls. While you often returned to reality to find yourself alone… that wasn’t always the case.

When you’re finished with meditation one night, you open your eyes to find Hannibal standing in front of you. You immediately flinch and suck in a startled breath, nearly falling backwards on the bed as you create more distance between the two of you. It doesn’t take much contemplation to understand what he’s doing here. He was watching you, observing you. You never noticed him cross the threshold of the doorway; you didn’t notice him approach you with intrigue in his eyes as he regarded your vulnerable form. You were lost in the workings of your mind palace, your eyes closed and hands clasped in your lap.

“Hannibal,” you say, when you regain the ability to speak. “You scared me.” That’s an understatement. Your heart is positively racing in your chest. Hannibal has that damned smirk on his face, suggesting that your terror only amuses him. You grit your teeth and pretend not to notice the satisfaction practically radiating off of him.

He finally stops looming over you, turning on his heel and walking over to the table. When he takes a seat, he immediately looks at you expectantly. “Take a seat,” Hannibal verbalizes, when a few seconds pass and you don’t make a move.

You do as requested, albeit with a lot of restless fidgeting. Whenever the two of you sit at the table and there isn’t any food, you know a therapy session is beginning. Admittedly, your interactions so far barely qualify as sessions—Hannibal has still been frustratingly vague with what he’s experiencing, leaving you with virtually nothing to give to him in return.

This session is nothing new. His ambiguity is still infuriating, but you find yourself grappling with a newer impatience. When it becomes clear that the conversation isn’t going anywhere, you hear yourself speaking. “I thought we promised to be honest with one another.” You wait with bated breath. Hannibal looks tightly coiled, as if ready to strike at any moment. But he remains silent, which pushes you to continue. “You’re still not being honest with me.”

“Very well,” Hannibal nods. You both know it’s true. Hannibal has only spoken of ambiguous urges that nearly consume him. These urges are evidently negative and almost mirror compulsions. However, from what you’ve seen of Hannibal so far, he has finely-regulated emotional control. Is he really a victim to these negative urges, or is he their puppetmaster? Your instincts gravitate towards the latter, but you aren’t prepared for the verbal confirmation he gives you. “I am a serial killer and a cannibal.”

You immediately scrutinize him, looking for the signs you’ve grown to attribute to dishonesty. But there is only unapologetic candor… and an almost boundless hunger. You loathe how quick you are to believe such an outlandish statement. But, in the wake of your captivity, you’ve grown somewhat used to outlandishness. After all, Hannibal went so far as to kidnap you indefinitely—it’s been abundantly clear since you woke in this room that he is not a good person. His thinly-veiled fury has always been present—it is only now that you are able to attribute it to something.

Your gaze is then unwittingly pulled down, past his neatly-ironed suit and to the wooden table before you. You think back to all the meals you’ve been fed and you look back up at him, unable to hide your fear and revulsion. “Have you…?” You’re at a loss for words.

“I have not fed you anything untoward,” Hannibal answers. You’re briefly grateful, before you chastise yourself for the emotion. Why are you grateful to your captor for showing you the smallest of mercies? You are still trapped here. You have been shown the most basic of human decencies: food and water. Privacy and safety are distant memories, at this point.

“You’re a serial killer and a cannibal,” you hear yourself repeat. Your voice sounds foreign and unrecognizable, in the wake of this horrifying revelation. “That’s…” You choke out, entirely unsure of what to say.

Hannibal tries to keep talking, but you place your hands on the table and get to your feet. The chain on your ankle clinks menacingly as you move away from the table and towards the bed. You know better to turn your back on the man, so you instead perform an awkward side-shuffle until you’re seated on the bed. Hannibal finishes his meal in silence and leaves you alone in the basement. You break down soon after.

Each time you blink, you see eyes glazed over in death; limbs stiff and unfeeling; lips parted but unbreathing. Every morning, you’re brutally torn from your sleep and forced to wake up in a nightmare. You are rotting behind these nondescript walls and no one has seemed to notice. What of your family and friends? Where are they now? Is anyone looking for you, or have you been banished to the uncompromising soil and cold headstones in a barren field?

You haven’t caught even a trace of happiness throughout your captivity here. Fear, unease, and desperation have forced you into compliance. There’s a constant burning sensation in your throat and behind your eyes, as you mourn for the tragedies of tomorrow. Your life here is dictated by Hannibal’s whims. And, worst of all, your death is completely inevitable. You have no sense of the passage of time, yet the threat of your end seems to come ever closer with each passing moment.

There are only so many mind games you can subject yourself to before you have to face the grim reality: you are trapped here, and you likely will be trapped here for the remainder of your life. Whether that’s several weeks, eight months, or a few years… You will be confined here until Hannibal grows disinterested. Whatever the source of his interest, one thing is certain: this intrigue persuades him to spare you. But, as patient as Hannibal seems to be, you know it will only be a matter of time before he snaps.

Sometimes, in the middle of the night, you can hear your own bones cracking and snapping under his grip. Sometimes, in the light of day, you can see bright patrol lights reaching out to you through the screen door, beckoning you back to your life. But none of it is real. Nothing is tangible, save for the chain suffocating your ankle and the fear that keeps you from acting out or attempting to escape again.

In light of Hannibal’s confession, you feel… empty. A part of you is almost hopeful—even desperate—for an end to your confinement. That part of you longs to test the limits of Hannibal’s patience, in the hopes of breaking it and triggering the final chapter of your life.

Safe to say, you aren’t sure what to do with yourself anymore. Everything feels completely pointless. You’re just waking up to fall asleep again the next night; eating to put off the gnawing feeling in your stomach; living to die. Each day simultaneously feels like a victory and a defeat.

One question still begs your attention: why are you here? In your first session, Hannibal had maintained the illusion that he wanted to get better. The same can’t be said anymore: he shows no regret for the things he’s done. There isn’t even a hint of remorse in his answers to your questions, which only confuses you more. He does not want to improve.

One particular morning, you decide to ask him. After all, you have virtually nothing left to lose. You would welcome an escape from this situation—any violence from him would only provide a merciful end to your suffering. “Why are you still entertaining all of this?” You blurt out before you can stop yourself. Hannibal is entirely static as he stares at you, no hint of emotion in his eyes. You can only imagine what he’s thinking. “You don’t want to get better. You show no remorse for your victims. Therapy is conducted under the pretense that the client wants something. As you’re aware, that is often support, self-actualization, or even just someone to listen to them… What do you want?”

“I’m glad I chose you,” Hannibal says, his eyes glimmering.

“You haven’t answered my question,” you frown.

“Company,” he answers.

You study him for a long moment. “Do you feel unsatisfied with your current attachments?” You ask, squinting at him. “You once told me you host dinner parties frequently. You’ve never expressed difficulties with making friends, but you also never speak about the ones you do have.” You wouldn’t be surprised if Hannibal didn’t have any friends—he doesn’t seem the type.

“Perhaps I think them to be beneath me,” he remarks casually.

“Sure,” you say. That sounds about right, but you know things are rarely so simple and straightforward. “But then how do you fulfill your basic interpersonal needs? Are you constantly pretending?” You push.

His silence is enough of an answer. Something ugly stews in your chest. You hate that you’re entertaining this—that you’re even pretending this man is redeemable. Yet what other choice do you have? When it comes down to it, you don’t want to die in this basement. You’ll do whatever it takes to ensure you escape that fate. Even if that means asking questions that you really don’t want the answers to. Somehow, you manage to push the off-putting words from your lips. “How do you choose your victims?”

Hannibal raises his brows, evidently surprised that you asked. He almost looks impressed. The recognition nauseates you: why are you so desperate for his approval? “I exchange business cards with people I meet,” Hannibal responds. That uneasy feeling is only increasing, continuing to prickle along your skin. “The cards of those who are particularly rude… are set aside.”

You force yourself to maintain some semblance of composure, even if you know the effort will be obvious. “And then?” Your voice is deceptively light, despite your pulse practically thrumming with uneasy anticipation. “What pushes you to make a move?”

“Anger,” he answers. His eyes gleam a foreboding crimson in the dim light of the basement. Every nerve in your body is screaming at you to stop talking, yet you continue relentlessly.

“No,” you immediately argue before you can stop yourself. “It’s not anger.” Hannibal raises a brow, challenging you to provide a better explanation.

You pause to review everything you’ve learned about Hannibal so far. His secretive, elusive nature suggests that he isn’t killing for attention or pride. Sure, anger could be a motivator, but above that… “It’s boredom,” you realize aloud. “You’re bored. Very little interests you, especially when you have so few genuine relationships. Killing actually makes you feel something—an emotion you’re unable to find elsewhere.”

You’re gripping the arms of your chair hard enough to send bolts of pain sliding through your fingers. One wrong move and he could lash out at you, ending your escape attempt before it can even truly begin. “Try as you might to replicate that feeling… You can’t.”

You’re not sure what reaction you’re expecting. Yet you’re still shocked to see Hannibal smile—a twisted, malicious thing that tears your breath from your chest. You’re immediately overcome with the inexplicable conviction that you’ve just supplied the last nail in your own coffin.

“My whole life, I have been thinking…. thinking… trying to figure myself out so I can help other people understand themselves.” You say some time later, staring up at the ceiling. Your fingers twitch restlessly in the plush brown armchair you find yourself sitting in. The room is warmly lit, with bookshelves lining the walls. Across from you sits your old therapist. “And here I am,” you continue wryly, “Talking to my dead therapist.”

There’s a healthy glow to Charlie’s warm brown skin; he looks entirely at ease. “Why do you think that is?” He asks. Irritation floods through you. Charlie is just a figment of your imagination—a device your mind is using to attempt to cope with the trauma of this situation. But even this manifestation of Charlie is unrelenting, just as he once was.

“Come on, Charlie,” you groan. His expression says, Humor me. You take a slow breath. A thump from upstairs draws you to look up at the ceiling, before you’re returning your eyes to Charlie and the space around him. “Fine. I was kidnapped by a serial killer and I have no chance of escape. No one is going to find me and I’m going to rot down here.”

Speaking on your thoughts ushers in a new sense of finality and it’s greatly unsettling. Charlie, on the other hand, is entirely unaffected. Whether that’s because he’s already dead or simply because he has a firm handle on his emotions, you’re unsure.

You’re not sure how long you spend falling apart on that armchair, nor how long it takes for you to pull yourself back together. All you know is this unfamiliar feeling that tugs you back up above the roaring waves, pushing you to try again when all feels pointless. “I can’t die here,” you announce. The words linger in the air long after you utter them.

“So don’t,” Charlie replies simply.

“I wish it were that easy,” you breathe. Faint traces of voices break you from your reverie and you stare at the basement wall intensely, before abandoning the gesture moments later when nothing happens. You look back at Charlie, whose eyes snap back to you as if he was also distracted by the sound. “Hannibal… He’s too perceptive. It won’t work.” You’re forced to think back to the rapidity with which he disarmed you.

You sense what Charlie’s going to say before he says it. “You don’t know that unless you try.”

“There’s no point,” you sigh frustratedly.

“How long will you perpetuate this cycle?” Charlie asks, a worried frown on his face. “You give yourself hope, only to take it away again. You are the one in control here.”

That’s not true. You’re not in control—Hannibal is the puppet master. But you suppose your therapist is correct, in a sense: your emotions are your own. “Fine,” you acquiesce. “I need to put an end to this. I can’t be trapped down here for the rest of my life. I need to try, at the very least.”

Somehow, the placating smile on Charlie’s face still looks smug. You put it down to your imagination. “What are your options, then?” He questions.

“Well…” You trail off. “I could fashion a weapon out of something in the room. But I’ve been downgraded to plastic silverware since the fork incident…”

“I could also try to reason with him. That definitely wouldn’t work, because he’s already convinced and can’t be persuaded. Hannibal shows no remorse for his actions and he will likely spend the rest of his life killing.”

You find yourself faced with the same troubling conclusion that has provoked your inaction. “I have no power, no authority in this situation.” It doesn’t take long for the reality of the situation to set in once more. “He’s not trying to get better.” Only in the depths of your mind, before your conjured visage of Charlie, does your voice betray the defeat you feel.

“But he brought you here,” Charlie reminds you. You tap your fingers restlessly against the arm of the chair. “He must’ve taken you for a reason, even if it wasn’t for you to help him. What do you think that reason is?” He prompts.

“He’s…” You break off. “He enjoys being in control and exerting authority.” That explanation sounds flimsy, even to you. The truth of the matter is staring you in the face, but you’re too unsettled to acknowledge it.

“You’re grossly underestimating your value,” Charlie hums, perceptive as always. “You are valuable to him.” You’re unwittingly reminded of his gentle touch as he bandaged your palm; the intensity with which he gazes at you (especially when he thinks you don’t notice). You can deny it no longer.

“Somehow, I interest him.” You say. Charlie nods; you’re on the right track. Something pushes you to shake your head and abandon that thought process. Inexplicably, you know you won’t like what you find there if you push any further.

“I need to focus on how to get out of here,” you announce. Charlie arches a brow, but gracefully allows you to change the subject. Yet the unspoken sentiment adds a tension to the air that wasn’t present previously. You both know just how far Hannibal’s intrigue goes, yet you’re not comfortable with addressing it.

“You’ve looked around the room,” Charlie then prompts.

“Many times,” you acquiesce. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to look again. There are two padlocks—one on the bedpost and one on the chain around my ankle. The lock on the chain could be picked with a pin. I doubt he has a pin lying around, but a nail or something like that could work…”

Charlie nods approvingly. You roll your eyes and willingly retreat from your mind palace, returning to the room around you with renewed resolve. That resolve slowly wanes when you don’t find anything in the main room. But when you walk into the bathroom, you realize there’s a landscape painting on the wall. It must be secured with a nail. Surely enough, when you remove it from the wall, a single nail is left behind. It looks bent already, but it’ll have to do. Studying the room, you decide to stuff the painting in the cabinets beneath the sink. You’ve never seen Hannibal use this bathroom and you’ll have to trust that assumption. Hope brews in your chest, but you can’t quite bring yourself to trust it.

When you leave the bathroom and enter the basement, you sit on the bed in silence—waiting for Hannibal to stalk in and thwart your escape attempts. After an immeasurable amount of time spent holding your breath, you manage to convince yourself to work on the padlock around your ankle. The nail you found is rigid and uncompromising, which forces you to exert an unnecessary amount of strength to manipulate it into a suitable shape.

The chain is rattling ever so slightly as you attempt to free yourself from it. Your breathing is extremely loud in your ears and you’re frantically fighting off the growing potential for Hannibal to walk in and catch you in the middle of the act. Your heart is thudding steadily and quickly in your chest. This is the moment you’ve been waiting for. You’ve waited for this chance and you’re not going to blow it. Your fingers calloused and throbbing, you firmly maneuver the nail and the padlock finally pops open. You place it on the bed gently, before shakily taking off the manacle. Your ankle is bruised and irritated, but it’s not broken and you don’t feel too much pain. After a moment, you decide to hide the padlock under the comforter. It doesn’t really matter if you hide it—Hannibal will notice your absence regardless.

You take a deep breath and get off the bed, stealthily walking towards the glass doors at the other side of the room. You’ve been staring through them for so long now, but you were never able to get close enough to open them—let alone see your surroundings. Now, you find that it’s afternoon—as the sun casts a warm glow on the sky. You slide the lock of the door and pull up on the interior pin, before gently sliding it. Of course, the door catches on the track and shudders—but you manage to put it back as quietly as you can.

Your shoes finally meet the pavement and you’re free. You’re actually free.

You take a deep breath of fresh air and survey your surroundings, only to see a never ending expanse of trees on all sides. You’re in the middle of the woods.

Fuck.

You had a clear plan in your mind: escape the house, run down the populated street, and find the nearest approachable stranger to ask for help. The second step of your plan has already failed: there is no street or neighborhood—only forest as far as the eye can see. It takes everything you have not to fall to your knees and cry. Crying won’t do you any good.

At first, you take silent, measured steps away from the house—afraid to make any sound. As the house shrinks in the distance, however, you break into a jog and, eventually, a full-out sprint. You don’t know where you’re going—you just hope to put as much distance between Hannibal and you as possible. (Of course, it’s likely that he knows these woods a lot better than you do. That’s only another reason to prioritize speed over getting your bearings.)

In hindsight, you wish you had attempted to sneak upstairs and steal something from his house: a wallet, a phone, a weapon, anything. But you just couldn’t risk it. Not to mention… you had banked on finding yourself in a cookie-cutter neighborhood, not in the middle of nowhere.

You’re not sure how long you’re running. You don’t stop until your legs threaten to give out. Then, you brace yourself against a tree and try to catch your breath for a few minutes. The pain in your chest fading and your breath restored, you remove your hand from the tree and stand upright—only to see a figure a short distance from you. You squint and try to make it out. For a moment, it’s stationary and you’re fooled into thinking it’s an object. Then it moves, and you’re forced to come to a nauseating conclusion: Hannibal followed you.

“No,” you say. “No, no, no, no.” Your shoe slides back as you step backwards, leaves and sticks crunching under your feet. You’re hardly able to believe your eyes—frozen in fear as Hannibal strides towards you. Your survival instincts don’t kick in until he’s far closer, and you immediately whip around and run.

You don’t get far before he’s tackling you to the ground. The sharp edges of his body press into you and you try to throw him off, bucking underneath him. His grip is insistent and he stares down at you with a blank expression. You manage to pull your knee up far enough to hit him, causing his grip to slacken and giving you an outlet of escape. You shove him off of you and kick at his side, but he manages to maneuver to the side and dodge.

Something at his side catches the light. He’s holding a knife. You’re holding your hands out in front of you, as if that will somehow stop the killer in front of you from making you another victim. With blinding speed, Hannibal is lunging towards you and sinking the knife into your thigh. You scream and manage to push him away, though your attempt at disarming him is futile. You immediately clamp a hand against your bleeding leg, gritting your teeth as stars pass across your vision. Hannibal continues his pursuit, forcing you to stumble backwards.

“Hannibal,” you choke out, your voice thick. You think you taste blood in your mouth—probably from biting the inside of your cheek too hard. There is almost no emotion in Hannibal’s eyes, save for one confusing one: betrayal. Did he expect you to stay? “Please.” What are you begging for? Do you want mercy, or do you want an end to this madness?

Either way, Hannibal extends his hand towards you. You’re shaking, blood dripping from your lip as you stare at him. The gesture is a peace offering of sorts: come willingly, and I won’t hurt you, he’s trying to say. You’re not so easily fooled. You never had a choice.

You still shake your head, a pained whimper wrenching its way out of your lips. You instinctively step backwards. In the blink of an eye, the world is spinning around you and you’re falling to the forest floor. (If a tree falls in a forest with no one to hear it, does it make a sound?) You blink dazedly, your vision slowly blurring. Leaves crunch near your cheek as Hannibal draws ever closer. You try to reach out a hand to resist, but you can only twitch for moments before your eyes are slipping shut.

When you can finally fight off the exhaustion seeping into your form, you blink past dry eyes and stare up at an achingly familiar ceiling. You push yourself up weakly, only to find yourself in Hannibal’s basement once more. There’s a sturdier chain around your ankle, and a new, bulkier padlock securing the chain. All you can hear is your ragged breathing and the awful ringing in your ears. Taking a shuddering breath, you bury your head in your hands.

endnotes: Here's some dialogue I couldn’t find a place for:

“I don’t particularly care.” “That doesn’t sound like you,” Hannibal responds. “You don’t know me,” you feel the need to remind him. “And I haven’t felt like myself in quite some time.”

Hannibal's boujee ass definitely has a state of the art security system in his home… Methinks the reader triggered the alarm system in their escape and it sent Hannibal's phone a notification…

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glossykissies · 1 month ago

Note

going anywhere with frank and noticing how suddenly no man bothers you ever cause of how scary he is......I need to give him head in a dressing room because of how sexy he is

frank didn’t love being out in public, showing his face and all given the work he was in. but you were his weakness, and with everything he underwent in the darker period of his life, he felt he atleast owed you normalcy.

so he’d come shopping with you. oddly enough, it didn’t take much convincing — as soon as you’d mentioned in one of your rambles how you would get annoyed with all the ‘weird men’ staring you down when you’d shop, frank was game to tag along so he could make sure you were safe. your safety was always his top priority after all.

you could tell he was not focused on the contents of your shopping trip for the entirety of the day, instead surveying over the store slowly with a hawks eye, staring down any man who looked a wee bit suspicious, or so much as glanced your way. for the most part you were none the wiser, skipping along, clutching his arm and handing him shopping bags, the man offering you no more than a ‘mhm, looks good sweetheart.” when you’d hold up a piece of clothing for his advise.

once you noticed that he was all but protecting you like a security guard, a fire was lit inside you, causing you to feel so warm and protected it made you just want to serve him.

“wanna try somethin’ on, okay frank?” you hum pleasantly, grabbing a random top off the sale rack and dragging him toward the changing rooms.

“yeah.” he clears his throat, ushering in behind you, his body already crowding you in the small cubicle space. for some reason, you’d assumed he’d caught on by now — so you were the surprised one when you eagerly started undoing his belt with a sweet grin and he’d grabbed your wrist. “heyhey, what’s going on, huh? we’re in public honey.” he rasps and you go all doe eyed in shame, a look he can’t resist.

“you’ve been looking after me all day, i realised you’ve been protecting me.” you explain, the dark haired man shuffling on his feet in light amusement. he huffs out a smirk, not wanting to chuckle at your excitement and embarrass you for feeling your feelings. frank was big on that.

“well, yeah sweetie s’what i do, ain’t it?” he thumbs at your cheekbone and the delicate skin below your eye. it makes your lashes flutter.

“mhm, so—” you swallow, gathering yourself. it seemed all the saliva had prematurely flooded to your mouth in preparation. “so i want to show you my appreciation. with my mouth.” you look so innocent yet mischievous staring up at him and he stuffs his tongue in his cheek, tilting his head down at you adoringly.

“yeah? right here baby?” he lowers his voice and you feel a shudder tremor through you.

“yes, frank.” you sigh as he pinches your chin and pulls your lips towards him to drop a smiley kiss.

“frank?” he hums softly against you as you suck in a breath. he mouth at your jaw.

“sir.” you whisper, shy — like anyone could hear.

“atta girl. on your knees yeah sweetheart? ‘let you get it outta your system.”

frank just loved to spoil you.

#nonnies ୭ 🧁 ✧ ˚. 🎀#f.c ♡#frank castle prompt

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brain-rot-central · 1 year ago

Text

Hey Jealousy

Rating: M/borderline E? (for now) Pairing: Spawn!A/Fem!Tav Word count: 3.5k

Warnings: NON-CANON, 18+, degrading speech, somewhat dubcon for certain parts but not totally?, adult themes, mentions of past sexual relationship, alcohol mention, alcohol use, blood mention, possessiveness, jealously, stalking, dry humping, ANGST, some fluff, bitter petty nonsense overall tbh

Summary: Astarion and Tav split at the end of the game due to a huge miscommunication. She tries desperately to move on, Astarion not so much. He finally gets ahold of her, aaaaand some messy feelings come out.

A/N - 1/28/24: Reuploading this! Not much has changed; mostly pulled it for grammatical editing purposes. Hopefully the story flows a bit better now!

The tavern is bustling with the usual weekend crowd. Upbeat music fills the air of the small establishment as this evening’s band continues their set. Drinks cascade like waterfalls into the hands and mouths of the tavern's parched patrons, each desperate for a distraction to drive out the unsettling reality of their lives, albeit for a few hours.

Astarion is perched in a corner of the tavern, circling the tip of his finger around the edge of his wine goblet. The unpleasant flavor of piss and vinegar lingers on his tongue from the spirit, mouth salivating. He sucks his teeth instinctively, trying to rid himself of the taste.

Reaching into the pocket of his favored violet and gold doublet, he retrieves a small vial of crimson liquid. He pops off the stopper and deposits the contents into his cup, bringing the cylindrical glass to his mouth to lap up the small droplet that rolls down its side.

He hums in satisfaction as the sweet flavor spreads across his tongue, floral and lively, before returning the stopper back atop the vial. Using a single finger, he swirls the additive into his wine, bringing the goblet back to his lips for another sip.

Ah, much better.

Surveying the bar, Astarion catches the attention of a young elven woman. She's aesthetically pleasing on the eyes - blonde hair with tan skin. Were he here for another reason, he may have tried his luck with her.

Astarion nods politely. The woman then rises from her seat, walking toward him. “Shit,” he mutters to himself, adjusting his positioning. He hurriedly repockets the blood vial within his doublet and hangs his head low just as she takes the seat at his booth, opposite him.

“Well, you’re certainly different from the usual fare,” she says, confidently. “Not often we get you teu-tel-quessir folk in here.”

Astarion absently swirls his wine. She believes I'm a moon elf?

Assuming that she's a regular of this tavern, this woman may be somewhat oblivious. Were she not, she’d have realized this is his third visit this month alone.

Astarion decides to play into her little game - he’s compelled to see how long he can keep the charade going. “I’m but a weary traveler, just passing through,” he lies. It rolls off his tongue like the caress of an old friend. Creating a fictitious life for himself is something he’s had quite a bit of practice doing.

“Is that so? I, too, happen to be passing through here.” The woman places her elbows on the table and leans forward, giving Astarion better access to the cleavage threatening to spill over the top of her bodice. His eyes fall briefly to the woman’s chest, but he doesn’t look at her face. Not yet. “Got the room rented out upstairs for a couple more days,” she adds, tone hushed.

Sliding her hand toward his, she gently rubs her fingers over the ones he has encased around the neck of the wine goblet. Astarion shudders, not expecting such an intimate touch, and finally lifts his gaze to meet her own. “Care to make a few mistakes with me?” she asks.

Astarion snickers. He can tell part of her story is a facade, though he doesn’t care enough to discern which.

“My apologies, love, but I’ve made enough mistakes to last a lifetime,” he replies. Pulling his hand from her, he grabs his wine by the cup, bringing it again to his lips. “I’ll have to decline.”

The elven woman softly hums in disappointment, standing up from her seat at the booth. “Such a shame,” she says, “you really are something beautiful.” She raises a hand to her lips, kissing the pads of her fingertips before extending them out toward him. Gently blowing on her fingers, she says, “If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

Astarion raises his cup to her and she walks off, returning to her group of friends on the far side of the tavern. He groans a sigh of relief.

Wasting little time resuming his attention on the crowd surrounding him, another is quick to catch his eye. He's seen her before - long auburn hair flowing down her back with streaks of blonde scattered throughout. She wasn't dressed in her evening best, but even so, the blouse and slacks she wore left little to his imagination.

She's sitting at the bar in the middle of the tavern, a young tiefling gentleman holding her attention at present. He’s not her usual type, Astarion notes to himself, though he remains transfixed on their interaction.This is the second man he's seen this evening trying their hand at impressing the young human woman.

A smile forms on her lips as she converses with her current suitor. Astarion once again swirls his goblet of wine before bringing it back to his mouth for another taste.

He knows this woman, rather intimately, at that. He’s held her hair within his hands, traced the outline of her jaw with his fingertips. The smell of her skin is ever present in his mind. The saltiness of her sweat on his tongue as he lavishes her throat, the intoxicating roll of her hips against his as he bites down into the tender flesh of her neck… the rush of blood cascading down his throat.

He swallows thickly around the memory.

They've been together a handful of times throughout their travels to save the Realm from the threat of the Absolute, but that was neither here nor there, at this point.

The tiefling begins skirting his fingers along her forearm, and she leans into his touch. Astarion seethes from his place in the booth, a rush of warmth flooding his core and quickly spreading outward to each of his limbs. It’s been months since they decided on this new agreement, though his reaction is just as strong whenever another encroaches on her.

Astarion looks on as the red-head gently pats her companion’s arm before standing from her seat. His eyes follow her toward the back of the tavern. After downing the rest of his drink in one quick swing, he’s following her, careful to keep just enough distance not to rouse suspicion.

The music from the band thumps loudly in his chest as he draws closer to the crowd of people gathered before the stage. Lucky for him, they’re so entranced by the show that they hardly notice his mindless weaving, trying not to lose sight of his target. Astarion stops for a moment to refocus, looking around. It doesn’t take him long at all to zero in a glimpse of those fiery locks disappearing down a hallway off to the side.

His feet bring him to the start of the long corridor and he peers cautiously around the corner. The woman is not to be found, likely in the powder room. Astarion sighs, some of the built up tension beginning to wane from his shoulders, and comes to stand with his back against the window across from the facilities.

The residual tension within him is beginning to bleed into anxiety and doubt the longer he waits. His mind is rapidly exchanging scenarios, all of which cause his stomach to become unsettled. Gooseflesh spreads over his arms and the fine hairs covering them stand on end. Why is he doing this? They'd agreed to be friends and nothing more. It’s his fault for not being able to honor his end of the deal, he knew, but by the Gods, he simply does not care.

Since the first drops of her blood spread across his tongue, Astarion knew something within him changed. He wasn't sure if it was due to her being his proverbial “first,” but he felt… compelled by her from that moment forward. Bonded almost, in a strange way.

In a sea of crimson, her blood would always sing loudest to him. It horrified him in the beginning, recalling memories of Cazador's puppeteering ways. The fear ebbed into compassion, after a time. As their physical relationship grew more intimate, compassion melted into an overwhelming desire to guard her. A want to protect what was his, finally his, after so many godsdamned years of pure, absolute shit.

Their… whatever it was they shared, was his. And he would gladly throw his life on the line any chance he could to insure its sustainability.

He catches a glint of red in his peripheral vision again. The human, oblivious to his presence, begins her trek back to her seat at the bar. The thought barely has time to process in Astarion’s head before his body reacts, reaching out to grab the side of her arm, pulling her back toward the wall with him.

“What the-!” the woman exclaims in shock. Her other hand comes up to begin swatting at the offending appendage. She stops midway as her eyes meet his face, recognition washing over her. “Oh, Astarion,” she says, voice flat, “what… what are you doing here?”

A practiced smile graces his lips as he releases the grip on her arm. “Am I not free to seek my own pleasure, darling?” An uneasiness begins to take root again, mind scolding him once the words leave his lips. What in the hells kind of question is that?

Astarion clears his throat. “I was simply out for a drink before returning home when I saw what appeared to be a fire in the middle of the bar.” Unsure of what response he's hoping for, he's praying she doesn't catch onto his desperate attempt at recovery.

A quick blush spreads across her cheeks and she bows her head, giving a genuine smile. Astarion huffs out a breath in relief.

During their time together, Astarion would often tease that her hair reminded him of a raging fire. Eventually, he adorned her with the pet name of “spitfire;” she thoroughly enjoyed solving the majority of her problems through brute force. She favored it, evidenced by a deep blush that would spread across her features.

Not unlike the one rising to her face at this very moment.

Were he honest with her, he’d tell her that this isn’t the first time he’s followed her since they parted - watched helplessly from afar as she rotated through potential nightly suitors. He chooses not to, however. Chooses to not tell her that he’s noticed every man she’s taken home has platinum hair. How they’re always of elven lineage.

She seems to buy his excuse as she visibly relaxes before him. “Oh, no, of course, Astarion,” she sighs. “It's uh, it's been a few weeks, hasn't it?” Her eyes are soft as she shifts her weight onto one hip. “How have you been?”

She's nervous, he can tell. She's doing that thing with her lip, chewing the inside of it. The rush of blood in her veins crashes and bellows in his ears as her blush settles deeper across the top of her chest.

“As well as one would imagine,” Astarion replies, “after having their heart broken.” There’s an air of nonchalance decorating his tone. A well-worn smirk tugs at his lips. He's fuming inside at the thought of another touching her, but he doesn't want to play his cards outright yet.

No, he wants to see her squirm, wants to inflict just a touch of the torment he's experienced since their parting.

What a spiteful creature.

Her expression falls flat, jaw tensing. “I'm not sure what you mean by that,” she retorts in a meek tone. She pulls her shoulders back. "I-I thought we agreed to be friends, no?”

Astarion glances over his shoulder to see the young tiefling gentleman from before passing behind them. Their eyes meet, Astarion furrowing his brow. His jaw tightens, lips curling upward, and the peaks of his fangs are visible. He watches for the tiefling’s reaction, elated to find that the boy is clearly shaken by his display. The Tiefling turns to speak but decides against it, turning his back to the scene before him.

Astarion sneers.

Yet another unworthy fool.

Though… a fool who has touched her. Something he and only he should be privy to.

An inferno erupts within him.

Astarion grabs the young woman by the arm again and leads her toward the supply closet at the end of the hall, making quick work of the lock. Astarion scans their surroundings before opening the door and shoving her in, a small squeak pushed past her lips from the impact of his hand on her back. Quickly closing the door behind him, he yells, “Ignis!” a fireball lighting the lone torch in the room.

“Astarion, what-” she shouts in protest. Before the opportunity arises he’s back on her, pinning her in place to the wall with his hips. His hands fly up to cup either side of her jaw.

"Do you truly believe I meant that?" he growls low in his throat, their eyes meeting in a whirlwind. “That I only wanted to be friends?” he adds, mockingly.

He's desperately searching her face for something, anything to show him he's not alone in this. Her tense expression stokes the fire raging within him.

Suddenly, he's spiraling.

The small voice in his head, his conscience, is yelling at him to stop - to pull back. She’s made it quite clear how she feels, you love-sick idiot.

Logic fails him - he cannot form a single cohesive thought. Not when she's looking at him like that.

A doe caught unawares in the middle of a forest. Eyes blown wide, mouth slightly agape. Not unlike those he's hunted multiple times in the past. His chest heaves as he drinks in her expression, a wave of heat rising up within him.

The compulsion is overwhelming, rapidly losing the battle with the rational part of his brain. Bitterness bites at the back of his throat like acid.

He absolutely must continue.

“Is that why your home has become a revolving door?” Astarion says, watching her face shift.

“Excuse me?” the human asks, offense evident in her tone. A rhetorical question, though he pushes forward.

“Of men who look just enough like me?” he continues, driving the thorn deeper into the woman's side.

Suddenly, she’s stone, cold and unwelcoming. Her face twists into something sour, nose scrunching up in disgust.

“Astarion Anunín… Have you been stalking me?” she nearly yells.

Oh, he has her right where he wants her.

"The color of their hair does always match my own…” Astarion ponders aloud, head tilting to one side. “Have any of them fucked you as thoroughly as I have, darling?" he chides.

Pulling in a quick, ragged breath, the young woman shudders beneath him, her head falling forward. Her hips involuntarily twitch against the knee he’s suddenly wedged between her thighs and she whimpers, biting her lip to stifle the sound.

“Astarion…” she groans, eyes falling closed.

She’s upset, he knows. Yet, he’s privy to how she can barely resist the call of his body against her. Why not use that knowledge to his advantage?

A heavy flush settles across her face and she reopens her eyes, looking up at him through hooded lids. Astarion sees it then - the unabashed desire emanating from her.

How ironic, he thinks to himself, that her eyes have a hunter green hue. At this moment she feels like prey, wrapped up in a delicate satin bow, all for him.

The remnants of his eternally damned soul sing in delight at her unraveling before him. Saliva pools thick on his tongue as he lavishes the thought of pushing forward, closing in on her.

Astarion leans toward her, cocking his head again to one side. “Hells, Tav… Did it really never occur to you that we made love the last time we were together?" he asks quietly, mouth hovering just above her lips.

Tav shivers beneath him, body writhing against the wall she's leaning against. Her hands come up to press against his chest, gripping fistfuls of his shirt as she grinds herself again on the knee between her legs. The flush on her face is so deep, practically matching the color of her hair.

“Y-you’re hardly playing fair,” she huffs out. She moans again, genuine and clear, making little attempt to subdue the noise. Astarion groans in response before closing the distance, finally capturing her lips in a kiss.

He’s timid at first, wanting to gauge her reaction. Tav doesn't resist nor push him away, giving him the encouragement to continue. Her jaw grows pliant under him and invites him deeper into her mouth, tongues entangling for a quick moment. The kiss is brief - just enough until she settles beneath him. Both of their chests heave as they part.

Astarion’s eyes rest upon her lips before he draws his head back. His hands fall from her face and he lays his palms flat against the wall on either side of her head.

"My biggest regret is that I lacked the courage to tell you with words..." he admits, voice trailing off. The ghost of a smile tugs at the corners of his lips as he adds, "so, instead, I used the one tool I'm most versed with.”

Tav's pupils blow wide at the implication of his words.

Of course, Astarion used his body - used himself as an instrument. Again. To him, this is familiar territory. This is safe.

This is all I’m good for.

"It appears I must have gotten my translation wrong," he quips.

Tav shakes her head in disagreement. “It wasn’t wrong…”

She adjusts herself against the wall as Astarion’s leg falls back into a normal position, no longer wedged between her.

“I was so sure… and then the morning after, I- '' She cuts herself off and swallows. “I didn’t know what to think, Astarion.”

Astarion pushes himself off the wall, taking a few steps back from Tav to give her space.

“I don’t understand,” he begins, folding his arms over his chest. “I thought I made my position rather clear that morning. About…” He shrugs his shoulders. “Us. This.”

Huffing out a quick laugh, Tav shakes her head again, her discomfort in their current conversation mounting. “You started talking about being free, and-”

She stops herself again, choking back a sigh. “It just seemed so selfish to ask you to be with me. You were just getting yourself back, after so long.”

Tears begin to gather at the corners of Tav’s eyes. Gently with the pads of his thumbs, Astarion wipes them clean.

“Oh, my silly little love,” he says, lowering his face to place a chaste kiss upon her forehead. “How I wish you would have spoken to me first.”

Tav’s hands come up to cover his, removing them from her face. “I think… I think I need to go,” she tells him, urgently.

Nodding in silent agreement, Astarion lets her dip out from under him, seeing her inch closer toward the door.

Before she grips the door’s handle, she turns to look at him. “...Can we talk more about this?” She quickly gestures to their surroundings before adding, “In a better situation, maybe?”

Astarion can only sigh, chest rising and falling heavily. “Of course, my dear. Do you have a particular place in mind?”

Her eyes fall to the floor. Tav knits her fingers together nervously, rubbing her thumbs over the other. “Well… where are you staying?”

A quick laugh escapes his throat and he averts his gaze. His voice is soft and tender as he focuses on a broom leaning against the corner of the wall behind her, “...I went home.”

Tav furrows her brow before asking, “What do you mean by home?”

“Home, to Cazador’s,” he states, devoid of emotion. Astarion’s eyes fall back onto her, watching as she adjusts her posture.

“It’s not as though I know much else,” he continues. “I lack the gold or the ability to work. I have only what I’m able to pilfer off the unassuming, and I’ve grown tired of playing such a role.”

Astarion sighs heavily again before adding, “There are a number of… resources available to me, now that Cazador is gone. It would be foolish of me to squander them.”

Tav only nods in his direction, her expression falling flat. “Alright,” she says, “I’ll meet you… there, I guess.” She unlaces her hands and turns around, heading back toward the door.

“Tavaria,” Astarion calls to her as she wraps a hand around the door handle again, freezing in place at the use of her full name. “If you do decide to visit me, you’re going to need the passcode for the tower door.”

Looking over her shoulder, Tav waits for him to continue. Moments pass between them, the air growing thick and stale within the small closet. When she doesn’t speak, he pushes forward.

“It’s spitfire,” Astarion tells her.

He hears more than sees the small inhalation of breath she takes as his words register. Turning her head forward again, Astarion watches her finally twist the knob to the door, pushing it open. Tav steps out of the closet, looking at him briefly before disappearing down the corridor of the tavern.

Astarion slumps against the cool stone of the supply closet wall, light now pouring through the open doorway. His head is throbbing, an uneasy ache beginning to take root deep within his chest.

What a day.

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