#mixed troupe plays | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

crguang · 6 months ago

Text

games people play

You belong on the stage, you think, under blinding lights and at the forefront of an applauding audience. Most importantly, you only care to play along if Kafka stars in the play right alongside you.

afab!reader, kinda fluffy actually, smut, toys used, kafka is strapped and im not talking about the gun, dom!kafka, sub!bratty reader, some edging, rope play, kinda possessive kafka, 6.3k words…

A/N: this got away from me. i have nothing to say for myself.

Infiltration missions are your favorite; slipping into another person’s skin for a few hours, coming up with traits both obnoxious and serious in nature and performing in front of a naive, ignorant audience fills you with exhilaration.

Improvisation is even better, the anxiety of making up things on the fly feels like a hundred little bees buzzing in your stomach and you’ve grown so accustomed to its uneasiness by now that you often seek it out, it’s become a sort of addiction. Your team doesn’t understand— Silver Wolf prefers causing trouble from behind a screen and away from the action unless she needs to stretch her legs, Blade has too much on his mind to bother adding different characters into the mix, Firefly dreams to only live as herself. None of them share your excitement for acting and it would have been a great disappointment if it wasn’t for Kafka. Beautiful, guarded, eccentric Kafka. Constantly in search of adrenaline and always in movement, she is the only other member of your little illicit troupe of performers. Being with her is often the same as stepping on stage, what with all the half-truths and misleading statements, she is hidden under layers of costumes sometimes extravagant and other times impressively mundane. Even now, if she truly wishes to keep you at bay, you won’t be able to read her. It’s intoxicating. She plays you like the lines of a movie and together, under glaring lights and unsuspecting spectators, you dominate the stage.

You’re clasping the buttons of your shirt at the wrists, often slipping and having to start over, but despite the faint feeling of annoyance as you get dressed, you’re excited. Another evening of performing is ahead of you and it’s in times like this where you truly enjoy the work of the Stellaron Hunters. Having to blend in, to navigate a crowd of arrogant businessmen and pretentious admirers of the arts in order to steal the prized item of this auction feels like a scene straight out of a spy movie. What’s better is that you’re not meant to do this alone; Silver Wolf will be on comms as usual, hacking into the building to assure that the infiltration goes smoothly and Kafka will be right by your side, gloved hand in yours. Pre-performance jitters tingle your fingertips and toes. The sensation is welcome.

You tuck your shirt into your slacks and buckle the belt around your waist. You can hear shuffling and rummaging from the bathroom connected to the bedroom because of its open door. You pick the tie you laid out on the bed with the rest of your outfit earlier and wrap it around your neck, fiddling with it for some time before accepting the fact that you have no idea how to tie a tie and letting out a sigh of frustration. This is your first time wearing such a professional-looking suit complete with the loafers and tie, and you don’t know how to feel about it. It was slightly altered by your request, so it isn’t uncomfortable, just unfamiliar. You stand in front of the full length mirror with your undone tie, turning this way and that. Your hair is done in a style you like and with the shoes on you have to admit that you look nice.

You hear the faucet being turned on in the bathroom and stalk towards it.

“Can you tie this for me?” You ask as you step inside and glance at the mess of beauty products on the counter. Some of them are yours used in your hair, but most are Kafka’s. This is her room, after all.

Kafka’s applying a thin coat of mascara on her lashes when you walk in, focused on her reflection in the mirror. She doesn’t spare you a glance until she puts the brush back into its tube, flutters her eyelashes a couple times and deems her work perfect. She turns to you, an amused smile growing on her lips at the tie resting around your neck.

“Don’t know how?” Kafka steps into your space and runs her fingers over the fabric. She starts to loop it around and over itself as you stand.

“Never had to learn.”

From this close, you can appreciate the eyeshadow at the corner of her eyes and the highlights on the apple of her cheeks. She hasn’t put on perfume yet or finished doing her lips, but she’s dressed in a form-fitting dark magenta dress that ends a little above her ankles, with thin straps and an open back. You feel no shame observing her backside through the mirror since she’s facing away from it. She’s stupidly gorgeous; you bring your eyes back to the dangling pearl earrings in her ears and the few strands of hair that cover them. If for some reason she stands out from the crowd tonight, it’ll be because she’s the most beautiful person in the room.

Kafka finishes tying your tie and pats your chest twice. She steps back and looks you over with a hum and a couple knuckles under her chin. When her gaze travels back up to meet yours, you catch a shimmer of appreciation in it.

“Well, you look dashing,” she says, her eyes following the movements of your hands as you smooth out your shirt.

You grin playfully, approaching her to lightly rest your hands on her waist. “The suit is doing it for you, isn’t it?”

Kafka lifts your chin with two fingers. “It is.”

Her honesty makes you huff out a laugh and the smile on her lips grows somewhat at the sound.

“I’ll have to come up with excuses to get you to wear it more often.”

“You could just ask.”

“That’s boring.”

You roll your eyes, glancing at the watch on your left wrist. “We have to meet Silver Wolf outside in 20 minutes.” You lean forward to plant a chaste kiss on her lips before letting go and leaving her to her makeup.

Fifteen minutes later, you’re shrugging on your coat when Kafka emerges from the bathroom to clasp a necklace around her neck and put on her heels. She carefully handles her own coat as she takes it out of the closet, putting it over her shoulders to complete her look. Her hair is secured in a low ponytail, as usual. The chain of her pendant rests between her breasts and the low neckline of her dress draws your attention to her chest for half a minute while you wait for her near the door.

You meet up with Silver Wolf with two minutes to spare and set off for the venue. It’s this city’s grandest museum, its marble columns can be seen from a distance as you approach in car. The streets are bustling with activity, glowing lights are shining on skyscrapers and stores have their doors open to assure a healthy flow for the customers coming in and out of them. The arts are greatly valued here, it shows in the pristine buildings and advertisements all around. You know it’s only because this is a richer neighborhood and surmise that the rest of the city doesn’t look as well put together. The ride to the museum is filled with Silver Wolf’s rock music in the speakers. Everything is in place, the comms she gave you are installed and all that’s left is to put on a show that the audience won’t forget.

Silver Wolf acts as your valet when you reach the venue and step out of the car, Kafka’s hand in yours. She slips into the driver’s seat and drives off to park somewhere close and inconspicuous. She’ll be supervising the mission from the back seat while the two of you do the heavy lifting.

Kafka curls a hand around your arm as you walk up the steps of the museum. You feel a little smug knowing that she’s here with you, at your arm. Getting inside is child’s play; your invitations are checked and the metal detector is no match for Silver Wolf’s genius tech, not that you’d ever tell her that. The interior is as impressive as its outside, with high ceilings, ceramic floors and precious artifacts displayed inside tall glass cases. You and Kafka make your way to where the Attouine Universal Auction will take place in one system hour, stopping to mingle with previously chosen targets on the way. You mingle among the upper crust, politicians, businessmen, academics alike so that Kafka can use her Spirit Whisper on them. The guest list isn’t large, only up to a total of 67 people, including you two. Lying to them is easy, pretending to be in love with Kafka is easier and you’re actually having fun half an hour in.

Kafka doesn’t let you do all the talking, she has no issue following your train of thought and assuring her advantage in the conversation. It’s admirable and effortless, you don’t get tired of seeing her in action. She has a champagne flute in one hand, occasionally pensively stirring the clear liquid inside. Her smile is rehearsed and comes as naturally as breathing when a couple sparks up a conversation with you. You’re happy to play along in front of the short woman and her husband, judging by the wedding band on her finger.

“What a beautiful pair you two make,” the brunette says, an air of forced politeness about her. She seems a little out of place, like she’s not used to these kinds of events. You guess that she’s only accompanying her husband to them and that he’s actually the one with recognition.

Her husband, however, stands with his chin high and his shoulders straight. He belongs there, or believes he does, and makes a show of showing everyone else.

You take Kafka’s hand in yours and bring it to your lips. “Thank you. She’s a diamond, isn’t she?”

The man follows the motion with his eyes but his wife replies before he can open his mouth. You hear Silver Wolf gag over the comms.

“Oh, how cute! Have you been together long?”

“A year, just about,” Kafka answers, looking at you. “This one’s always a charmer.”

“I can see that!”

You smile. “I’ve got to keep you around somehow… I’m aware of what a blessing you are.”

A sparkle of amusement shines in Kafka’s eyes, the corner of her mouth lifting ever so slightly at your cheesy reply. You maintain your facade, but you also feel like laughing at how silly you sound. It’s not an untrue statement per se… it’s just weird to say such things out loud because all the both of you do is beat around the bush when it comes to genuine emotion. You’re playing a character but it feels a little like the lines between fiction and reality are blurring.

In your ear, Silver Wolf groans, “One more corny line and you’re getting muted. You both disgust me.”

The woman poses a hand on her husband’s arm, addressing him while keeping her eyes on you. “They’re just like us, aren’t they, Len?”

Your gaze flickers to his at the mention of his name and he immediately looks away into the distance to pretend he wasn’t staring at the necklace between Kafka’s breasts. You feel a faint tinge of annoyance flare up inside your chest.

“Yes, very lovely,” he says, faking the unbothered tone of his voice.

You don’t know what offends you the most; his atrocious acting or his unashamed ogling.

“I notice neither of you are wearing rings,” the woman continues with interest. “Will things be made official in the near future, perhaps…?”

Kafka lets out a chuckle— you can tell it’s a genuine one— and turns to you with a teasing smirk, “Oh, I don’t know… will they?”

You feel the familiar sensation of bees in your belly as you’re put on the spot. All three of them expect your answer so you decide to play Kafka’s game. You meet her stare with the most innocent, lovesick look you can muster, your thumb rubbing the base of her ring finger. You find that you don’t have to try that hard.

“I don’t know about the near future, but… I know I’ve never been in love before knowing her.”

Kafka’s face doesn’t change, her meticulously practiced mask never slips, and you look at each other with equally heavy stares. Time seems to slow if only for the few seconds it takes for your new acquaintance to make an exaggerated sound of excitement. The moment breaks, you both look away at the same time and the conversation quickly resumes with pointless inquiries about your (fake?) relationship and the auction.

After some time, you glance at your watch and feel somewhat vindicated by the fact that the auction will start soon, giving you a reason to excuse yourself from the conversation. You’re also excited by what will happen next.

“It was nice meeting you both,” you offer the woman a smile and a nod, not dwelling on the blush of her cheeks, “but we have to find our seats. It’d be a shame to be all the way at the back with so many almost priceless items on display tonight.”

She laughs quietly and you miss the furtive look Kafka sends your way.

“Of course, of course…” The brunette sighs, then smiles sweetly. “Maybe we’ll end up seated next to each other.”

You don’t say anything to that. Kafka politely bids them goodbye and walks in the opposite direction, the hand laced with yours tugging you along. You meet with the rest of the guests, spark up short conversations from every corner of the room. Despite enjoying your performance, you find your audience lacking. Arrogance and pretentiousness reside in every business man, celebrity, political figure that you talk to and you quickly develop disdain for almost every person at this event. None of them deserve the social advantage that they have; you feel restless with the desire to humble them.

With each guest filing into the auction room until all the seats are filled, it’s time for the next part of the script to unfold. You take your seats at the front right near the small built-in stage. Two staff members carefully roll out the auction items as the auctioneer steps before the microphone and greets his audience. Kafka’s hand is on your knee, forefinger tracing insignificant patterns into the fabric of your pants while you wait for the last and most important item to be presented. The Stellaron, trapped inside a large, almost translucent mineral, emits an energy felt by the entire room as it’s brought on stage in a glass case. It glitters in the light like a precious jewel and catches the attention of each buyer. Kafka squeezes your knee once. It’s go time.

Stealing the Stellaron is laughably easy. Due to Kafka’s Spirit Whisper, not a single member of the audience can find the strength to stand up from their seat as you hop to your feet and saunter on stage. The auctioneer stammers about it not being allowed, but he’s dealt with just as the others are and soon, he’s frozen where he stands, trembling like a leaf in the wind. Confused murmurs and panicked shouts fill the air when the guests realize their predicament, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Kafka handles the Stellaron with care while you browse the selection of items on display with a pensive hum.

An antique vase catches your eye. It curves at the top and opens like a blooming flower; designs that mean nothing to you seem carved right into the glass, so you take it out if it’s case for a closer look. It’s a bit heavy despite measuring less than two feet. You decide to keep it and eventually gift it to Kafka knowing she would be able to find the beauty in it. As the clamor of people’s voices rise around you, an idea strikes you. You turn to Kafka.

“The script only said we would steal the Stellaron and leave the museum at 20:56 system time…”

A small smile appears on Kafka’s lips. “What are you thinking?”

“This place reeks of supposed social superiority,” you trail your fingers on top of a case containing an old ceramic disk with contrasting colors and patterns. You push it off the table and it explodes into cutting shards. Amidst the chaos, loud gasps of indignation follow. “I want to tear it down.”

Kafka’s smile widens.

Twenty minutes later, you’re on your way back to the base exactly as Elio foresaw, with Silver Wolf in the driver's seat making a quick getaway as the museum’s alarms sound behind you. You huff out a breathy laugh once in the back seat, heart thundering in your chest from the adrenaline. You had to incapacitate some security guards on the way out, the chase is your second favorite part. It feels great, your fingertips twitch with exhilaration as the car swerves between other vehicles on the road, ignoring red lights and stop signs. Kafka leans on the head rest next to you, looking at you with something you can’t fully decipher. In the darkness of the backseat it’s hard to read her gaze, especially with her contacts on, but you recognize the way her eyes flicker between yours, then to your mouth. She doesn’t have to say anything, your hands suddenly cup her cheeks and your lips crash into hers. The breath is knocked out of you with both her kiss and the lingering adrenaline. Her hand snakes around your neck to bring you closer, her teeth sink into your bottom lip when she pulls away for half a second. She’s rougher than usual with a sense of urgency accompanying her touches; her free fingers sneak under your coat to grip your shirt.

“Can you not?” Silver Wolf makes a noise of disgust and her sudden intervention pulls you out of the daze you were in. “I swear, I’ll crash this stupid car.”

Kafka chuckles, separating herself from you. Her hand stays beneath your coat. “Don’t be so dramatic. A mission well done deserves a proper celebration, don’t you think?”

“I don’t care what you do, as long as it’s not in front of me.”

“We’re behind you…” you mutter, inhaling deeply to calm your shaky hands.

You ignore the middle finger Silver Wolf sends your way. You lean into the seat, eyes closed, and regain full control of your body with a few slow breaths. Kafka’s hand trails down your shirt to your lap. As you turn your head to look at her, you find her gaze already on you. The unfamiliar glint in it is still present, seemingly making her irises darker, then the corners of her mouth lift in a softer smile than she’d normally offer you.

“Let’s play a round of Truth or Lie,” she says suddenly.

Apart from being a fun game you both enjoy, it’s somewhat become your way of discussing serious matters without having to lay yourselves bare. The existence of a lie adds a layer of protection that neither of you can go without. You tilt your head at the suggestion.

“Okay. You start.”

Kafka takes a few seconds to reply, as if thinking of how to phrase her question. You’re careful to school your features into a picture of neutrality so as to not be caught off guard. She hums, then speaks up.

“Did you mean what you said earlier, to that woman?”

You don’t need to ask for clarification on what she’s referring to. Though her smile hasn’t slipped off her face, Kafka’s expression is guarded.

“Am I that good a liar you couldn’t tell?” You tease, an eyebrow raised.

“Is that one of your questions?”

You look past her as you think. Yes, something in you meant what you said then. You recognize this certainty, it’s as real as the earlier thrill in your veins. Being with Kafka is never boring, always brings something new, and you’ve never felt this way before meeting her. It’s an electrifying feeling that travels from your toes to wake the rest of your body, not unlike a shock, except that this is something you can’t help but crave. Beyond the curtains of this beautiful stage you act in lies a sort of yearning for more of how she makes you feel, of her hand in yours as you reenact this rehearsed play of two emotionally guarded beings finding closeness in each other. Are you in love with her? Yes, you are.

“No,” you shake your head, “to answer your first question. I was in character.”

Kafka stares at you for a moment, searching your face for the truth. You smile at her.

“Mm. You turn.”

Your fingers fiddle with her hand on your lap. Silver Wolf takes a sharper turn than necessary and the car swerves to the right. “Are you disappointed by my answer?”

“…No. I’m not.”

You can’t read her at all. You suppose that’s the point of the game. You arrive at your destination before you can finish the round and Silver Wolf wastes no time in hopping out of the car and into the building. There’s a spring in your step as you follow suit with Kafka in tow.

You’re already working towards unbuttoning your coat and uncuffing your shirt when you step into Kafka’s dark room. She flicks the switch behind you, illuminating the room. She takes off her earrings and you take a seat on the bed after slipping out of your loafers. You stretch your arms above your head, letting out a long sigh. Kafka discards her jewelry on top of a dresser.

“You know…” she turns to you before leaning into the furniture and looking you over like she did earlier this evening. You stop loosening your tie as she speaks, lifting your head to meet her eyes. “You looked beautiful tonight.”

You feel a playful smile stretch your lips. “Oh, yeah?”

“Mm. You nearly had that poor woman combusting in place.”

Your brows furrow briefly as you recall the exchange. You viewed her interest as superficial, something she felt compelled to be because of how obviously uneasy social events of that nature made her. It showed in the way she clung to her husband and how clumsy she was at navigating the conversation. Still, Kafka’s words are laced with a tinge of possessiveness you almost never see in her. A smirk slowly spreads across your face.

“She had a husband,” you remind her.

“Who spent half the conversation looking at my chest. They likely had nothing between them. But you knew that.”

You did not. You genuinely thought she was overcompensating and were too busy playing a clip of her husband getting fatally injured over and over in your mind after catching his eyes on Kafka. It’s funny that she would think you were flirting on purpose, though.

Kafka takes slow strides towards you. She stands in front of you and a bare foot slides between your calves to nudge them apart. You take hold of her waist, looking up at her with an innocent smile.

“You liked the attention,” she states with a finger under your chin. She wears a smile as her other hand comes up to strike your hair.

“You sound jealous.”

Kafka laughs softly, fingers splaying out over your cheek. Her thumb soothingly rubs your skin. You resist the urge to close your eyes. “Cute. What’s there to be jealous of when you’re pliable in my hands?” Her knee sinks into the mattress between your legs and she leans closer. “A block of clay to be shaped and molded. That’s what you are.”

“And you’re so eager to put your hands on me, to have me for yourself that another woman laughing at my jokes tickles you.”

Her thumb traces the outline of your bottom lip. “Eager?”

“Like a pup.”

Her smile doesn’t waver. She pushes her digit past your lips and it gets caught between your teeth as you make a noise of surprise at the sudden intrusion. You relax after a second, your tongue swirling around her finger while you maintain eye contact with her. There’s a dangerous heat in the way she looks at you, an unsaid warning that you choose to ignore.

“Brat.” Kafka takes her thumb out of your mouth and observes how it shines in the light. “You know what I do with them, don’t you?”

“You fuck them?”

The smile on her face grows larger. The way she touches you is inherently condescending, the overly sweet strokes of your hair and fake gentleness as she cups your cheek and leans close to you as if to kiss you are subtle reminders of her control over you. You stare into her eyes with fluttering eyelashes.

“Sweet girls get orgasms. A brat like you, on the other hand…”

You feel her breath on your parted lips and expect a kiss that doesn’t come. Instead Kafka tears herself from you and straightens up. Your hands leave her waist as she takes a step back and brings her hand to her chin in contemplation.

“I think I’ll tie you up.”

She does just that. You bite your bottom lip to muffle a whine, wrists absentmindedly tugging against their pretty, silken restraints. Kafka’s ropes hold your arms above your head to each corner of the headboard and slightly dig into your skin the more your muscles struggle. She effortlessly ties you up like a lovely present before you can prepare a snarky remark. The pink webs obey her command, unlike you, and keep you in place while she climbs over you to leisurely undress you. She starts at your neck, loosening your tie to place wet kisses on your skin. Her teeth sink into your flesh and she is without remorse when you hiss at the sensation. She suckles the bite, her tongue occasionally darting out to soothe the mark in slow strokes. Her hands expertly undo the button of your shirt without needing to look at her work. You feel her warm tongue trailing down to your collarbone as she removes your shirt. One of her knees stays between your thighs, unmoving.

Kafka lifts her head to look at the reveal of your skin once your shirt is discarded somewhere on the floor. Her palms travel up and down your stomach, squeeze at the waist and knead your covered breasts over your bra, all the while following their movements with lidded eyes. You swallow. You don’t say a word because you know she’ll go even slower if pressured to pick up the pace, but your skin is hot and your cunt already pulses between your legs at her tame ministrations. Kafka pulls down the cup of your bra with a finger, freeing a hardened nipple.

“Erect already?” She teases. “I only took off your shirt.”

“Shut up,” the words leave your mouth without thinking and your lips part in surprise when she uses two fingers to harshly twist your nipple. “Ah!”

“Wanna try again?”

You take a breath. “Acting like I’m the eager one when I know you’ve already ruined your pan— Mmh!”

Pleasure courses through you as your nipple is pinched between her fingertips. Her hands run around your chest to unclasp your bra and toss it aside, then resume their work on your breasts. Her thumbs swipe over your nipples, applying pressure that pathetically quickens your breathing. Kafka licks her lips but doesn’t use her mouth on you. She watches how your plush mounds move under her hands and take whatever shape she wants them to. She grabs a handful of each breast, squeezing and kneading until you’re exhaling through your mouth. Then she slowly moves down to your hips, rubbing the skin. She has to adjust her position in order to take off your pants and she settles between your thighs once the task is done.

Your thighs spread apart to accommodate her body. Kafka looks up at you, amused, but doesn’t comment on the gesture. Her palms rub into your soft skin, trailing up and down your inner thighs. A dark spot spreads from where arousal dampens your gray underwear.

“If only you could see how wet you’re getting,” she sighs lustfully, “maybe we should do this in front of the mirror. What do you think?”

You bite the inside of your cheek at the suggestion. Kafka hooks a forefinger under your underwear and pulls to reveal your glistening sex. Her voice lowers perceivably.

“Mm? Is thinking about me fucking you in front of a mirror getting you all wet?”

Her index trails down your folds and touches your clit as it does, making you suck your lip into your mouth to keep in a low moan. Kafka observes her finger between your lips, how your arousal coats the better part of it as it teases your pussy. She’ll have you a complete sticky mess before the night is over. The thought makes her cunt clench. She slides your panties down your legs until they no longer hide your puffy pussy from her sight. She uses two fingers to spread your lips and looks up at you.

“If you were well-behaved, I’d be licking you clean right now. Too bad you’re not.”

You groan in slight frustration. “Come on. Just fuck me like you mean it.”

“Oh, I’ll fuck you.” Kafka’s eyes narrow. She pulls her fingers away from your cunt completely. “And when I do, you won’t be able to remember a thing but how good I feel inside you.”

Kafka stands upright, ignoring your little whine to rummage through her drawers instead. She picks up a couple of things and you’re breathless when you see the strap-on and vibrator in her hands as she returns to your side. Your thighs clench together in a fruitless attempt at relieving pressure in your lower belly. You feel your arousal on your inner thighs, coating them in sticky juices. Kafka waves a hand and silk threads wrap around your flesh, forcing you to keep your legs spread for her. You try to move but apart from the quiver of your muscles, nothing happens.

“You haven’t earned that one yet,” Kafka gestures with the plastic cock and tosses it on the bed. She turns the small vibrator over in her palm, messing around with the settings until she finally settles on the lowest one. It pulses as it’s pressed against your cunt and you don’t bother covering up the moan that escapes you. “This will do for now.”

The vibrations on your pussy are so good, so relieving you throw your head back with a breathy moan. You feel each one reverberate through your body and soon, your hips are trying to move along for more friction. You buck your hips, hoping the movement will make it touch your clit for even a second. Kafka watches your growing desperation with apathy. She runs the vibrator up and down your slit, purposely ignoring your aching clit. Positioning it at your entrance covers the head in arousal and she’s tempted to push it in just to see how your cunt greedily sucks in anything she gives you. She makes you suffer longer, caresses your labia with the toy and pulls it away when she sees you clench from the pleasure. With it being at the lowest setting, the throb is a welcomed sensation but isn’t enough to make you come. Trying to move your body is useless; the thin ropes around your limbs keep you exactly how Kafka wants you: defenseless.

You inhale sharply through your mouth as she rubs the toy into your cunt. You know begging won’t help your cause and will only serve to humiliate you. Pleading to her good conscience is just as worthless, but you need to come so badly and Kafka will only allow you to do it on her terms. So, you provoke her.

“That— Mmh, that woman from the auction,” you manage to breathe out, and Kafka instantly meets your eyes. “Bet… she’d be so eager to make me come if I asked.”

Kafka doesn’t move for a moment. The vibrator is still pressed against your pussy, making you let out little whines, but her hand isn’t moving and she’s simply looking at you like she’s trying to figure you out. You know she sees through you, your mind is too taken by the idea of pleasure to bother hiding yourself from her searching gaze. She seems to debate with herself on something and when you think she just won’t bite your bait, she turns off the vibrator. You watch as she stands to let her dress slip to the floor. Apprehension curls around your throat as she steps into the harness of the strap-on and adjusts it around her hips. Her silence makes your gut flutter with nervousness. Then she chuckles to herself and that only worsens the feeling.

Kafka hovers over you, fingers digging into your skin as she grabs your jaw and guides your gaze to hers. Her nails will surely leave crescent marks behind, but you can only focus on the dull pink of her irises. With her free hand, she guides the plastic cock between your folds, coating it in your slick and grazing your clit in the process. Your following moan is muffled by the grip on your jaw. She spreads your arousal over the dick, pumping it once, twice, three times before her sticky fingers grip your waist and she pushes half of the length into you at once.

You groan in surprise, unaccustomed to the sudden fullness. You feel the toy stretching your walls and Kafka doesn’t allow you to get used to the sensation before thrusting the entirety of it inside your fluttering cunt.

“Fuck, w— wait…” you gasp out, wrists struggling against the ropes and thighs trembling. “I was—” A whimper escapes you as Kafka pulls out almost completely just to drive into you again. “Was joking, baby…”

“Shut up and take it.”

You have no choice but to comply. Kafka thrusts into you, unrelenting and apathetic to the way the sensations overwhelm you instantly after so much teasing. Her dick rubs your walls deliciously and the wet sounds of it pounding into you has you choking out a cry. You don’t get used to the pace, it’s too rough, too fast, and has your orgasm building after only a minute of her inside you. You can’t last, not with Kafka playing you as rigorously as she does the violin, fingers digging into the flesh of your love handle for stability. You take her cock as she orders you to and whimper against her lips when she leans forward to press her mouth to yours for the first time tonight. Her kiss is as rough as her strokes, leaving you breathless, a mindless puppet only able to mutter her name. As her tongue enters your mouth to tease yours, the hand around your jaw leaves so that her middle finger harshly rubs your clit. It’s too much for you to handle at once. Your cunt swallows her cock as you come with her name out your lips, squeezing her like a vice.

Kafka doesn’t slow down her thrusts, fucking you through your orgasm and maintaining the pressure on your pulsing clit until you feel another one coming.

“Kafka—” You whine, throat hoarse, “too much…”

“Mmh? That’s what you wanted. Be grateful I didn’t leave you there, cunt aching for me to fill you. You’ll take what I give you.”

Her eyes drink you in, she commits your twisting brows and trembling lips to memory; her mind takes live pictures of you under her, whimpering as you greedily take her cock, until there’s an entire gallery of your fucked out expression inside her head. The sight makes her wetter and needy for release, but it’s not enough. With an arm around your shoulder and the use of her webs, Kafka manipulates your weak body into straddling her lap as she sits up on the bed. Your wrists are still tied together, your arms around her neck, but your thighs quiver as the ropes vanish around them. She holds you up with two hands on your hips and pushes you down onto her length. Your eyes are closed, your lips parted, and you let her guide you up and down her cock until you’re coming again. Kafka watches your slick slide down the dildo and groans, wishing she could pump her own cum into your cunt and watch it leak out of you as she fills you. The toy is drenched in cum and she doesn’t look away as it disappears inside your throbbing pussy, can’t; she feels her own slick run down her thighs just from watching how messy you’re getting her cock.

“Can’t take it,” you breathe out, “mmh…”

Kafka looks up at you. She briefly takes your nipple in her mouth, swirling her tongue around it, before letting go and murmuring into your skin, “You can, baby. You’re taking me so well.”

You whine, hips faltering. The length of her cock buries into you in a harsh thrust upwards and you can’t make a sound as you come hard, your face in Kafka’s neck. Your arms shake from the pleasure that assaults you at once. Your toes curl and the breath leaves your lungs. Kafka doesn’t pull out as you come down from your high a panting mess. Your limbs feel twice as heavy. Her hand strokes your hair while you breathe in and out sharply. She gives you some time to calm down, then pulls you away from her neck with the hand in your hair and kisses you messily; you feel her tongue on your bottom lip and her saliva mix with yours. She breathes out into your open mouth, a low moan escaping her.

Kafka squeezes your hip and mutters into your mouth, “You’ll give me another one, won’t you?”

Though it’s phrased as one, you know it’s not a question at all. This is what you get for provoking her, and she won’t stop until she’s entirely satisfied.

#honkai star rail #hsr kafka #hsr #hsr x reader #kafka x reader #kafka x you #kafka smut #hsr smut #sub!reader #hsr x you #kafka fluff #kafka honkai star rail #hsr fanfic #dom!kafka

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matchagirliris · 13 days ago

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Metanoia | Atsumu Miya X Reader

“I want you to miss me, pour my feelings in the microphone I stay in, and when the girls come home I want one of them to take my phone, take my phone and lose your number I don’t want to be tempted, pick up when you wanna fall back in.”

Metanoia: “the journey of changing one’s mind, heart, self or way of life”

college au, where you’re best friends with osamu and he finally introduces you to his twin brother atsumu who just recently got out of a relationship and his only goal is to hoe around but you just can’t see to get enough of him and get roped into a situation frenzy with him

Introductions: calm collected crashouts | volley-bros |

Atsumu x f!Reader /best friends brother troupe mixed in with changing his hoe ways for you/

Warnings: swearing, modern au, all characters are in college, mentions of drinking, smoking(weed), situationships, mentions of alcohol, cheating, angst, fluff

Next song playing….

Song 1: super shy

Song 2: cool with you

Song 3: sugarcoat

Song 4: the weekend

Song 5; I can’t feel my face

Song 6:ditto

Song 7: sorry for my late reply

song 8:right side of my neck

song 9: better distractions

song 10: gimme love

song 11: slow dancing in the dark

song 12: yeah right

song 13: hurts me too

song 14: do i wanna know?

song 15: one for the road

song 16: No. 1 party anthem

More songs loading…

epilogue: jonny (reprise)

alternate ending: i know you.

Taglist; @heartmaddie @liquidcatt @toorusfangirl @akaashislovee @saintcosette @twiishaa @w2mini @from-mae @exclusiverinaa @gumims

#haikyuu #haikyu #atsumu x reader #hq atsumu #miya atsumu #haikyuu atsumu #atsumu fluff #atsumu smau #atsumu x you #atsumu x y/n #msby atsumu

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citrus-writing · 5 months ago

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yandere phantom troupe- pain

Lenient yanderes who rarely use punishments- chrollo, pakunoda, machi, hisoka

Pakunoda-

Pakunoda is the first to come to mind. She’d hate to hurt you, and because of that, she leans towards rewards for good behavior instead of punishments for bad behavior. Even if she had to hurt you, she makes a point to be quick about it- pain sharp, but it fades quickly, barely a mark on you.

Chrollo-

Chrollo is lenient with you unless you fight back too much. He understands screaming and crying when you discover you can never go home. He understands not being able to keep down food for the first week you spend with him. He understands when you cower from him- after all, this must be frightening for you. But things like trying to escape, trying to hurt yourself, trying to hurt him (you don't even come close, but he hates it all the same) can't be tolerated. To start, it’s not so bad. The first time you try to escape, he doesn't even break bones.

Machi-

Machi doesn't really have too many rules for you in the first place; don't try to escape, don't fight back, but other than that, she mostly lets you live inside your shared home however you’d like. In fact, as opposed to the others who want to occupy every second of your time, machi prefers you have solo hobbies, like reading, writing, drawing… sewing. If you do something she doesn't like, the verbal reprimand is brutal.

Hisoka-

Hisoka is an odd one, because he’s not opposed to hurting you, but he doesn't use physical punishments regardless. He likes the sense of independence and self that you have, and he tries to avoid breaking it down. He doesn't want to break you down into his own image like a lot of the others, because he wants to keep your mind mostly intact. In fact, he almost tries to encourage you to act out. How lenient is he really? And is he really so careless that he left the front door unlocked?

Yanderes that use extreme punishments- feitan, illumi

Illumi-

Illumi uses punishments to keep you in line, he has strict rules for you to follow, from the moment you wake up to the moment you go to bed. Most of them aren't too hard to follow- just play along with his domestic fantasy and you’ll be ok. It’s humiliating, and it’s demeaning, but if you play the part well enough, he won't have to hurt you. The problem is these rules aren't really spelled out for you? Wasn't accepting tea from your new mother in law a good thing? Broken jaw. Wasn't the friendly wave to your new brother in law playing into the fantasy illumi had created? Broken hand.

Feitan-

Feitan is particularly mixed up. He hates having feelings for you at all, and he deliberately takes it out on you. Afterall, it’s your fault he feels like this. Your’e sleeping in bed, curled up in the blankets, looking so cute he can hardly breathe- you feel his boot connect with your ribs, and you can't even cry out before he’s pulling you out of bed. You’re in the basement, watching him torture a man strapped down to the table, and your eyes meet fetian’s for just a moment- he reminds you that he’s not above gouging out both those pretty eyes of yours. He’s duel edged, because if you’re bad, then you're subjected to punishments. But if you're good, it makes him feel helpless, and you have to pay for that.

#hxh #yandere hxh #chrollo x reader #yandere chrollo #yandere feitan #pakunoda x reader #machi x reader #yandere illumi #yandere hisoka #yandere #yandere x reader #hunter x hunter

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oceandolores · 3 months ago

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𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 | chapter 8

Dbf! Joel Miller x female reader

"The fates already fucked me sideways,"

summary: the secrets out

warnings: 18+ only, Minors DNI, AU, No outbreak. (TW) mentions of substance abuse/alcohol use disorder, adult content, religion abuse, violence, blood gore, mentions of death, sexual abuse, sexual content, domestic violences, ped0ph!l1a, cann1bal!sm, human traff1ck1ng, dad's best friend!Joel, HUGE age gap (i will not specify her exact age, but she's legal and Joel is 49), daddy issues, mentions of toxic family dynamic, Joel is widowed, Ellie is 16, angst, smut A LOT, forbidden relationship, soft and protective Joel, innocent and pure reader. your last name is Gibson. any other details will be explain throughout the story. inspired by the album Preacher's daughter by Ethel Cain and also mix with lana del rey vibes.

CHAPTER 8

masterlist of the series!

previous | chapter 7

next | chapter 9

The sun filtered through the church windows, casting a soft glow over the sanctuary where the girls' dance troupe had been practicing for hours. Tomorrow was the big day—the fellowship celebration—where all the church elders, members, and their families would gather to witness the performances. The pressure was on, and you could feel the weight of it pressing down on your shoulders. This was your first time leading something, and the responsibility felt immense.

Jemima had been a godsend, helping you organize the routines, going over each step with the girls until everything was perfect. Her calm, reassuring presence had been a balm to your nerves. Joel had been equally supportive, his quiet encouragement easing the anxiety that had threatened to overwhelm you. Just thinking about him brought a smile to your face, even in the midst of all the stress.

During a break in the practice, you and Emma headed to the back of the church to grab some snacks and drinks. The two of you chatted idly, the tension from the rehearsal melting away with each laugh you shared. It was a rare moment of calm, one you desperately needed before the whirlwind of tomorrow’s event.

But then, as you reached for a bottle of water, a familiar, unwelcome presence loomed over you. Your heart skipped a beat, and your breath caught in your throat as you turned to see Jamie standing there, his eyes dark and malicious.

“Hi, Jamie,” Emma greeted him casually, completely unaware of the storm brewing beneath the surface. “What are you doing here?”

Jamie ignored her, his gaze locked on you, a twisted smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Did you tell him, hm?” His voice was low, taunting, sending a chill down your spine.

You froze, confusion and fear knotting in your stomach. “What are you talking about, Jamie? Just get out of here.” You tried to keep your voice steady as you turned back to the snacks, hoping he would just leave you alone.

But Jamie wasn’t finished. He stepped closer, lowering his voice so only you could hear. “I know about you and him.”

Your body went rigid, the blood draining from your face. Panic surged through you, but you forced yourself to remain calm. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you muttered, hoping to deflect his insinuations.

Jamie chuckled darkly, leaning in closer. “Don’t play dumb. You think I wouldn’t find out? I knew you were always a dirty slut, but damn, you really outdid yourself this time.”

Emma glanced between the two of you, her brow furrowing in confusion. “What’s going on?"

You didn’t answer, your mind racing, trying to figure out how to diffuse the situation. “Jamie, just leave me alone,” you repeated, your voice shaking.

But Jamie wasn’t done yet. His eyes glittered with malice as he continued, “If you say anything about us, I’ll make sure everyone knows about you and Joel.”

Your breath caught in your throat, your heart pounding so loudly you were sure Emma could hear it. The mention of Joel’s name made you freeze in place, terror gripping you like a vise.

Emma’s eyes widened as she processed what Jamie had said. She looked at you, then back at Jamie, horror dawning on her face.

Jamie grinned wickedly, relishing in your fear. “Oh, she didn’t tell you, did she? The saint preacher's daughter over here has been fucking around with good ol’ Joel Miller. Isn’t that right?”

Emma’s face went pale, her expression a mixture of shock and disgust. “Jamie, stop,” you pleaded, your voice barely above a whisper. But he ignored you, his cruel words cutting deeper with each passing second.

“He’s old enough to be your dad, for God’s sake,” Jamie sneered. “He should be in jail for what he’s done to you, and you…you should be ashamed of yourself. But then again, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. You were always such a little whore.”

Jamie’s words hit you like a slap to the face, the weight of his accusations crashing down on you. Emma stood frozen beside you, her eyes wide and filled with disbelief.

“I…” You tried to speak, but the words caught in your throat. Jamie’s threats hung in the air, and the reality of what he could do, the damage he could cause, made your head spin.

Without another word, Jamie turned on his heel and walked away, leaving you and Emma standing there in stunned silence. The world seemed to tilt on its axis, everything spinning out of control as you tried to process what had just happened.

"Emma..." you said. you are scared, scared to death.

Emma’s eyes were wide, her face pale with shock as she pulled you into the small storage room, slamming the door shut behind her. The dim light barely illuminated the cramped space, casting long shadows on the walls. The sound of your heart pounding in your chest echoed in your ears, drowning out the faint hum of the air conditioning unit.

“What the fuck?” Emma’s voice was a harsh whisper, her hands trembling as she ran them through her hair. “Joel Miller? Ellie’s dad?! Are you fucking crazy?!”

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out. Panic seized your throat, making it impossible to form a coherent sentence. You felt trapped, cornered by both Emma’s piercing gaze and the weight of the secret that had just been exposed.

“I…I can explain,” you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper. But even as you said it, you knew how hollow it sounded. How could you possibly explain something like this? How could you make her understand the connection you felt with Joel, the way he made you feel safe, loved, and cherished in a way you had never experienced before?

Emma’s expression softened for a moment, as if she could see the turmoil in your eyes. But it was quickly replaced by a mixture of anger and disbelief. “Explain? What’s there to explain? This is crazy! He’s twice your age, he’s Ellie’s dad and YOUR DAD'S BEST FRIEND!, for God’s sake. Do you even realize what you’ve done?”

"This could ruin everything. Do you even realize the danger you’re in? What will happen if your dad finds out? If the church finds out?” She said again.

Tears welled up in your eyes, but you blinked them back, refusing to break down. “I know how it looks, Emma, but it’s not like that. It’s not just some fling or something… I love him, and he loves me.”

Emma stared at you, her mouth agape, as if she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Love? You think this is love? He’s a grown man, He should know better!”

“He does know better,” you shot back, your voice rising in desperation. “But I’m not a child, Emma. I know what I want, and I want Joel. He’s not taking advantage of me. It’s real. He protect me, he...he's always there for me,"

Emma shook her head, her face a mix of anger and hurt. “You’re so blinded by this…whatever it is that you can’t see how wrong it is. What do you think is going to happen when people find out? What about your dad? He’ll go ballistic. And Joel…he could get in serious trouble. You’re both going to get hurt.”

Her words hit you like a ton of bricks, the reality of the situation crashing down on you. You knew she was right, but the thought of losing Joel, of being torn away from him, was unbearable.

“Emma, please,” you begged, reaching out to grab her hand. “Please, don’t say anything. I know this is a mess, but I can’t lose him. I love him, and I don’t care about the consequences. I just…I just need you to understand.”

Emma looked down at your hand clutching hers, her expression torn. She was silent for what felt like an eternity, and you held your breath, praying that she would somehow find it in her heart to forgive you, to keep your secret.

Finally, she sighed, her shoulders slumping in defeat. “I don’t know what to do. This is so messed up. You both will get exiled! Or worse, he could be in jail for molesting you!”

Her words struck a nerve, the idea of Joel being painted as some sort of predator made your blood boil. “He did NOT molest me!” you snapped, your voice rising with a fierce intensity that startled both of you. Emma’s eyes widened, clearly taken aback by your sudden outburst, but you couldn’t hold back the torrent of emotions any longer.

“He didn’t do anything wrong, Emma,” you continued, your voice trembling but steady. “He didn’t force me into anything. I wanted this. I wanted him. Joel is a good man, and you don’t understand—he’s the only one who’s ever made me feel like I’m worth something. He’s been there for me when no one else was, not even my own dad.”

Emma’s face softened, but there was still a deep conflict in her eyes. Don’t you see how wrong this is? It’s not just about love or how he makes you feel. This could destroy everything—for both of you.”

You took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm inside you. “I know it’s complicated, and I know it’s not what people expect. But it’s real, Emma. What we have is real. And I don’t care if it’s wrong in the eyes of the church or society. All I know is that I can’t lose him. I won’t.”

Emma shook her head, her expression a mix of concern and frustration. “You’re not thinking straight. This isn’t just about you. It’s about him too. If this gets out…if people find out, it won’t just be your life that’s ruined. Joel could lose everything. His reputation, his business, his freedom. Is that what you want?”

The weight of her words hung heavily between you, but you couldn’t back down. “No, of course not,” you said, your voice cracking slightly. “But I can’t just walk away from him. I love him, Emma. I love him in a way I’ve never loved anyone else. And I can’t imagine my life without him.”

Emma’s eyes searched yours, as if looking for some sign that you might change your mind, that you might realize the gravity of the situation. But she didn’t find it. Instead, she saw the depth of your resolve, the unyielding determination in your gaze.

“Then you better be prepared for the consequences,” she finally said, her voice tinged with sadness. “Because this won’t end well. Not for you, not for Joel. And I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, threatening to spill over as you faced Emma, your heart pounding with the weight of the truth you were about to unveil. “I’m already hurt, Emma,” you whispered, the words trembling on your lips. “Every day I have to pretend that I’m okay, that I’m fine living this life. But I’m not. Joel is the only thing that makes it bearable. And I’m willing to risk everything for him.”

The desperation in your voice hung heavily in the air, and you saw Emma’s resolve begin to waver. Her eyes softened, the anger and judgment in them slowly being replaced with concern and fear for you. “Please, Emma,” you begged, your voice cracking, “please, I'm begging you, don’t tell anyone. Joel’s not the bad guy. He’s not who you think he is. He saved me.”

Emma hesitated, her face torn between wanting to protect you and not fully understanding the gravity of the situation. You knew there was only one way to make her see, to make her understand why you couldn’t let go of Joel—why you couldn’t go back to the way things were before.

Taking a shaky breath, you let the words spill out, words you’d kept buried deep inside for so long, words that had been eating away at you like a poison. “You want to know the truth, Emma? The real reason why I’ve been avoiding Jamie? Why he’s been threatening me like that?”

Emma’s eyes widened, fear creeping into her expression as she shook her head slightly, as if not wanting to hear what you were about to say. But you couldn’t stop now, not after holding this secret for so long.

“Because he raped me,” you whispered, your voice breaking on the word, the shame and pain you’d been carrying for so long finally breaking free. “He took my virginity by force, Emma. He didn’t care about me—he just wanted to prove he could have me, no matter what. And when he was done, he left me there, feeling like nothing.”

The tears finally broke free, streaming down your cheeks as you saw Emma’s face pale, her eyes filling with horror and disbelief. “He—he did what?” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.

Your voice wavered as you continued, the weight of your confession bearing down on you like a cross too heavy to carry. "I felt so dirty," you whispered, your words trembling in the still air between you and Emma. "So broken. I wanted to end it all, to just disappear and never have to feel that way again. I started drinking, hiding bottles in my room, sneaking out at night just to numb the pain. I even went to church drunk, praying to God to take this all away, but no one ever noticed.”

The words tumbled out like confessions at a confessional, your voice cracking under the strain of so much pain. "Every night, I would whisper to God, pleading for mercy. I’d pray for the angels to come down and take this burden from me, to carry me away on their wings to a place where I didn’t have to feel this pain anymore. And if no angel would come, I begged for death, for the final peace of oblivion, because I couldn’t keep fighting. I was drowning, Emma, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t break the surface.”

You took a shuddering breath, your hands shaking as you clutched Emma’s arms, searching her eyes for some sign that she understood. "I prayed for deliverance, for a way out of this darkness. I asked God to send me someone, anyone, who could make me feel whole again, who could remind me that I wasn’t just a vessel for shame and sorrow. And then Joel came into my life, like a beacon of light in a storm. He made me believe that maybe I wasn’t beyond saving, that maybe there was still something left in me worth loving."

Emma’s eyes were filled with tears, her face a picture of grief and understanding. She didn’t say anything, just held you tighter, as if trying to shield you from all the pain you had been carrying alone for so long.

“And now, I’m terrified, Em,” you admitted, your voice breaking completely. “Because I’m afraid that if I lose Joel, I’ll lose the last bit of hope I have left. I don’t want to go back to that darkness, to that place where I prayed for death. I don’t want to feel that way again.”

Emma’s arms tightened around you, her tears mingling with yours as she whispered, “You won’t go back there. I promise, you won’t be alone anymore. I’ll help you through this, whatever it takes.”

The weight of your confession hung in the air like incense rising to the heavens, a prayer of desperation and sorrow. And in that moment, you felt a glimmer of something—something like hope—begin to take root in the cracks of your broken heart. Emma’s embrace was like a lifeline, pulling you back from the edge of the abyss you had been teetering on for so long.

"I can't lose him, I can't," you said, your voice barely a whisper, as if speaking the words too loudly might shatter the fragile hope beginning to bloom within you. The thought of a life without Joel, without the one person who made you feel seen and loved, was unbearable. You clung to Emma as though letting go would mean slipping back into the darkness that had once consumed you.

Emma held you tighter, her hand rubbing soothing circles on your back. "You're not going to lose him," she murmured, her voice firm yet gentle. "We’ll figure this out, okay?"

Tears welled up in your eyes as you buried your face in Emma's shoulder, her words offering a comfort you hadn’t realized you needed so desperately. It was the first time in a long time that someone had promised to stand by you, no matter the cost. "Thank you, Emma," you managed to choke out, your gratitude overwhelming.

Emma pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes, her expression serious. "You don’t have to go through this alone anymore. I’m here for you, and I’m not going anywhere."

You nodded, sniffling as you wiped at your eyes. The fear still lingered, but it wasn’t as suffocating as it had been before. With Emma by your side, the path ahead seemed a little less daunting. The darkness that had once felt all-consuming now had a small, flickering light within it—a light that you were determined to hold onto.

But as the two of you stood there, the reality of your situation pressed in on you once more. Jamie’s threats echoed in your mind, and you couldn’t shake the fear of what he might do. The thought of him exposing your relationship with Joel sent a shiver down your spine.

“What if he tells?” you asked, your voice tinged with anxiety. “What if he goes to my dad, or the church? Joel could be ruined, and I—I don’t know what would happen to me.”

Emma shook her head, determination hardening her features. “We won’t let that happen."

You swallowed hard, feeling a renewed sense of resolve. Emma’s faith in you, in both of you, gave you strength.

As you stood there, side by side, the weight of the world felt just a little bit lighter. The storm was far from over, but at least now you knew you didn’t have to face it alone.

***

The night had settled in, wrapping the world in a cloak of darkness as you and the other girls finished your practice. The church hall was now empty, the echoes of laughter and chatter fading away as everyone headed home. The dance routine had been drilled into your muscles, each movement precise, every step aligned with the rhythm. You had pushed yourself hard, knowing that tomorrow would be a day of judgment—not just for your performance, but for the life you had chosen to live in secret.

As you stepped outside, the cool night air kissed your skin, a welcome relief from the heat of the practice room. The streets were quiet, almost eerily so, with only the occasional flicker of streetlights breaking through the darkness. The silence was a stark contrast to the noise in your mind, where thoughts swirled like a storm.

Emma offered to drive you home in her new car, her concern evident in the way she lingered, keys in hand. "Are you sure you don’t want a ride? It’s getting late," she asked, her voice gentle but insistent.

You shook your head, forcing a small smile. "I’ll be fine, Emma. I just need to clear my head a bit. I’ll walk."

She hesitated, searching your face for any sign of doubt. "Alright," she finally said, though her eyes still held a trace of worry. "Just… be careful, okay?"

You nodded, reassuring her with another smile. "I will. See you tomorrow."

With that, you both exchanged goodbyes, and you started your walk home. The night seemed to press in around you, the darkness heavy with unspoken fears and unvoiced hopes. Your footsteps echoed on the pavement, a steady rhythm that matched the beating of your heart.

You clutched your backpack a little tighter, its weight grounding you as your thoughts drifted. Tomorrow was supposed to be a big day—your dad would be home early, the church event would be in full swing, and all eyes would be on you. But all you could think about was Joel. The way he made you feel alive, seen, and cherished in a world that often felt cold and uncaring. You couldn’t bear the thought of losing him, of having that light snuffed out by the darkness that threatened to consume you.

The streetlights cast long shadows on the road ahead, their glow flickering like the doubts that gnawed at your mind. What if Jamie followed through on his threats? What if your dad found out? The thought made your chest tighten with fear. You had built this delicate web of secrecy, each strand woven with care, but it could all unravel with just one word, one misstep.

You tried to push the fear away, focusing instead on the warmth Joel had given you, the way his presence had pulled you back from the edge time and time again. You repeated to yourself that you couldn’t lose him—not now, not ever. He was your anchor, your sanctuary in a world that had so often felt like a battlefield.

Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t notice the figure lurking in the shadows until it was too late. As you rounded a corner, a rustling sound from the bushes made you pause. Your breath hitched, and you stopped in your tracks, your heart pounding in your chest.

Then, like a specter emerging from the darkness, Jamie stepped out from the shadows, his presence cold and menacing. His lips curled into a twisted smile as he saw the fear flash across your face.

"Going somewhere?" he asked, his voice low and taunting. His presence casting a dark shadow over you. You took a step back, a chill running down your spine. “Get the fuck out of my face, Jamie,” you demanded, your voice trembling but resolute.

Jamie’s eyes narrowed as he advanced. “You told Emma about me, didn’t you?” His tone was cold and accusatory. Fear tightened in your chest, but you tried to hold your ground.

“If you ruin me, I’ll make sure I ruin you,” he sneered, his threat hanging heavy in the air. “I’ll make sure they take him away from you.”

Desperation and anger flared inside you. “What the fuck do you want from me?!” you shouted, your voice breaking with emotion.

Without warning, Jamie’s hand clamped over your mouth, dragging you toward the bushes. You struggled against his grip, trying to scream for help, but his strength overwhelmed you. The world seemed to close in as he shoved you down onto the dirt, his actions abrupt and frightening.

In a surge of panic, you tried to push him away, your heart racing as he started to unzip his pants, “No, Jamie, please!” you begged, tears streaming down your face. “Don’t!”

Jamie’s voice was cruel and mocking. “Did he make you feel good, huh? You should thank me. I brought out this slut hidden beneath you, didn’t I? I should be the one who fuck you good, not some old fucking ass like Joel Miller.”

His words cut deep, and you felt a sense of helpless dread. The stars above seemed to spin as you tried to escape, your heart pounding with fear and sorrow. But Jamie’s hold was unrelenting, and your pleas seemed to fade into the night, swallowed by the dark.

"Please, don't, please," you try your best to shoved him but he pull your skirt down, "Help!" you scream and Jamie punch you again, "Be quiet, you dirty whore,".

As Jamie’s grip tightened, he enters you by force, and the world seemed to tilt, your mind sought refuge in the distant twinkle of the stars. You closed your eyes, trying to escape into the silent comfort of the night sky. Each star above was a distant beacon, a reminder that somewhere, beyond this moment, there was still a world of light and hope.

You tried to focus on the stars, their cold, indifferent light providing a fragile sense of calm. In the midst of your torment, you held onto the hope that this night would end, that the dawn would break and with it, bring the promise of a new beginning.

The beauty of the celestial expanse above seemed to offer a quiet solace, a reminder that even in the darkest moments, there is still a universe beyond, filled with unspoken promises and untold stories.

As Jamie’s actions continued, the pain and fear seemed to blur, becoming a distant echo compared to the clarity of the stars. You imagined yourself drifting among them, free from the terror below, where the hurt could not reach and the darkness could not touch.

Just look at the stars, you'll be fine

As the tears running down your face, you bit your lips to hold the pain, Jamie's moaning on your ear. You tried to focus on the stars, their silent brilliance a reminder of a world beyond this moment. You whispered a prayer to the universe, to any higher power that might be listening, to make it stop, to take away the suffering and grant you the strength to endure.

"Jesus Christ, please, make all of this stop, I'm tired," you prayed, your voice a desperate whisper that mingled with the night’s silence. The tears streaming down your face were a testament to your exhaustion, both physical and emotional.

Jamie, lost in his own world, was too consumed by his actions to hear your plea. His mocking laughter echoed through the night, a cruel reminder of the powerlessness you felt in this moment. His words and actions were a stark contrast to the gentle night sky above, where you tried to find solace.

Despite the overwhelming pain, you continued to gaze at the stars, seeking refuge in their distant, unchanging light. They were your silent witnesses, a reminder that there was something beyond this immediate suffering, a world where this moment of anguish would eventually fade into the past.

With final thrust, he finally reach his climax, he came inside you.

The night was a tapestry of silent suffering and shattering despair. When Jamie finally finished, he lay beside you, breath ragged and labored. The stillness of the night contrasted sharply with the turmoil of your heart. You lay there, numb and tearful, as though the ground beneath you was a cruel reminder of your helplessness.

Jamie eventually rose, zipping his pants with a contemptuous smirk. His words were a chilling echo of his earlier cruelty. “If you tell anyone about this, you’re dead,” he threatened, his voice cold and indifferent. With that, he walked away, leaving you alone in the dirt, a broken figure beneath the indifferent stars.

The minutes stretched into what felt like hours as you lay there, struggling to gather yourself. The pain was a relentless tide, overwhelming and unyielding. The stars above, once your silent witnesses, now seemed distant and cold, a vast expanse that mocked your suffering.

You slowly sat up, the weight of the night heavy on your shoulders. Your dress was torn and stained, your hair a tangled mess. Every movement was a reminder of the agony you had endured. You tried to fix your appearance, but the effort felt like an exercise in futility. The blood staining your legs was a harsh reminder of what Jamie had done.

As you walked through the night, your steps were unsteady, your mind clouded with despair. The questions swirled in your head: Why had this happened to you? Why did life have to be so painfully cruel? The burden of your suffering seemed almost unbearable.

Desperate for solace, you made your way to Joel’s home. Each step was a struggle, your heart aching with the need for his presence, for his comfort. When you reached his door, you knocked, hoping against hope that he was home.

Ellie opened the door, her eyes widening in shock as she took in your disheveled and bleeding appearance. Her voice was filled with panic as she called out, “What the hell happened?! Are you okay?!”

With tears brimming in your eyes and your voice trembling, you asked, “Ellie, is… is Joel home?” The words were barely a whisper, but they carried the weight of your desperation.

From inside, you could hear Joel’s voice from inside, “Ellie, who's on the door?"

Joel’s eyes widened with alarm as he saw you standing there, a vision of distress and anguish. Without hesitation, he bolted to the door, his face etched with fear and concern. As he reached you, the dam holding back your tears finally broke.

“Joel…” you whispered, your voice barely audible, your strength crumbling. You collapsed into his arms, the sobs wracking your body uncontrollably. The dam of your grief had burst, and you clung to him with all the strength you had left, your tears soaking into his shirt.

Joel’s expression shifted from panic to a fierce, protective concern. He wrapped his arms around you tightly, holding you close as though he could shield you from the world’s cruelty simply by being there. “What happened?” he repeated, his voice thick with emotion.

Ellie watched in stunned silence, her hands covering her mouth as she absorbed the gravity of the situation. Joel guided you gently inside, his movements tender yet urgent, as if every second mattered. He led you to the living room, helping you sit down on the couch, his touch both steady and soothing.

“Joel... he... he did it again,” you said weakly, your voice barely more than a whisper. The words felt heavy on your lips, each one a painful reminder of what had happened.

Ellie’s confusion turned to alarm as she processed your words, her face pale with concern. Joel, however, understood immediately. His anger was palpable, a storm brewing just beneath the surface. “That son of a bitch,” he cursed slowly, his voice low but seething with fury.

He moved you gently, laying you down on the couch with careful hands. As he began to check you for injuries, his touch was both deliberate and compassionate. When his fingers brushed against your legs and he saw the blood, his expression shifted from anger to a deep, heart-wrenching sorrow.

Joel’s face contorted with grief as he realized the extent of Jamie’s cruelty. He shouted “FUCK!” in a voice that shook the very walls, causing Ellie to flinch and step back in shock. The raw emotion in Joel’s outburst was a stark contrast to his usually composed demeanor.

With a trembling hand, Joel placed his forehead against yours, the warmth of his skin mingling with your tears. For the first time, you saw him cry—silent, heartbroken tears that spoke volumes. His voice was a whisper as he spoke, “I’m going to make sure he pays for this. I promise you.”

You looked into Joel’s brown eyes, feeling a mix of fear and sorrow. The pain in your body was overwhelming, and you could barely comprehend what had just happened. “Joel, it hurts,” you managed to say through your tears.

“I know, baby,” Joel said, his voice filled with tender sorrow. “I know it hurts. We’re going to fix this.”

He turned to Ellie, his voice now frantic. “Ellie, get a bucket of warm water and a napkin, now!” His desperation made Ellie’s hands shake as she hurried to follow his orders.

Returning to you, Joel’s eyes were filled with a mixture of fear and determination. “I need to know, baby,” he said softly, “Did he... did he...”

“Inside of me, Joel,” you sobbed, “He came inside of me.”

Joel's world had never felt so fragile, so perilously close to shattering. The weight of your words bore down on him like a tidal wave, threatening to drown him in a sea of grief and rage. His heart twisted with a pain so fierce it felt as though it might break him in two. Every fiber of his being screamed for vengeance, but right now, his only focus was you—protecting you, comforting you, holding you together when you were on the verge of falling apart.

His breath came in ragged bursts as he fought to control the storm inside him. He pressed his forehead against yours, the gesture tender and desperate, as though he could transfer some of his strength to you, even as his own reserves were dangerously low. His voice, usually so steady and composed, wavered with emotion as he whispered, "He will pay for what he did to you. I swear it."

But your voice, so small and broken, cut through the darkness of his rage. "Joel, I'm scared," you whispered, and the fear in your voice was a knife to his heart.

In that moment, Joel’s protective instincts surged to the forefront. All thoughts of vengeance were pushed aside by the overwhelming need to be there for you, to make sure you knew you weren’t alone. “You’ll be okay, I promise you,” he said, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside him. “I’m here. I got you, babygirl.”

Ellie returned with the warm water and napkins, but she paused in the doorway, her breath catching in her throat as she took in the scene before her. Joel’s forehead was still pressed against yours, his eyes closed, as he murmured soft words of comfort. There was a raw, unguarded tenderness in his expression that Ellie had never seen before—an intimacy that spoke of a deep, unspoken connection between the two of you.

She felt a pang of confusion and something else, something she couldn’t quite name, as she watched the way Joel held you. He was always protective, always looking out for her, but this... this was different.

As she handed Joel the bucket and napkins, she kept her gaze on the two of you, trying to reconcile this new reality with the Joel she knew. He was always a guardian, a protector, but this... this was a depth of care and love that shook her to her core.

Joel took the supplies from Ellie with a quiet “thank you,” but his attention never wavered from you. He dipped the napkin in the warm water, his hands gentle and sure as he began to clean your wounds. His touch was reverent, almost like he was handling something sacred, something fragile that he couldn’t bear to see hurt anymore. Each movement was careful, deliberate, as if by caring for your physical wounds, he could somehow heal the ones buried deeper within you.

You watched Joel through tear-filled eyes, seeing the pain etched into every line of his face. It was as if the roles had been reversed—where once he had been your protector, now you saw how deeply he was affected by your suffering, how much he needed you to be okay, not just for your sake, but for his.

Ellie stood by, watching Joel taking care of you, her heart heavy with the weight of this new understanding. She could see the fear and hurt in your eyes, the way you clung to Joel as if he were your lifeline. And Joel... the way he held you, the way he whispered reassurances, it was clear to Ellie that this wasn’t just about protection. This was love, fierce and consuming, and it terrified her as much as it comforted her to see it.

She began to replay moments in her head, memories that had seemed insignificant at the time but now took on a new meaning. There were the sudden, unexplained changes in Joel’s behavior—the way he’d started going to church more often, sitting quietly at the back but always there, as if he were trying to keep an eye on someone.

She remembered conversations she’d had with him, And then there was that offhand remark from Tommy at work, about how Joel had started to “smell like a woman.” At the time, it had just been a joke, something Ellie had brushed off as Tommy teasing his brother. But now, it struck her differently.

And then there was that conversation with you and Emma, the one where you had hesitantly asked Emma and her about falling in love with someone. older. Ellie had laughed it off at first, not thinking much of it, but now those words echoed in her mind, each one slotting into place like pieces of a puzzle she hadn’t even realized she was solving.

The realization hit her like a freight train, knocking the breath out of her.

***

When they reached your home, the quiet of the night wrapped around the small house like a blanket. Joel and Ellie helped you inside, your steps heavy with exhaustion. Your mother, who had been waiting anxiously, rushed to the door as soon as she saw you, her face pale with worry.

“Oh my God, what happened?!” she exclaimed, her voice trembling as she took in your disheveled appearance, the bruises, the blood. Her hands fluttered helplessly as she looked to Joel for answers.

“There was an accident,” Joel lied smoothly, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside him. “She got caught up in a fight between some kids from out of town. It wasn’t her fault, just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Your mother’s eyes widened in horror. “A fight? But—”

“It’s okay,” Joel interrupted gently, his gaze steady and reassuring. “She’s going to be okay. I took care of her, and she just needs some rest now.”

You clung to Joel, your hand gripping his shirt as if he were your lifeline. The pain and fear still echoed in your chest, but with Joel there, you felt a small measure of safety. “Please stay,” you whispered, your voice small and pleading.

Joel’s heart clenched at the sound of your voice, and he stroked your hair gently, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “I have something to do, baby,” he murmured. “But I’ll be right back, I promise.”

You nodded, your eyelids heavy as sleep began to pull you under. Joel waited until you were settled in bed, your breathing evening out as you drifted off. Only then did he stand, his eyes lingering on you for a long moment before he turned to your mother.

He walked over to her, his expression serious. “Please,” he said quietly, “don’t tell your husband about this when he comes home tomorrow. She doesn’t need him getting worked up over it, and it won’t help her. Just tell him she had a fall, or something like that.”

Your mother frowned, confusion and concern etched into her features. “But why? He needs to know—”

“Trust me,” Joel cut in, his tone firm. “It’s for the best. I’ll be back in the morning to check on her, I promise.”

After a few more reassurances, Joel finally left with Ellie. The drive back to their house was silent, the air between them thick with unspoken words. When they finally arrived home, Ellie could no longer hold back.

“Joel,” she started, her voice tense as they walked into the house, “what’s going on?"

"What do you mean?"

"What's going on between you and her?"

Joel froze for a moment, his back to Ellie as he hung up his jacket. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replied, trying to sound casual, but the tremor in his voice betrayed him.

“Don’t lie to me,” Ellie shot back, her voice rising with frustration. “I have eyes, Joel. I saw how you were with her tonight. And it wasn’t just about protecting her—it was more than that."

"She’s... she’s barely older than me! What the hell are you doing?”

Joel finally turned to face her, his expression pained. He knew there was no dodging this, not with the way Ellie was looking at him—like she was trying to make sense of something incomprehensible, something that felt like a betrayal.

“Ellie,” Joel started, his voice low, laden with the weight of his guilt. “I can explain—”

Ellie cut him off, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and disbelief. “Explain what, Joel? That you’re sick? That you’ve lost your fucking mind? How could you do this? How could you even think about her like that?!”

Joel’s heart ached at the venom in her words, the disgust that he could hear so clearly. “It’s not what you think—”

“It’s exactly what I think!” Ellie shouted, her hands shaking as she tried to comprehend the man standing in front of her. “How could you, Joel? How long has this been going on?"

Ellie’s voice wavered, the anger boiling over as she struggled to grasp the reality of the situation. “How long, Joel? How long have you been doing this behind my back? Behind everyone’s back? She’s just a kid! How could you even think about her like that?”

Joel swallowed hard, his mind racing, searching for the right words, but everything seemed wrong. “Ellie, it’s not... I didn’t mean for this to happen. It just... it just did.”

Ellie’s expression hardened, her eyes narrowing as she processed his response. “We both knew her father beat her, Joel!"

Joel’s heart skipped a beat as Ellie’s words hit him like a punch to the gut. “Ellie... how do you know about that?” he asked, his voice low, almost fearful of the answer.

Ellie’s eyes were filled with a mix of anger and sadness. “I’m not blind, Joel. I have eyes. I saw the bruises, the way she flinched when her father was around. And I saw the way she looked at you, the way she leaned on you. That night, dinner at Tommy's I noticed how she clung to you. She was scared, Joel, and I thought you were stepping in to be the father figure she needed. Like you were for me.”

Joel’s chest tightened, the guilt of Ellie’s words cutting deep. He had been so caught up in his own feelings, in his need to protect and care for you, that he hadn’t noticed Ellie was watching, understanding more than he ever gave her credit for.

“But you weren’t just being there for her, were you?” Ellie continued, her voice trembling with accusation. “You were supposed to protect her, Joel. Instead, you... you took advantage of her.”

Joel’s breath hitched, the weight of her accusation pressing down on him like a physical force. “Ellie, no... it wasn’t like that. I protect her,"

Ellie shook her head, disbelief etched into every line of her face. “Protect her? By doing this? By crossing a line that should never have been crossed? How could you, Joel? How could you do this to her?"

Joel’s patience snapped, the fury and desperation he’d been trying to keep in check finally boiling over. “BECAUSE I FUCKING LOVE HER!” he shouted, his voice echoing through the house, raw and unfiltered.

Ellie froze, her breath catching in her throat as she stared at him, wide-eyed. The intensity in his voice, the sheer force of his confession, left her reeling. Joel’s chest heaved with emotion, his eyes wild as he finally let the truth out, the words he’d been too afraid to admit even to himself.

“I love her,” Joel repeated, his voice breaking as the weight of it all crashed down on him. “I didn’t mean for it to happen, but it did. She’s not just some kid to me, Ellie. She’s everything. And I know it’s wrong, I know it’s messed up, but I can’t help it. I love her, and I’m not gonna let anything happen to her.”

Ellie stared at him, her mind racing to process what she’d just heard. The Joel she knew, the man who had become her family, was now a stranger to her in this moment. She could see the pain in his eyes, the sincerity, but it only made it harder to reconcile.

“You’re out of your mind,” Ellie whispered, her voice trembling with a mix of disbelief and fear. “This isn’t love, Joel. It can’t be.”

Joel shook his head, his eyes pleading with her to understand. “It is, Ellie. I wish I could change it, but I can’t. I love her, and I’m gonna protect her, no matter what. Even if that means keeping her safe from me.”

She didn’t know what to say. "And I will make sure the person who did this to her pay," Joel said again.

Ellie stared at Joel, her emotions a tangled mess of fear, love, and resignation. Joel had been more than just a guardian to her; he was the closest thing to a father she’d ever known. The thought of losing him, or of watching him spiral into something dangerous, tore at her heart. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that this was a path that could only lead to disaster.

“Joel,” Ellie began, her voice shaky, “I don’t want to lose you. You’re my father, and I love you. But this… what you and she are doing… it scares me. What if her father finds out? He’s not just going to let this slide. What if Tommy finds out? What if the whole town finds out?”

Joel’s face tightened, the weight of her words pressing down on him. He knew she was right. The risks were enormous, and the consequences could be devastating, not just for him, but for you, for Ellie, for everyone involved. But despite all of that, he couldn’t turn away from what he felt.

“I know, Ellie,” Joel said, his voice heavy with guilt. “I know what could happen, and it scares the hell out of me too. But I can’t… I can’t lose her..."

Ellie looked at him, her eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and something like acceptance. “I just hope you know what you’re doing, Joel. I don’t want to see you hurt, or worse. And I don’t want to see her hurt either.”

Joel nodded, swallowing hard. “I’ll do everything I can to protect her, Ellie. And I’ll do everything I can to keep you safe too. I promise.”

Ellie sighed, the fight leaving her as she came to a reluctant acceptance. “If she makes you happy, Joel… then I guess that’s what matters. But please, be careful. This could blow up in your face in ways you can’t even imagine.”

Joel reached out, this time placing a hand on her shoulder, his touch gentle and reassuring. “Thank you, Ellie. Thank you,"

note: FUCKKK i think chapter 7 and 8 are shit, i promise i'll be better

#dbf!joel miller x reader #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #joel miller x reader #joel miller #the last of us #pedro pascal smut #joel miller smut #the last of us hbo #tlou #ethel cain #dark!joel miller x reader #joel miller the last of us #joel miller hbo #joel miller fanfic #joel miller age gap #southern gothic #preachers daughter

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serpentface · 1 month ago

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Question for Faiza: what does the average day for an Odonii priestess entail?

We wake before dawn, and most of us spend the morning working around the temple. We maintain the shrines and grounds so- tending the hearths and burning the offerings, collecting water from the spring, feeding the lions. And there's always lay visitors milling around the temple while we're doing all this, but our attendants take care of the general public interfacing so. We can mostly focus on our duties.

There's always going to be some pregnant women or the odd soldier stopping in, so you might give out blessings once? Twice? On any given day. Rarely any more than that. But sometimes, you'll be right in the middle of something important- it's always when you're in the middle of something - and then, suddenly, in wanders an entire troupe. And you hear them before you see them. They'll have brought every single weapon and piece of armor they own, so they're clanging loud enough to wake the dead. And you'll just be standing there thinking, well, this is going to be my entire morning now.

...But it's very important work of course, attending our soldiers. Give a man Odomache's blessing, and he fights more bravely alone than twenty without.

Once the temple closes, we usually spend most of the afternoon just preparing the amenchalme. So- grinding the maize, then blessing the maize, then grinding the salt, then blessing the salt, then mixing the wine, then blessing the wine, then mixing the oil, then blessing the oil... It's a little tedious, I won't lie. But I think this is our most important duty, in a way. Out of every rite we perform, day in and day out, this is the one that serves all our people. The amenchalme that blesses a whore's nameless bastard daughter at birth and the amenchalme that blesses a great lord at his wedding is the very same, made by the very same hands. So when I see priestesses shunting the task off to initiates so they can go nap on the grounds or play with their muskets...

I digress.

So, when the rest of our duties are complete, we end the day with training. This is mostly practicing the six dances. Ideally, every Odonii in the temple should be assembled and practicing in unison. But in practice, there's usually some stragglers. So you'll be out in the yard and everyone is following the same drumbeat, but you'll see one group dancing the spear, another dancing the musket, and then another who's already finished and running laps around the grounds just to kill time.

Our core duties are over at sundown, and we're free to do as we please. Dinner is served at the temple, so most of us will spend an hour or two in the hall, you know, socializing, having a little wine, unwinding. I like to go down to the ocean after dinner, when I can. I prefer the quiet.

Uh, so that's an average day for the vast majority of us. It varies throughout the year, of course. Things get busy when we're approaching festivals. Or during wartime. And I'm a senior Odonii and liaison to the Usoma, so-. My duties tend to be considerably more complex, year-round. Sometimes I miss those long afternoons just mindlessly pounding maize, haha.

---

Notes:

-Temples to Odomache are open to the public from dawn until noon, and closed throughout the rest of the day. The temple consists of a great shrine that is publicly accessible by all, inner walled grounds that are prohibited to the public outside of certain festivals (tame lions are kept here), private spaces only Odonii and temple staff can enter (the Odonii's quarters and bathrooms, a dining hall, library), and ritually private spaces that only Odonii can enter (an inner shrine reserved for internal cult practice that is forbidden knowledge for non-Odonii)

-Odonii-attendants are high ranking servants to the priesthood. They start out as child servants given to the order by their fathers who perform most of the basic labor (this is a very attractive position to poor families in particular, as the family is paid until the child comes of age, and the child themself can acquire a degree of security and potential for class mobility that is otherwise difficult to attain). Those who choose to remain with the order upon adulthood (they have no choice in the matter beforehand due to children being under full legal jurisdiction of their fathers) may eventually graduate into attendant positions. This is a well paid and esteemed job, with attendants managing most of the practical logistics of maintaining a temple and interfacing with the public.

Servants to Odonii are only women and eunuchs. Those considered male are forbidden from this role (which entails entering some ritually private spaces, and sometimes seeing them naked in the course of bathing/being armored, etc) - the Odonii's body is sacrosanct and an analogue to the power and the security of the Wardi nation and God Itself, and the male gaze is considered uniquely dangerous to a metaphysically vulnerable female body and thus to be fundamentally violating of this sacred state.

-Outside of certain festivals and rituals, Odonii only perform blessings for royalty, soldiers, and pregnant women. Odonii also bless soldiers' weapons and armor.

-Amenchalme is the basic material used in public rites for blessing and purification. The finished product is a paste that is daubed on the body to give blessings, and consecrates animals/humans for sacrifice. It is exclusively produced by Odonii, but used in a broad variety of contexts.

-'Nameless' in the context of 'nameless bastard daughter' means not having a family name - ie an orphan of unknown parentage, or not being claimed by one's father, and therefore not having access to and the protection of the family as the foundational social unit in Wardi society. Namelessness itself is stigmatized, and its implications invariably entail ostracization and lowered status. Faiza saying 'whore's nameless bastard daughter' is her conjuring up like, the lowest possible status Wardi citizen she can imagine.

-The six dances are the core weapons-dances used in rites and for combat training, centered around the key weapons techniques- spear, sword, handgun, musket, spear and shield, sword and shield. Bow dances are still practiced by most soldiers (given that firearms are limited enough in access to have not fully replaced them) but are no longer part of the Odonii's core retinue.

-Faiza privately ascribes to a niche quasi-atheist strain of Wardi philosophy that posits that God fully died during creation and can no longer directly affect the world, and thus does not believe that the majority of rites her Entire Life is built on performing have any intrinsic divinely sourced effects. She is very good at not letting any of this slip, but tends to frame the benefits of rites around their practical effects (ie- soldiers who believe they are protected by God fight more bravely).

Her emphasis on the importance of amenchalme as is partly rooted in sincere conviction that all* (*Imperial Wardi citizen) people should receive the practical benefits of the state's religion regardless of class and she finds the ubiquity of the substance to be an equalizer, and partly because she absolutely believes in bad luck, ghosts, and evil spirits, and amenchalme protects people from those.

#ask meme #faiza haidamane

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pin-k-ink · 7 months ago

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Chrollo! There isn’t enough dark content about him. I want to see how Chrollo is, compared to Yandere Chrollo. I love both, but we don’t get enough dark content of Chrollo.

Chrollo is seen as manipulative, and cold. Considering he’s a mass murder, and his empathy is nonexistent to people outside of the phantom troupe. Though, he’s able to act like a gentleman, and a curious man who seems sweet. He definitely isn’t stable, but catching his attention would be terrifying. He collects what he’s interested in. Being in a relationship with him would be interesting, but complicated.

entropy // chrollo lucilfer

tw ⇢ emotional abuse/manipulation, psychological trauma, toxic relationship, mention of self-harm, suicide attempt, dub-con, non-consensual/coercion, stockholm syndrome(?), mention of violence and criminal activities, power play, some unspecified mental health issues, rough sex, cunnilingus, begging, idk kinda rushed ending, narrator’s pov

wc ⇢ 7.1k

a/n: i really liked this idea, anon, so i present you with 7k words of chrollo brainrot. i really tried not to make chrollo a cliche, run-of-the-mill yandere but im not sure i did a good job. its also my first time using y/n and i hated it

The dim lights of the crowded bar cast an amber glow across the room, the air thick with the hum of conversation and clinking glasses. Perched on a stool at the far end of the bar, I nursed my whiskey, the smooth glass cool against my palm, the rich amber liquid swirling hypnotically as I lifted it to my lips. The first sip burned pleasantly down my throat, warming me from within as my eyes scanned the crowd out of habit, taking in the sea of unfamiliar faces.

That's when I saw him.

He moved with a fluid grace that stood out amidst the tipsy stumbles and raucous laughter of the other patrons. Dark hair fell across his face in an artful sweep as he leaned in close to whisper something to the bartender, who nodded knowingly and slid a drink across the polished wood, the crystal tumbler gleaming under the soft light. As if sensing the weight of my gaze, he turned slowly, his eyes meeting mine with an intensity that made my breath catch in my throat, my fingers tightening reflexively around my glass.

A polite smile curved his lips as he approached with measured steps, sliding onto the stool next to mine with a nod of acknowledgment. "Good evening," he said, his voice smooth and cultured, with a faint lilt of an accent I couldn't quite place. "I hope you'll forgive my forwardness, but I couldn't help noticing you from across the room."

I felt a flush creep up my neck at his directness, a heat blooming under my skin that had little to do with the whiskey. But I maintained my composure, lifting one eyebrow in a practiced arch. "Is that so?" I asked, taking another sip of my drink, letting the smoky flavor linger on my tongue. My heart fluttered in my chest, a mix of excitement and nervousness at the attention from this intriguing stranger.

"Indeed. It's rare to find someone so comfortable in their own solitude. It speaks to a certain strength of character." His eyes held mine, dark and fathomless, seeming to search for something beneath the surface, beneath the mask of cool indifference I wore like armor.

I smiled slightly, intrigued by his observation, by the way he seemed to see beyond the carefully constructed facade. "And what would you know about my character?"

"Very little, I admit. But I'd like to learn more, if you're willing." He extended a hand, long fingers elegant and strong. "Chrollo Lucilfer, at your service."

"Y/N," I replied, placing my hand in his. His grip was firm, his skin cool and smooth against my own. A shiver raced down my spine at the contact, a spark of something electric and unfamiliar. I found myself drawn to his enigmatic aura, the hint of danger that lurked beneath his charming exterior.

As the evening wore on, Chrollo and I fell into easy conversation, trading stories and opinions over drinks, our knees brushing under the bar in a way that felt both accidental and deliberate. He was articulate and well-read, with a keen insight that made me feel like he could see straight into my soul, past the walls I'd so carefully constructed. There was a magnetism to him, a pull that I couldn't resist, drawing me in like a moth to a flame. I felt a connection growing between us, a sense of understanding and shared secrets that left me both thrilled and unnerved.

We began seeing each other regularly after that night, meeting for dinner at quiet candlelit restaurants or for coffee in cozy bookshops, the rich scent of roasted beans and old pages enveloping us as we talked for hours. Chrollo was always the perfect gentleman, holding doors and pulling out chairs, his manners impeccable, his attentiveness unwavering. But there were moments, fleeting glimpses, where something else seemed to flicker beneath the surface, a darkness that both thrilled and unsettled me. I found myself drawn to that darkness, to the mystery that surrounded him, even as a part of me whispered warnings in the back of my mind.

One evening, we were walking through the city, the pavement damp with recent rain, the neon signs reflecting in puddles at our feet. A man stumbled out of an alleyway, clearly drunk and disoriented, his clothes rumpled and stained. He lurched towards us, mumbling incoherently, his breath sour with the stench of alcohol. I tensed, expecting Chrollo to step in and help, to offer the man a steadying hand or a kind word. Instead, he sidestepped the man neatly, his movements fluid and precise, not even sparing him a glance. There was a coldness to the action, a calculated indifference that left me feeling chilled despite the warm summer air. A flicker of unease stirred in my gut, a sense that there was more to Chrollo than met the eye, but I pushed it aside, not wanting to shatter the illusion of the perfect romance.

Another time, we were at a restaurant, a trendy spot with exposed brick walls and industrial light fixtures. The hum of conversation and the clink of silverware against plates filled the air, a pleasant buzz of activity. A commotion broke out at a nearby table, a woman's voice rising in pitch as she gestured wildly at her companion, her face flushed with anger. Chrollo watched the scene unfold with a detached sort of interest, like a scientist observing a particularly fascinating specimen. When I expressed concern, my brow furrowed with worry, he simply shrugged, the movement languid and unconcerned.

"Some people thrive on drama," he said, his tone indifferent, almost bored. "It's best not to get involved."

I tried to brush off the nagging feeling that something wasn't quite right, telling myself that no one was perfect, that everyone had their flaws and quirks. Chrollo was attentive and affectionate, showering me with gifts and attention, his touch always gentle, always reverent. It was easy to get lost in the romance of it all, in the heady rush of new love. But even as I surrendered to the warmth of his embrace, to the tender caress of his lips on my skin, a part of me remained wary, a tiny voice whispering doubts in the back of my mind.

But the doubts continued to gather at the edges of my mind, like storm clouds on the horizon, dark and ominous. There were inconsistencies in the stories he told, small details that didn't quite add up, pieces that didn't fit into the puzzle of his past. He was evasive about his work, about his family and his childhood, always changing the subject with a charming smile and a clever turn of phrase when I pressed for more. I tried to ignore the growing sense of unease, the feeling that I was only seeing a carefully crafted facade, a mask that hid the true nature of the man I was falling for.

It all came to a head one night when we were out for a walk, the city streets quiet and still around us. A police car raced by, sirens blaring, red and blue lights flashing against the buildings. Chrollo tensed, his body going rigid beside me, his eyes tracking the vehicle with a sharpness that made me pause, my heart skipping a beat in my chest. There was something in his reaction, a hint of fear or guilt that I had never seen before, and it sent a chill down my spine.

"What is it?" I asked, searching his face for clues, for some hint of the thoughts swirling behind those dark eyes.

He relaxed just as quickly, his expression smoothing into a mask of calm, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Nothing, just lost in thought for a moment."

But I saw it then, in that brief unguarded instant. The hairline fracture in his facade, the glimpse of something raw and real beneath the polished surface. The realization hit me like a freight train, stealing the breath from my lungs - I didn't really know the man I was falling for at all. He was a mystery, a puzzle with missing pieces, and I had no idea what secrets he was hiding behind that charming smile and those fathomless eyes. Fear and doubt coiled in my gut, a sickening sense of dread that I couldn't shake, no matter how hard I tried to convince myself that everything was fine.

The doubt became an itch I couldn't scratch, a constant presence at the back of my mind. I found myself watching Chrollo more closely, looking for clues, for any sign that might confirm my growing suspicions. He was as attentive and affectionate as ever, his touch gentle, his words sweet. But there was a guardedness to him now, a sense that he was always holding something back, always keeping a part of himself locked away. It was like trying to catch smoke with my bare hands, always slipping through my fingers just when I thought I had a grasp on the truth.

One evening, we were at his apartment, curled up on the plush leather couch with a movie playing on the large flatscreen TV. The room was dimly lit, the flickering light from the screen casting shadows on the walls. Chrollo's phone buzzed with an incoming message, the screen lighting up on the coffee table. He glanced at it, his expression hardening for a split second, his jaw clenching almost imperceptibly before he smoothed it away, reaching for the device with a casual hand. My heart raced in my chest, a sense of foreboding washing over me as I watched him, a part of me desperately wanting to believe that it was nothing, that I was overreacting.

"Everything okay?" I asked, trying to keep my tone light, my heart pounding in my chest.

"Just work," he replied, his thumb swiping across the screen, his eyes scanning the message quickly before he slipped the phone into his pocket. "Nothing to worry about."

But there was a tightness to his smile, a strain around his eyes that belied his easy words. I couldn't shake the feeling that there was something he wasn't telling me, some secret he was keeping locked away. The doubts gnawed at me, a constant ache in my chest that I couldn't ignore, no matter how much I wanted to lose myself in the fantasy of our perfect love.

As the weeks passed, the distance between us grew, an invisible chasm widening with each passing day. Chrollo would disappear for hours at a time, offering vague explanations about meetings or errands, his tone carefully neutral. He was increasingly evasive about his activities, changing the subject with a practiced ease or deflecting my questions with a charming smile and a clever quip. I felt like I was losing him, like the man I had fallen for was slipping away, replaced by a stranger wearing a familiar face.

I knew I should confront him, demand answers, but a part of me was afraid of what I might uncover. The man I had fallen for, the gentleman with the quick wit and the electrifying touch, felt like a stranger wearing a familiar face, a mask that was starting to crack at the edges. I was torn between the desire to cling to the illusion of our perfect romance and the need to know the truth, to see the man behind the mask, no matter how painful it might be.

The final straw came late one night when I was leaving Chrollo's apartment, my mind whirling with unanswered questions, my heart heavy in my chest. As I stepped out into the dimly lit hallway, the plush carpet muffling my footsteps, I nearly collided with a man coming from the opposite direction. He was tall and lean, with cold eyes that seemed to look right through me, his face all sharp angles and harsh lines. A shiver of unease ran down my spine, a sense of danger emanating from him like a palpable force.

"Excuse me," I mumbled, trying to sidestep him, my skin prickling with unease.

But he blocked my path, his large frame filling the narrow hallway, his gaze flicking past me to Chrollo's door, a flash of something dark and dangerous in his eyes. "He's expecting me," the man said, his voice flat and emotionless, sending a chill down my spine.

I glanced over my shoulder, but Chrollo had already closed the door, the sound of the lock clicking into place loud in the sudden silence. A wave of dread washed over me as I hurried past the man, my heart pounding in my ears, my hands shaking as I jabbed at the elevator button. Questions swirled in my mind, a growing sense of fear and unease that I couldn't shake, no matter how hard I tried to rationalize it away.

I didn't sleep that night, my mind racing with possibilities, with questions I was afraid to voice aloud. Who was the man in the hallway? What business did he have with Chrollo at such a late hour? The not knowing was almost worse than the truth, my imagination conjuring up all manner of dark scenarios, each more terrible than the last. I tossed and turned, my sheets tangled around me, my heart aching with the growing realization that the man I loved was not who I thought he was.

The paranoia grew like a cancer, spreading through every aspect of my life, tainting every interaction with Chrollo. I found myself watching him constantly, analyzing every word, every gesture, looking for some hint of the truth behind the mask. Every phone call he took, every message he received, every unexplained absence became a clue in a puzzle I was desperate to solve, a mystery I couldn't let go. I was consumed by the need to know, to uncover the secrets he was hiding, even as a part of me feared what I might find.

I started making excuses to drop by his apartment unannounced, hoping to catch him off guard, to glimpse the man behind the facade. But Chrollo was always one step ahead, his mask of charm and civility firmly in place, his explanations smooth and plausible. It was like trying to catch smoke with my bare hands, always slipping through my fingers just when I thought I had a grasp on the truth. I felt like I was losing my mind, like I was trapped in a maze of lies and half-truths, with no way out.

The strain began to take its toll, the constant state of heightened awareness, of second-guessing every moment. I was distracted at work, jumping at every unexpected noise, seeing shadows in every corner. My friends noticed the change, commenting on my withdrawn behavior, the dark circles under my eyes, the way I seemed to be constantly on edge. I brushed off their concerns with a forced smile and a wave of my hand, not wanting to voice the suspicions that consumed my every waking moment.

I started to pull away, to put distance between us, needing time to clear my head, to make sense of the tangled web of lies and half-truths. I made excuses to avoid seeing him, claiming work obligations or family commitments, my voice shaking only slightly as I lied through my teeth. I needed space, needed to step back and look at the situation objectively, without the haze of love and desire clouding my judgment. But even as I tried to distance myself, I found myself drawn back to him, like a moth to a flame, unable to resist the pull of his magnetism.

But Chrollo wouldn't let me go so easily, his presence a constant pull, a magnetic force I couldn't seem to resist. He showed up at my work, at my favorite coffee shop, always with a bouquet of flowers and a contrite smile, his eyes soft and pleading. He promised to be more open, to answer any questions I might have, to lay his secrets bare before me. And for a moment, I wanted to believe him, to fall into the warmth of his embrace and let the world fade away.

I started to dig deeper, to research Chrollo's past, looking for any clue that might explain the inconsistencies, the blank spaces in his history. Late one night, huddled over my laptop with a mug of coffee growing cold beside me, I found it. A news article, buried deep in the archives of a local paper, a few scant paragraphs that made my blood run cold. A string of high-profile thefts, linked to a shadowy group known as the Phantom Troupe, their methods as elusive as their identities. And there, in grainy black and white, a photograph of a man with dark hair and piercing eyes, a face I would know anywhere.

My heart stopped in my chest as I stared at the screen, the pieces of the puzzle finally falling into place with a sickening clarity. The man I loved, the gentleman with the silver tongue and the devastating smile, was a thief. And not just any thief, but a member of the most notorious criminal organization in the city, a ghost in the shadows, a phantom in the night. I sat back in my chair, my hands shaking as I tried to process the truth, to reconcile the Chrollo I knew with the man in the article.

The reality of my situation crashed over me like a wave, cold and unrelenting. I was in love with a lie, a beautiful fiction wrapped in a tailored suit and a charming smile. The future I had imagined for us, the life I had started to build in my mind, was nothing more than a house of cards, ready to come tumbling down at any moment. I felt like I couldn't breathe, like the walls were closing in around me, trapping me in a nightmare from which there was no escape.

And I had no idea what I was going to do about it.

The truth hung heavy in the air between us, a suffocating presence that filled the room and pressed down on my chest, making it hard to breathe. My heart raced as I confronted Chrollo with the article, my voice trembling with a potent mix of anger, fear, and betrayal. He sat across from me, his posture relaxed, his eyes downcast, his hands resting calmly in his lap. The silence stretched on, broken only by the relentless ticking of the clock on the wall, each second an eternity of agonizing anticipation.

When he finally spoke, his voice was even and measured, devoid of any discernible emotion. "I never intended for you to discover the truth this way," he said, his gaze meeting mine, his dark eyes revealing nothing. "I considered telling you, explaining everything, but I couldn't find the right approach."

Disbelief and heartache surged through me, constricting my throat and stinging my eyes with unshed tears. "Explain what, Chrollo? That our entire relationship has been built on a foundation of lies? That the man I fell in love with is nothing more than a carefully crafted illusion?"

His expression remained impassive, unfazed by my accusation. "The connection between us is genuine, Y/N. My feelings for you, the moments we've shared, none of that was a deception."

A bitter, mirthless laugh escaped my lips, echoing harshly in the oppressive stillness of the room. "But everything else? The thefts, the Phantom Troupe? How can you claim that's not an integral part of who you are?"

Chrollo sighed, a subtle indication of impatience rather than genuine weariness. "It's not that simple. The Troupe is like family to me. We have each other's backs, keep each other safe. What we do isn't solely about financial gain or the adrenaline rush. It's about survival, about carving out a place in a world that's never given us a fair chance."

As I sat there, my mind reeling, a chill crept down my spine, raising goosebumps on my skin. Chrollo's dark eyes bored into mine, a glimmer of something cold and dangerous lurking beneath the surface of his composed exterior. In that moment, the true depth of his detachment became starkly apparent, sending a fresh wave of fear washing over me.

"You need to understand, Y/N," he continued, his voice low and even. "The Phantom Troupe is more than just a gang. It's a way of life. A family bound by blood and loyalty. I've committed heinous acts in the name of that loyalty. Acts that would make your blood run cold."

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding against my ribcage like a trapped bird. "And what about me, Chrollo? Was I just another pawn in your twisted game? Another plaything to be discarded when you grew bored?"

A flicker of something unreadable crossed his features, vanishing as quickly as it appeared. "No, Y/N. Never. What I feel for you is the closest thing to genuine emotion I've ever experienced. But I won't deceive you. I am what I am. That's not going to change, not even for you."

With shaking legs, I stood up, my entire body trembling with a mixture of fear, anger, and despair. "I can't do this, Chrollo. I can't be a part of your world. The things you've done...the person you truly are...I can't turn a blind eye to that."

He nodded, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I expected as much. I knew this moment would arrive sooner or later. I merely hoped..." He trailed off, shaking his head almost imperceptibly. "It's irrelevant now."

I took a step back, my mind struggling to process the revelation of Chrollo's true identity. The man I had fallen for, the charming and enigmatic gentleman, was nothing more than a meticulously crafted facade, a mask concealing the cold, ruthless criminal beneath.

"I can't be a part of this, Chrollo," I repeated, my voice quivering with a mixture of fear and resignation. "I can't be with someone who lives a life of crime, who has no regard for the people he hurts."

Chrollo's expression remained inscrutable, his dark eyes boring into mine with an intensity that made my skin crawl. "I'm afraid you don't have a choice, Y/N. You see, you've become quite an intriguing diversion for me, a delightful puzzle to unravel. And I'm not in the habit of relinquishing things that keep me entertained."

His words, spoken with chilling calm, carried an unmistakable undercurrent of threat that turned my blood to ice in my veins. "What are you saying, Chrollo?"

A smile devoid of warmth or humor tugged at the corners of his mouth. "It's quite simple, really. You have two options. You can choose to stay with me, to accept me for who and what I am, and continue to be a part of my life. Or..." He paused, his gaze hardening. "You can refuse, and face the consequences."

My heart raced, a sickening realization dawning on me as the true nature of my predicament became clear. "And what consequences would those be?"

Chrollo shrugged, the gesture casual and unconcerned. "Death, of course. I can't risk you going to the authorities, exposing me and my associates. If you can't be with me, then you can't be allowed to live."

The words hung in the air between us, a chilling ultimatum that left me feeling trapped and utterly helpless. I searched Chrollo's face for any sign of remorse, any hint of the man I had thought I knew, but found only cold, calculating resolve.

"I...I need time to think," I managed, my voice barely above a whisper, my throat constricted with fear and despair.

Chrollo nodded, his expression impassive. "Of course. Take all the time you need, Y/N. But remember, the clock is ticking. And I'm not a patient man."

With those words, he turned and walked away, leaving me alone, the weight of his ultimatum crushing down on me. I sank to the floor, my legs no longer able to support me, as the full horror of my situation crashed over me in relentless waves.

I was trapped, caught between a love that had turned to ashes and a fate worse than death. And no matter which path I chose, I knew that my life would never be the same again.

I sat there, numb and disbelieving, as Chrollo's words echoed in my mind. Stay with him, or die. The choice was no choice at all, a cruel mockery of free will in the face of his cold ultimatum. With a heavy heart and an overwhelming sense of despair, I realized that I had no other option.

"I'll stay," I whispered, the words bitter on my tongue, tasting of ashes and defeat. "I'll stay with you, Chrollo."

He nodded, a glimmer of satisfaction in his dark eyes, the barest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "A wise decision, Y/N. I knew you'd see reason."

But even as I agreed to his terms, a part of me rebelled against the idea of being trapped in this nightmare, of living a life shackled to a man who saw me as nothing more than a possession, a plaything to be discarded when he tired of me.

In the days that followed, I went through the motions of my life, a hollow shell of my former self. I smiled when Chrollo was around, played the role of the dutiful girlfriend, but inside, I was screaming, my soul withering with each passing moment. The weight of my despair pressed down on me, suffocating me slowly, day by day.

I couldn't bear the thought of living like this forever, of being forever bound to a monster who held no love, no true affection for me. In a moment of desperation, I made a decision. If I couldn't escape Chrollo in life, then I would find my freedom in death.

I sat in the bathtub, the steaming water lapping at my skin, providing no comfort to the icy numbness that had settled in my heart. The razor blade rested against my wrist, the metal cool and inviting, a whispered promise of release from the nightmare my life had become. My hand trembled, the weight of my decision bearing down on me, tears streaming down my face and mingling with the bathwater.

But even as I sat there, the razor poised to end my suffering, I couldn't bring myself to do it. My hand shook, the blade biting into my skin, drawing a thin line of crimson, but I couldn't find the strength, the resolve, to finish the job. Sobs wracked my body, my chest heaving with the force of my anguish, as I sat there, paralyzed by fear and despair.

"Well, well, what do we have here?"

My head snapped up, my heart leaping into my throat at the sound of Chrollo's voice. He stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame with a look of detached amusement on his face, as if he'd stumbled upon a mildly entertaining scene.

"Chrollo..." I whispered, my voice hoarse and broken, barely recognizable to my own ears.

He pushed off the doorframe and sauntered into the bathroom, his movements casual and unhurried. "Did you really think I wouldn't know, Y/N? That I wouldn't sense your desperation, your pathetic attempt at escape?"

I lowered my gaze, shame and despair warring within me, my cheeks burning with humiliation. "I can't do this anymore, Chrollo. I can't live like this."

He crouched down beside the tub, his dark eyes glittering with a cruel sort of amusement. "And yet, here you are, unable to even commit to your own demise. How tragic."

With a sudden motion, he grasped my wrist, yanking the razor from my fingers. I gasped, more from surprise than pain, as he held the blade up to the light, examining it with a detached sort of interest.

"Did you really think this would be the answer, Y/N? That you could escape me, escape your fate, with something as trivial as this?"

He tossed the razor aside, the metal clattering against the tile floor, and cupped my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. "You're mine, Y/N. Forever. And no matter how many times you try to run, to hide, to end your own miserable existence, I will always find you. I will always bring you back."

Tears streamed down my face, mixing with the bathwater, as the hopelessness of my situation crashed over me anew. Chrollo was right. There was no escape, no way out of this hell I had foolishly walked into.

He stood, looking down at me with a mixture of pity and cold amusement. "Clean yourself up, Y/N. And let this be a lesson to you. Your life is mine, to do with as I please. And I'm not done with you yet."

With those words, he turned and walked out, leaving me alone in the bath, my skin pruning in the cooling water, my heart shattered beyond repair. I had gambled everything on Chrollo, on the love I thought we shared, and I had lost. And now, I had to live with the consequences, forever trapped in a nightmare of my own making.

Chrollo led me from the bathroom, his hand wrapped around my wrist in a grip that was both gentle and unyielding. I followed him numbly, my mind still reeling from the events that had transpired, the razor's bite still stinging on my skin. He guided me to the bed, the plush comforter soft beneath my bare legs as he lowered me onto the mattress.

I sat there, my hands clasped in my lap, my eyes downcast, as he moved about the room, his presence a tangible force, a weight pressing down on me from all sides. Fear and despair coiled in my gut, my heart racing as I tried to anticipate his next move, dreading what new torment he might have in store for me.

"Look at me, Y/N," he commanded, his voice soft but firm, leaving no room for disobedience.

I obeyed, raising my gaze to meet his, my breath catching in my throat at the intensity I saw there. He stood before me, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar, his dark hair falling across his brow in a way that was both casual and calculated.

"Do you understand now?" he asked, his tone almost conversational, as if we were discussing the weather rather than the complete and utter destruction of my life. "Do you see the futility of your actions, the pointlessness of your resistance?"

I swallowed hard, my throat tight with unshed tears. "I understand that I'm trapped," I whispered, my voice hoarse and raw, barely recognizable to my own ears. "That there's no escape from this nightmare, from you."

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, a flash of satisfaction in his eyes. "Good. You're learning."

He reached out, his fingers ghosting along my cheek, tracing the curve of my jaw with a touch that was almost tender. I shivered, my skin prickling with a mixture of fear and revulsion, my stomach churning at the unwanted contact.

"You belong to me, Y/N," he murmured, his breath warm against my ear, sending a chill down my spine. "Body and soul, heart and mind. There is no part of you that is not mine, no corner of your being that I do not possess."

I closed my eyes, a single tear escaping to trail down my cheek, the hot sting of it a bitter reminder of my helplessness. He was right. I was his, wholly and completely, a moth caught in the web of a spider, helpless to resist the pull of his power.

Chrollo's lips brushed against my skin, trailing a path of fire down the column of my throat. I gasped, my hands fisting in the comforter, my body responding to his touch despite the revulsion that churned in my gut, despite the voice in my head screaming at me to fight, to resist, to do anything but submit to his twisted desires.

"You will never leave me," he whispered, his words a dark promise, a vow etched in blood and tears. "You will never escape. You are mine, now and forever."

And as his mouth descended on mine, his hands roaming over my body with a possessiveness that bordered on violence, I knew that he was right. There was no escape. Not for me, and not for anyone else who crossed his path.

I was his. And there was nothing I could do about it.

His kiss was like a drug, the taste of him addictive, the feel of his hands on my body intoxicating. I tried to resist, to push him away, but it was a futile effort. My body betrayed me, arching into his touch, craving more.

He broke the kiss, his eyes dark with desire, his breath ragged against my skin. "You can fight me all you want, Y/N. But in the end, you'll give in. You'll surrender to me, just as you did before."

"I won't," I whispered, my voice trembling with a mix of fear and defiance.

He smiled, a cold, cruel smile that sent a chill down my spine. "We'll see about that."

With a growl, he claimed my mouth again, his lips rough against mine, his teeth nipping at my skin. I cried out, my nails digging into his back, my body surrendering to the pleasure even as my mind screamed in protest.

I knew this was wrong, that I should resist, should fight him with every fiber of my being. But the line between pain and pleasure was blurred, the boundary between fear and desire a thin and fragile thing. And as he ravaged my body, his touch bruising, his voice a low and menacing growl in my ear, I realized with a sickening jolt that a part of me wanted this.

A part of me craved the pain, the darkness, the twisted power play. And that realization, more than anything else, was the final nail in the coffin of my doomed resistance.

Chrollo's hands moved over my body, his fingers tracing the lines of my hips, the curve of my breasts, a strange mix of gentleness and possessiveness in his touch. I gasped, arching into him, my pulse racing, a dull ache building between my thighs.

"That's it," he murmured, his lips ghosting over the sensitive skin of my neck. "Give in to me, Y/N. Surrender."

His teeth grazed my earlobe, sending a shiver of pleasure down my spine. I moaned, my fingers tangling in his hair, his name a whisper on my lips.

"Say it," he commanded, his voice rough and low. "Say that you're mine."

"I'm yours," I breathed, the words tumbling from my lips without hesitation, a damning admission of defeat. "I'm yours, Chrollo."

He kissed me again, hard and possessive, his tongue delving into my mouth. I surrendered to him, my body and mind consumed by the raw, primal need that burned between us.

He pulled back, his gaze dark and hungry, a satisfied smile curving his lips. "Good girl," he murmured, his thumb brushing across my swollen lips. "Now, let's see just how much you're willing to give me."

He moved with a predatory grace, his muscles rippling beneath his skin, his body a weapon honed to lethal perfection. He knelt before me, his fingers deft and sure, as he spread my thighs, his lips ghosting across my heated flesh.

I cried out, my back arching off the bed, as his tongue flicked over the sensitive bundle of nerves at my core. He growled, his fingers digging into my hips, holding me in place as he feasted on my body, his tongue and lips working their dark magic on me.

Pleasure rippled through me, hot and urgent, my skin tingling with electricity. I gasped, my hands clutching at the sheets, my body writhing beneath his touch.

"Chrollo," I moaned, my voice hoarse and desperate. "Please, please..."

He laughed, a dark and dangerous sound, his eyes glinting with a mix of lust and amusement. "Please what, Y/N?"

"Please," I begged, the word a broken whisper, a plea for release. "I need you."

"What do you need?" he asked, his tone mocking.

"I need you inside me," I gasped, my body aching with desire, a dull, throbbing heat pulsing through my veins. "Please, Chrollo, I need you to fuck me."

His eyes darkened, a look of pure, animalistic lust flashing across his features. With a low growl, he rose to his feet, his fingers digging into my hips, lifting me effortlessly, and drove himself into me, the sudden fullness tearing a cry from my lips.

I clung to him, my nails scoring his back, my body shuddering with the force of his thrusts. He claimed me, his mouth hot and hungry on mine, his hands gripping my flesh with a bruising intensity.

The room was filled with the sounds of our bodies colliding, the scent of our desire hanging heavy in the air. I cried out, my voice hoarse and raw, the waves of pleasure crashing over me, drowning out all thought, all reason.

I lost myself in the moment, in the feeling of him inside me, filling me, completing me. For a brief, shining moment, there was nothing but us, our bodies moving as one, the line between pain and pleasure blurred and meaningless.

And then, with a cry, I shattered, my body convulsing, the release tearing through me, an explosion of sensation. I felt him follow, his movements growing erratic, his breath a ragged gasp in my ear, his release hot and intense.

We collapsed in a tangle of limbs, the sweat cooling on our skin, the aftershocks of our shared pleasure still rippling through us. I lay there, breathless and spent, a strange mix of emotions churning within me.

I was disgusted with myself, with the way I had surrendered to him, with the pleasure I had found in his arms. But beneath that revulsion, buried deep beneath the surface, was a sense of shameful satisfaction, a twisted sort of gratification.

I had given in to him. I had surrendered to the darkness, the madness, the primal desire that raged between us. And as his arms tightened around me, his breath warm against my skin, a part of me reveled in the knowledge that, no matter what happened, he would always be a part of me.

"Are you satisfied?"

The question hung in the air between us, heavy with meaning, with implications. I glanced at Chrollo, my gaze flicking over his naked form, his skin still flushed with the aftermath of our encounter. He was watching me, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth, the challenge clear in his dark eyes.

"No," I replied, meeting his gaze evenly, a thrill of anticipation running through me. "I'm not."

Chrollo raised an eyebrow, a flicker of interest sparking in his dark eyes. "Oh? And what more could you possibly want, Y/N?"

I swallowed, my heart pounding in my chest as I forced myself to hold his gaze. "I want the truth, Chrollo. The real you, not the mask you wear for the world."

A slow smile spread across his face, a predatory gleam in his eyes. "Careful what you wish for, my dear. The truth can be a dangerous thing."

I shook my head, a wry smile tugging at the corners of my lips. "I knew the risks when I chose to stay with you. I'm not afraid of the darkness."

Chrollo chuckled, a low, dark sound that sent shivers down my spine. "Brave words, Y/N. But we both know that's not entirely true, don't we?"

He leaned in closer, his breath warm against my skin, his fingers trailing along the curve of my jaw. "You may think you want the monster, but can you truly handle the reality of what I am?"

I met his gaze unflinchingly, my pulse racing with a heady mix of fear and desire. "There's only one way to find out."

With a sudden movement, Chrollo pinned me to the bed, his body covering mine, his eyes glittering with a dark hunger. "Then let me show you," he murmured, his mouth descending on mine in a searing kiss.

As the hours passed and the shadows lengthened, we lay there, entwined, our bodies slick with sweat, the air heavy with the scent of our mingled desire. Chrollo traced idle patterns on my skin, his fingers moving over my body with a familiarity born of countless encounters. But there was a distant look in his eyes, a contemplative expression that I hadn't seen before.

"What are you thinking about?" I asked, curious despite myself.

He was silent for a moment, his gaze focused on something far away. "I was wondering," he said at last, his voice uncharacteristically soft, "how things might have been different, if we had met under other circumstances."

I felt a flicker of surprise at his words, a strange sensation of hope and longing stirring in my chest. "What do you mean?"

Chrollo sighed, his fingers stilling on my skin. "If I wasn't who I am, if I wasn't a criminal, a member of the Phantom Troupe... could we have had something real, something genuine?"

I swallowed hard, my heart aching at the wistfulness in his tone. "I don't know," I replied honestly. "But I'd like to think so."

He smiled then, a sad, fleeting thing that barely touched his eyes. "In another life, perhaps I could have truly fallen in love with you, Y/N. Without the lies, the secrets, the constant threat of danger hanging over us."

I reached up, cupping his cheek in my hand, feeling the roughness of his stubble against my palm. "But this is the life we have, Chrollo. The one we've chosen, for better or worse."

He leaned into my touch, his eyes drifting shut for a moment. "I know. And I don't regret it, not really. But sometimes, I can't help but wonder..."

His words trailed off, the unspoken possibilities hanging in the air between us. I knew what he meant, knew the bittersweet ache of imagining a different path, a different fate. But we both knew that there was no going back, no changing the choices we had made.

"We have each other," I said softly, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. "Here and now. That's what matters."

Chrollo smiled, a real smile this time, his eyes warm and fond as they met mine. "You're right," he murmured, pulling me closer, his arms tightening around me. "And I wouldn't trade it for anything."

#hxh #hxh x reader #hxh x reader smut #chrollo smut #chrollo lucilfer #hxh chrollo #chrollo x reader #chrollo x reader smut #hxh smut

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endereies · 16 days ago

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PRODUCER!CHRIS X DANCER!READER FIRST MEETING

Pairing: Producer!Chris x Dancer!Reader

Contains: How Chris and Reader interacted through their first meeting with eachother

Requested?: no

Author's notes: I've been wanting this au out for a while so I'm so glad to get this going. The rest of my posts probably won't be designed like this and more like small answers to blurbs and interactions. A lot of oneshots or longer blurbs may be more laid out but no guarantees! If anyone has any requests just send em my way.

Word Count: 1560

Ever since the news was revealed to the troupe that your academy piqued the interest of Chris Sturniolo, dancers immediately forgot about any routines they were working on and practiced their best moves for him. He would be visiting throughout the first week of October, which was only a month away.

Thankfully, you had gained knowledge of the type of music he created and wanted to capture it through dance. Thoughts spurred in your head of what moves would best appeal to him, but they were cut short but the sound of your coach.

“Now. Before we all get too eccentric, these will not be individual auditions.” The team members immediately groaned at the thought of not so easily being able to show off. “You will be in trios. There are twelve of you, therefore it only seems fair. However, I will allow you to choose your partners.”

While you weren’t one who opted to become friends with your team, you were a team member. A few others were like that too and so you all paired together as a strong trio. Almost immediately you three were picking out which songs best flexed your styles. You had studied hip hop most of your life, yet your partners differed in skill. Once the three of you had found a song that could highlight all features, it was time for a routine.

Being a mix of both dancers, you paired with meant that you could pick up and memorise a lot of the structure quite quickly. Different segments of the song had various tempos which you manipulated your body to. Eventually the weeks rolled around, each dancer perfecting their routines, ready for Chris to see.

When he walked in, all eyes were on him, studying his every movement. He had a security guard who followed behind him but didn’t seem as intimidating as one might suspect. Your coach sauntered over to the two and started what seemed to be a civil conversation. You hadn’t broken your gaze off Chris ever since he walked in. He seemed cocky and wasn’t bothered with many manners. His posture was slightly bent which ticked your dancer mindset. His frame was wrapped in multiple designer brands, one of which you noted as his own. In every aspect of him he emitted confidence, in himself and the troupe he often glanced at. The strands of hair gracefully framed his face, pointing down to his sharp jawline. It was like he didn’t have to try.

“Okay then, who is first?” He departed from the teacher and waltz towards the group of students, barely younger than him.

No one wanted to every go first, not even you. Everyone liked to see what they were up against, so they knew just how hard they needed to try. A few students refracted away from his gaze, looking anywhere but him. You weren’t looking at him, merely his actions, the way he carried himself. After all, you were in the same room as a famous musician, as if you weren’t going to take this in.

“You. I want your group first.” He stood, facing you directly from a few feet away. You looked up to meet his smug expression, slight shock crossing your own. Both your teammates glanced up towards Chris before tracing back to you, nodding slowly. The routine was precise, clean, perfect. You knew you three had the capability, Chris just had to acknowledge that.

The rest of the troupe ushered back towards the walls, giving you three space to perform. The music queued up and begun to play, echoing around you. The beat was harsh with loud snare drums creating a sharp tone through the song. It blared through the surround-sound speakers, letting you quickly find a tempo.

Chris studied each dancer as you moved, his eyes scanning your every movement with a look of interest in his eyes. His gaze, however, began to focus more intently as your trio began to perform. His brows slightly furrowed as your team brought out talent. He found himself intrigued by the combination of skills that each dancer possessed.

Your synchronization was almost too perfect. Smooth transitions between different tempos were executed seamlessly, displaying a mastery of technique. As the music continued, a growing sense of confidence was evident in your body. The tempo dictated the choreography, and you were proud of each move you provided.

Each moves the three of you performed exuded control, every pop and lock, every shuffle, every dip and footwork pattern. You were agile across the floor, even during transitions. Sweat started to glisten and dampen the bandana that tied back your hair. None of your clothing was too tight and limiting, the camo-green shirt fitting loose on your arms yet stopping just short of your stomach. Your jeans were nothing less, worn out black jeans gathered over your trainers, tied with a loose belt at your hips. The materials hugged your skin against your frame while providing ideal mobility.

As the music dimmed, your moves slowed with the tempo. Your bodies dipped low to a crouch. Both your legs spread slowly, maintaining eye contact with Chris. As his head tilted, your body snapped upwards, rolling your hips.

The last few beats of the song played out and you were left holding your last moves for a few seconds before your bodies relaxed to their neutral states.

Alongside you, the rest of the troupe applauded the performance but that was cut as Chris spoke.

“Y’all don’ disappoint, huh? Definitely stand out more than t’others.” He pauses and looks at you, his eyes narrowing “ ‘Nd I liked your b-twist, kid.”

He clicks his tongue against his cheek. Chris took a step closer to you, his arms crossed over his chest. He looked you up and down, his eyes studying every detail of your appearance. He smirked as he saw the sweat dripping down the side of your face. His cocky demeanor was evident as he spoke to you, his voice low and teasing.

"You’ve got moves, I’ll give you that. Not seen many groups that can move the way y’all do. It’s sick" he said, his eyes flickering with a mix of admiration and arrogance.

Your body instantly filled with pride as he spoke, and a smirk played on your lips. Both your team mates returned to your side with the same expression. “Thank you.”

The auditions continued for the rest of the day and there was no denying the pure technique and control each group had. It seemed like Chris was in a constant state of amazement and it was easily caught in the glimmer of his eyes. He sauntered around each group as they dance, admiring anything he could. Chris was more than impressed with the troupe. Each trio left more than an impression on him some skills making your own jaw drop.

Chris found himself drawn to each trio and noticed every little detail. The passion people had for dance, the confidence you all exuded even under these pressures and the control everyone held in themselves.

By the end of the day, the final performance of the last group had ended, each member making their way off the floor to sit back against the walls as they took a well-deserved break. Chris was stood in the same position as he had been the entire time, his arms crossed, and his gaze focused. Your gaze was held on Chris and your coach who both stood at the front of the studio. Your coach was always professional, and she was hard to read. It bugged you how you never got a grasp on how she felt unless it was strictly said to you. Chris, however, was easier. He showed off his teeth any time he faced the dancers, smiling as he talked. He wasn’t reprimanding and hadn’t shown signs of it all day. You knew that they noticed you looking, your coach especially. You were a curious and stubborn person who wanted to know anything you could. That’s why your coach became harder to read. She knew you. Eventually, Chris’ gaze met yours, his smirk returning to his lips as he raised his eyebrows at you knowingly, letting you know that he was well aware of your line of sight.

“Can everyone gather around the centre please” Her voice easily echoed on the walls, catching your attention. She glanced around the room getting everyone’s focus before she spoke up once again.

“I must admit that I am impressed with everyone and the performances you showcased for Mr. Sturniolo today.” Your coach let her gaze fall on the group of students in front of her, a meek smile crossing her face.

“I’m gon’ assume everyone here knows the results gon’ be out in a month’s time. 1st November, aight?” The students nodded in agreement, all well aware of the dates. However, you especially, knew exactly how important that date was going to be for you.

Your coach finally spoke up again "You are all dismissed. I will let you know the results as soon as I am aware." She looked towards Chris and smiled warmly. "It was a pleasure having you here today."

Chris gave a slight nod of acknowledgment and a smile at your coach's words, his eyes shifting back in your direction momentarily.

"Likewise, ma'am"

@melliflws @yuhayeee @st7rnioioss @sturn-bugz @bueckerrss @worldlxvlys @raysmayhem-72 @patscorner @y0urm4m @bernardsbendystraws @junnniiieee07 @luverboychris @jnkvivi @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @shorthairchris @colorthecosmos444 @anabethinking @zay-sturns @anyaa2s @emilyfaith2003 @zariyam @thecynthh @missmimii

#★ Producer!Chris AU #chris sturniolo #sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo x reader #chris x reader #x reader #sturniolo x reader #endereies #©endereies

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accioscarheadthings · 3 months ago

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↳ 𝗖𝗼𝗹𝗹𝗶𝗱𝗲 - 𝗢𝗶𝗸𝗮𝘄𝗮 𝗧𝗼𝗼𝗿𝘂 𝘅 𝗳𝗲𝗺!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

summary: where oikawa gets you jealous by entertaining his fan club and you teach him a lesson

pairings: brat!oikawa x athelete! fem! reader

warning: smut, 18+, edging, sub!oikawa, praise kink, orgasm denial, voyerism, cumming in clothes, just filth. (not proofread, will do it later:))

main masterlist !

oikawa stood on the court surrounded by his usual troupe of fangirls, his signature smirk firmly in place. they were all gathered around him, chattering excitedly and trying to get his attention.

he was used to having them all over him, but sometimes it got a little tiresome. in the midst of the chattering and giggling, oikawa caught sight of you watching from the stands where you were seated and leaned back.

his breath hitched at the sight of you. he couldn't take his eyes off of you.

you were sitting in the stands, wearing your team's jersey and shorts, the fabric clinging to your curves like a second skin.

the tight shorts hugged your thighs, accentuating their plump, velvety softness, the hem stopping halfway up your thighs, leaving little to the imagination. The way the shorts outlined your curves made Oikawa's mouth go dry, and he couldn't help but stare at the way they clung to your body, drawing attention to your alluring thighs.

your chest glistened with a fine layer of sweat, and the heat of the day and your recent practice left you flushed. your legs were spread wide and you were leaning back in your seat.

your cheeks were tinted with a rosy hue, and your mouth was parted as you took a sip from your water bottle.

you looked relaxed and comfortable in your own skin, completely unaware of the effect you were having on your boyfriend.

oikawa wanted to approach you, to touch you, to taste you. but he was frozen in place, unable to move as he watched you with wide eyes.

you kept your eyes locked on him; your lips closed around the mouth of the water bottle, taking a long drink.

oikawa's eyes zeroed in on your mouth, watching the way your lips moved, the way your throat bobbed as you swallowed.

he could feel himself getting aroused at the sight before him.

but you on the other hand, weren't so pleased with your view. how could you be, when your boyfriend was being hoarded by his fan club?

you had hurried from your practice to visit your boyfriend in the gymnasium, and here he was, amidst the company of his fangirls.

one of the girls hugged him and he reciprocated it my patting her back.

you shot him a stern stare, the message in your eyes clear: "you're pushing it."

oikawa could feel the excitement bubbling within him, the thrill of defying you and indulging in the adoration of his fangirls almost too tempting to resist.

he knew he was playing with fire, but the thought of it made his heart race.

as you lowered the water bottle from your lips, you glanced up and spotted iwaizumi heading your way, sending him a genuine smile.

oikawa watched as iwaizumi kissed your forehead in affection and bid you farewell, carrying his gym bag.

after he was done with satiating his fangirls, he sauntered towards the stands where you were seated.

"enjoyed the show, sweetheart?" he teased.

big mistake. you glared up at him through your lashes.

oikawa chuckled as he saw the annoyed look on your face. he knew that you didn't like his fangirls surrounding him, but he couldn't help but enjoy the attention they gave him.

without a reply, you patted the empty seat next to you, indicating for him to sit and he did.

you rested your free hand on his bare thigh, thumb circling his knee.

oikawa shivered slightly at your possessive touch, the heat from your fingers seeping through the fabric of his shorts.

he swallowed hard, feeling a mix of guilt and desire coursing through his veins.

he knew he was in trouble, but the way your touch felt on his skin was intoxicating. he desperately wanted to lean into your hand, to have you closer to him.

"did you have fun, sweetheart?" you set your water bottle down on the floor.

oikawa chuckled at your snarky question. he knew you were talking about his fangirls being all over him, and he knew that it bothered you.

"i'm always having fun," he replied, his voice dripping with arrogance. "What's not fun about having plenty of cute girls hanging all over you?"

you gripped his thigh in warning.

oikawa couldn't help but gasp, feeling your dominating touch. he leaned in closer to you, his voice low and sultry, "jealous, are we?" he teased, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

"don't test me, my love," you warned, caressing his thigh, "or do you want me to fuck that attitude outta you?"

oikawa shuddered. he knew you only used that term of endearment when you got possessive and territorial.

he put up his hands in mock surrender, a smile playing on his lips, "alright, alright. i'll behave," he said, trying to appease you.

"but u didn't, did you?" you inched your hand up.

his breath hitched as your hand moved up his thigh, stopping just millimeters away from his crotch.

he swallowed, his eyes widening and tried to compose himself, "no," he breathed with parted lips, his voice a little shaky, "I didn't behave."

oikawa leaned closer to you, his eyes darting around to make sure no one was watching. he could feel your touch becoming more daring, more possessive.

"what? want one of your fangirl to join us?" you scoffed in defiance.

oikawa's eyes widened at your words, a mix of surprise and embarrassment on his face, his cheeks flushing bright red at the thought.

"n-no!" he stuttered, a look of shock and horror on his face, "what are you talking about? i don’t want any of them to join us! I want you, only you!"

you cupped him through his shorts, feeling his bulge grow slowly, "you sure?" you squeezed his cock lightly in emphasis.

oikawa let out a low moan as you squeezed him, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment. he swallowed, his voice weak as he responded.

"y-yes, i'm sure," he stuttered. "i only want you. no one else,"

you leaned up and smooched his jaw, "good boy,"

oikawa let out a soft moan, his body melting under your touch. he loved it when you praised him like that, it made him feel wanted and desired.

oikawa quickly caught your wrist as a thought struck him, "babe, w-won't, ah," he inhaled sharply, "won't somebody see us? we can't do this here,"

"no," you stated confidently, "the shadows of the gym falls right over us, so, from the volleyball court, we're practically out of eyesight,"

using your fingers, you traced the outline of his bulge through the material of his shorts, the material leaving nothing to the imagination.

"no one's gonna catch us, and i'm gonna teach you a fucking lesson,"

oikawa's chest heaved a little as he tried to control his breathing. he knew he was in trouble now, and he couldn't deny that he was enjoying it.

"a lesson?" he asked, his voice a little shaky, "what kind of lesson, my love?"

"the kind that you get when you're being a brat," you ghosted you index finger over the head of his hardness, causing him to grip the armrest of the bleachers hard.

oikawa knew he was in the wrong for letting his fangirls get so close to him, especially after knowing how much it bothered you.

he knew he should have set stronger boundaries, but he had been enjoying the attention they gave him.

he looked at you, his expression sheepish. "i'm sorry, my love," he said, his voice soft, "it won't happen again,"

"tsk tsk," you tutted, fingers at the base of his crotch, teasing through his shorts still, "sorry doesn't cut it. this is what you get for being a brat,"

the touch of your fingers was driving him crazy, his breath coming out in ragged gasps as he tried to control himself.

you stroked your palm over his shorts with the right amount of pressure as the cloth provided the needed friction.

oikawa let out a soft, needy moan as he nuzzled his face into your neck, his body pressed against yours as if he were trying to mold himself into you.

to an outsider, it would simply look like an adorable gesture of affection.

but you knew better. you knew that he was deep in subspace, and that he was completely at your mercy.

"please," he groaned, his hands gripping the edge of the seat so tightly his knuckles were turning white, "please, darling. i’m trying so hard to be good for you but I don’t know how much longer i can hold back,"

he mouth at the column of your neck, tongue tracing up as he tasted your sweat as a result of your practice session. he continued to place wet languid kisses on your neck, mouthing pathetically.

you sighed, pleased with his actions. you increased the pace of your strokes, muttering promises that you'd fulfill for the stunt he pulled.

"you sit back nice and pretty for me, while I'll have you come undone for me over and over and over again until you're nothing but a crying mess," you muttered against his temple, gripping his clothed cock.

"and then," you kissed his temple, "i'd fuck some sense into you so you'd know not to go your merry little way and get me jealous,"

"yes," he groaned out, his voice filled with need. "please, make me a mess. let me come undone for you. i’ll do anything, just let me touch you. i need you, darling. i need you so badly. i’ll be such a good boy, I promise," he blubbered, pulling back from your neck to gaze at you.

you hummed in appreciation, increasing the pace of your strokes.

oikawa's breathing picked up as you rubbed his length faster, his body trembling as he focused on your touch. he closed his eyes, his head falling back with a gasp, "i’m close," he breathed out, his voice shaky, "please…please don’t stop, darling."

you raised your brows, "already?" you slowed your movements, just as he was about to come.

he nodded, leaned his head on your shoulder, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. he couldn’t believe how much your touch was affecting him, "i can’t help it," he admitted, his voice strained. "your touch…it’s driving me crazy, ahh"

he clung to you, his body pressed against yours as he nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck. his arms were wrapped tightly around your waist, keeping you close to him.

"babe," he murmured, his voice desperate and needy, "please don’t be mad at me. I’ll do anything to make it up to you. just keep touching me, hnngg,"

oikawa resumed snuggling his face into the crook of your neck. his kisses were sloppy and desperate, his lips moving hungrily over the skin of your neck.

he was practically leaving a trail of hot, wet kisses from your collarbone to your jawline, his tongue tracing a path behind his lips as he let out soft, needy moans.

i turned my head in his direction, my mouth a breath away from his.

oikawa’s eyes were lidded with desire, his breath coming out in ragged gasps as he stared at you.

he was desperate to feel your lips on his, to taste your mouth, to feel your tongue against his. he was completely lost in the moment, his mind a haze of need and want.

"uh, darling," he slurred, "kiss me, please,"

you complied with his wish and pressed your mouth to his, teeth digging into his soft plump lips.

oikawa let out a low moan as your lips crashed against his, his body arching into yours as you kissed him hard. he returned the kiss with just as much fervor, his tongue eagerly seeking entry into your mouth.

the bite startled him, but he didn’t pull away, instead, he let out a soft whimper, submitting completely to your possessive bite.

when your tongue soothed the burn of the bite, he sucked it into his mouth, his body curving into yours.

you parted your lips better to give him access, humming in delight.

oikawa felt himself spasm as he came, letting out a soft gasp as wave after wave of pleasure washed over him. his face was buried in its place against your neck, his breath coming out in labored gasps.

he was utterly embarrassed by the fact that he had come just from a kiss, and he buried his face further into your skin, not wanting you to see him.

"please don’t laugh at me," he murmured, his voice soft, "i couldn’t help it, you just…you make me feel so good," he stammered, trying to explain himself, "i can’t help how my body reacts to you,"

you chuckled darkly, holding his face to your neck, "shh, my love," you soothed, "s'alright,"

oikawa’s face burned in embarrassment, his body trembling against you. his shorts were soiled with his release and he could feel his legs shaking, the aftermath of his orgasm still coursing through his body. his shorts were soiled with his release and

he let out a shaky breath, his voice soft as he spoke, “sorry,” he mumbled, his cheeks flushing red, “i couldn’t help it,”

"it's okay, my beautiful," you cooed, "you made such pretty noises for me,"

oikawa’s cheeks burned even more red at your words, his heart fluttering in his chest.

no one has ever called him beautiful before, and meant it.

and the way you said it made his stomach feel like fireworks were going off. he buried his face further into your neck, embarrassed and shy, “please don’t tease me,” he mumbled, his voice soft, “i can’t handle it when you say things like that,”

"my poor baby," you babied him, gently prying off his fingers from the armrest that were in deathly grip. you raised them to your mouth, pressing a kiss to each digit.

oikawa’s face turned even redder and his heart feeling like it was going to burst out of his chest. he was completely under your spell, his mind fuzzy with affection and desire.

he gazed at you with wide, puppy-like eyes, his hand gripping yours tightly, “please…please don’t stop,” he whispered, his voice needy and desperate, “I need more of you,”

you smoothed back the hair from his forehead and assured him, "don't worry. I have plenty planned for you when we get home, love. And you're not going to be able to get away from me."

oikawa's breath hitched at the authoritative tone in your voice. he knew he was in for a long night and couldn't wait to be completely under your control.

#haikyuu smut #oikawa tooru #oikawa x reader smut #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #tooru oikawa #accioscarheadthings #sub!oikawa x reader #sub!oikawa

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