#it’s exhilarating and terrifying and frustrating

[faillen]

watched laz rising for the first time and i literally feel changed

[patron-saint-of-lesbeans]

You ever feel like the Holy Spirit is pulling you toward something and you don’t understand why or what you’re supposed to do about it?

My guardian angel must be working overtime or something.

[theetherealbloom]

YOU'RE THE RISK, I'M GONNA TAKE IT

Summary: You help your boss, Joel Miller, buy flowers for his date. Or so you thought.

Paring: No Outbreak!Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Warnings: FLUFF, SMUT, Light Angst, Reader Dislikes Roses (i also dislike them :P), Kissing, Cheesy, Crush, Grumpy Single Dad, Office/Workplace Romance, Assistant!Reader, Billionaire!Joel, CEO!Joel, Boss!Joel, She Falls First and He Falls Harder Trope, Grumpy/Sunshine Trope, Idiots-In-Love, Confessions, PWP (wrap it up ya’ll), Fingering, Power Imbalance, Pet Names, ‘Good Girl’, ‘Darlin’,

Word Count: 4.2k

A/N: SOOOO WE’VE ALL SEEN THAT PIC RIGHT???? FML, if I ever saw that man carrying flowers and gifting them to me, I would marry him right away. 

This is for @morallyinept Jett’s Flora & Fauna Writing Challenge for May! I was obviously inspired by the picture in the moodboard above and my love for Gracie Abram’s new song Risk! Likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated, thank you all for reading and supporting my deluluness tehe.

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: Risk by Gracie Abrams

Main Masterlist

In the elegant floral shop, the scent of fresh blooms enveloped you as you stood beside your boss, Joel Miller, a man of many responsibilities and hidden depths. His piercing gaze fixed on a display of vibrant roses, seeking your opinion on a matter close to his heart - choosing the perfect flowers for a date.

Joel, a handsome billionaire with a company to run, a daughter to care for, and a brother to watch over, often sought your counsel on matters both personal and professional. Whether it was a crucial business decision or selecting a gift for Sarah's upcoming birthday, he valued your input more than he let on.

You studied the roses with a critical eye, your brows furrowing slightly as you considered the implications of his choice. "I think Lauren will love it," you finally offered, your voice tinged with a hint of reservation at the mention of Joel's recent romantic interest.

The name 'Lauren' left a bitter taste in your mouth, a woman who seemed more interested in Joel's wealth and status than in him as a person. You couldn't shake the feeling that she was using him for her own gain, and the thought of Joel falling for her facade made your stomach churn.

Joel's keen observation didn't miss the subtle shift in your demeanor. "Why are you makin' that face?" he questioned, his narrowed eyes fixed on you with a mix of curiosity and concern.

Your heart raced at being caught off guard, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "What face?" you attempted to deflect, but Joel saw through your facade with unnerving accuracy.

"The one you make when you don't like somethin'. You're scrunchin' your nose and everythin'," he pointed out, his gesture leaving you feeling exposed and vulnerable.

Caught in his perceptive gaze, you struggled to find the right words, knowing that you couldn't deceive him. There was an unspoken connection between you, a bond that transcended the boundaries of employer and assistant, leaving you feeling both exhilarated and unnerved by his proximity.

Joel's expectant gaze bore into you, his hand resting casually on his hip as he awaited your response, a subtle sign of his contemplation or frustration. The air between you crackled with unspoken tension, a silent understanding passing between you as you navigated the delicate dance of honesty and restraint in your shared space.

You settled for the truth, pinching your lips as if you were thinking how to phrase the next few words, eventually meeting his brown eyes and saying, "I don't like roses." The words hung in the air, a confession that felt both liberating and terrifying.

Joel's eyebrows shot up in surprise, his expression a mix of curiosity and amusement. Before he could respond, you cut him off, rambling on in a nervous attempt to clarify your thoughts. "I know, I know, it's just... my preference. It's not that I don't find them pretty... I do. It's just, sometimes it feels like there's no thought into getting someone roses."

You really should shut up, but you couldn't stop, your words tumbling out in a rush. "That's not to say you're not like putting in the effort to get Lauren... roses or something. It's just there's a whole language to flowers and their meaning, and there's definitely more options than just a whole bouquet of roses."

The silence that followed was oppressive, Joel's eyes roaming all over your figure as if taking in every detail. You felt like you were going to vomit, because there was no way you had just told your boss that he wasn't being thoughtful as he was getting the bitch flowers.

"What d'you like then?" Joel's deep voice asked, his tone low and husky, sending a shiver down your spine. You took a moment to formulate an answer, your heart racing with anticipation.

"Red Peonies," you swallowed, the words feeling like a revelation.

"Why?" Joel asked, his eyes never leaving yours, and you swear he took a small step closer to you, the distance between you shrinking to almost nothing.

"Besides it representing love, it also represents passion, honour and respect," you explained, trying to sound calm despite the turmoil inside. "There's just something more to it, I guess."

The air was tense, Joel's gaze burning into you like a brand. You felt like you were drowning in the depths of his eyes, the silence between you a palpable thing. You knew you should look away, but you couldn't, your gaze locked onto his as if drawn by an unseen force.

The world around you melted away, leaving only the two of you, suspended in a moment of raw emotion. You knew that you had crossed a line, but you couldn't help the way you felt. The truth was out, and now you just had to face the consequences.

The sharp chime of a phone shattered the charged silence between you, pulling you both back to the reality of the moment. You reluctantly pulled out your phone, a sigh escaping your lips as you delivered the news. "Your 3 p.m. meeting with Bill and Frank is coming up. We should buy those roses and go—"

But before you could finish, Joel interjected, his voice firm yet tinged with a hint of reluctance. "We can come back for them later."

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard by his sudden change of heart. Quickly regaining your composure, you slipped back into your assistant mode. "I could have them delivered and—"

"Don't worry about it, darlin'," Joel cut you off, his deep Southern drawl sending a shiver down your spine. "Let's go to the damn meeting before Tess starts tellin' me off again."

Without another word, Joel strode towards the waiting car, the driver opening the door as you followed, slipping into the plush leather seat beside him. The tension in the air was palpable, the unspoken emotions between you thick enough to cut with a knife.

As the car pulled away from the curb, you found yourself acutely aware of Joel's presence, his warmth and the subtle scent of his cologne enveloping you. The silence stretched on, neither of you quite sure how to navigate the charged atmosphere that had settled over the two of you.

You stole a glance at Joel, his brow furrowed in thought, his fingers drumming a restless rhythm on the armrest. You longed to reach out, to bridge the gap that had suddenly opened between you, but the weight of your professional relationship held you back.

The drive to the office was a blur, the familiar sights and sounds of the city passing by in a haze as your mind raced with a thousand unspoken thoughts. When the car finally pulled to a stop, you both exited in silence, the weight of the unresolved tension hanging heavy in the air.

As you made your way through the bustling lobby, Joel's hand brushed against yours, sending a jolt of electricity through your body. You couldn't help but wonder if the touch was intentional, a silent acknowledgment of the connection that simmered beneath the surface.

But as you turned to leave, Joel's voice stopped you in your tracks. "Darlin'," he murmured, his eyes filled with a depth of emotion that took your breath away. "We need to talk."

Your heart pounded in your chest as you turned to face him, unsure of what could possibly be running through Joel's mind. The intensity of his gaze only added to the butterflies in your stomach, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of hope and trepidation at what he might say.

"What is it, Joel?" You asked, trying to keep your voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions inside you.

He took a step closer to you, his expression serious as he reached out and gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Your heart skipped a beat at his touch, and you couldn't help but lean into it.

"I can't ignore this any longer," Joel began, his voice low and full of raw emotion. "I've been trying to fight it, but I can't deny how I feel about you any longer."

Your breath caught in your throat as he spoke those words, a rush of emotions flooding through you. Could it be possible that Joel felt the same way about you? Or was this all just some cruel joke?

"Joel..." You started, but he cut you off with a shake of his head.

"No, let me finish," he said firmly. "Ever since I first laid eyes on you, I haven't been able to get you out of my head. And when we spent that night together at the charity event...I knew then that I had feelings for you."

You were speechless, unable to believe what was happening. You had harbored secret feelings for Joel for so long and never thought they would be reciprocated.

"I know there's the whole boss-assistant dynamic between us," Joel continued with a small self-deprecating smile. "But I can't let that hold me back from telling you how I feel."

A mix of emotions swirled inside you, and you couldn't help but feel torn. On one hand, you wanted to give into the feelings that had been building between you and Joel for so long. But on the other hand, the thought of risking your professional relationship and possibly even your job was a daunting prospect.

"Joel, I-I don't know what to say," you stammered, feeling overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment.

He reached out and took your hand in his, giving it a gentle squeeze. "You don't have to say anything right now," he said softly. "I just needed to tell you how I feel."

Silence fell between you as you both stood there, lost in your own thoughts. You were torn between what your heart wanted and what your head was telling you was logical.

Finally, after what felt like hours, you gathered the courage to speak again. "Joel, I care about you too," you admitted quietly. "But there are so many complications..."

"I know," he said with a sad smile. "But we can figure it out together."

His words filled you with hope and warmth, but at the same time fear also crept in. You knew that pursuing a romantic relationship with Joel would be risky and could potentially cause problems at work.

Before either of you could say more, there was a knock on Joel's office door. Startled out of your reverie, you both turned to see Chelsea peeking her head inside.

"Hey guys, sorry to interrupt," she said apologetically. "But, Mr. Miller, we have that meeting with McKenna about the upcoming merger in 10 minutes."

After Chelsea left, Joel turned back to you, a hopeful expression on his face. "Can I see you later? Outside of work, I mean."

Your heart raced at the thought of spending more time with him outside of the office. You knew it was risky and could potentially cause problems, but the thrill of taking a chance with Joel was too enticing to resist.

"I'd like that...a lot," you replied, unable to stop a small smile from forming on your lips.

His face lit up at your response and he took a step closer towards you. "Can I kiss you?" he asked hesitantly.

You nodded eagerly. "Yes, please."

Without any hesitation, Joel leaned down and gently pressed his lips against yours. It was a gentle kiss at first, but quickly became more passionate as the chemistry between you two intensified. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer as he deepened the kiss.

Eventually, the need for air forced you both to pull away. You gazed into each other's eyes, both panting slightly from the intensity of the moment.

"I should go," you said reluctantly.

Joel nodded and gave your hand one last squeeze before letting go. "I'll see you later then? I’ll meet you at your place.”

You smiled and nodded before heading out of his office. As you walked back to your own desk, your mind raced with thoughts of Joel and what this could all mean for your future.

Later that evening, as you heard a knock at your door, you couldn't help but feel excited and nervous. You had been thinking about Joel all day and now here he was, standing outside your door with a beautiful bouquet of peonies.

You quickly peeked through the door viewer, confirming that it was indeed Joel standing there. Your heart fluttered in your chest as you took a deep breath and opened the door.

"Hi Sweetheart," he said with his perfect smile, his dimple making an appearance on the left corner of his cheek.

"Hey," you replied with a bashful smile. "Come in."

Joel stepped inside, holding out the vase of peonies towards you. "I brought these for you," he said, his eyes sparkling with affection.

You took them from him and breathed in their sweet scent. "Oh, Joel, you remembered.”

"Anythin’ for you," Joel said with a small grin.

You couldn't help but feel touched by his thoughtfulness. "Thank you for remembering. They're beautiful. Thank you."

He shrugged nonchalantly before turning to take off his shoes. "So what should we do tonight? I can cook us dinner or we could go out somewhere if you prefer."

The idea of Joel cooking for you sounded wonderful, but at the same time, going out together also seemed like an exciting adventure.

"How about we have dinner here tonight and then we can go out tomorrow?" You suggested.

"That sounds perfect," Joel agreed with a smile.

As he prepared dinner in your kitchen, the two of you chatted comfortably about work and other random topics. It felt easy to talk to Joel and be around him, like it was just natural for the two of you to be together.

After enjoying a delicious dinner cooked by Joel (who turned out to be quite the chef), the two of you sat on your couch watching a movie. As the movie played on, you couldn't help but steal glances at Joel, his eyes intense as they flicked between the screen and your face. The air between you crackled with an unspoken tension, the soft glow of the TV casting shadows that danced across his features.

Joel shifted slightly, his arm brushing against yours and sending a shiver down your spine. You turned to him, your heart pounding in your chest, and found yourself caught in his gaze. Without a word, he leaned in closer, his lips hovering just inches from yours.

The world around you faded away as Joel's mouth finally met yours in a searing kiss. His hands roamed over your body, igniting a fire within you that threatened to consume everything in its path. Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as the kiss deepened, becoming more urgent, more desperate.

You melted into each other, lost in a haze of passion and desire. Clothes were shed in a frenzy of need, skin meeting skin in a symphony of sensation. Joel's touch was electric, sending sparks throughout your body and setting every nerve on fire.

As you lay intertwined on the couch, your breathing heavy and your bodies covered in a thin sheen of sweat, Joel's eyes searched yours intensely.

"I've wanted to do this for so long," he whispered, his breath hot against your ear.

You couldn't form words as he began trailing kisses down your neck, leaving a trail of fire in his wake. His hands explored every inch of your body, worshipping you with his touch.

"I want you," you finally managed to say, arching your back as he grazed his teeth along your collarbone.

With a growl, Joel lifted you up into his arms and carried you to the bedroom. 

He laid you down on the bed with a hunger in his eyes that sent shivers down your spine. His hands roamed over your body, tracing every curve and dip as if he was mapping out his favorite treasure. You moaned softly as his lips grazed over your skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

Joel's kisses grew more urgent, more demanding, igniting a primal need within you. You tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer as you whispered his name like a prayer. He captured your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue exploring every inch of your mouth with a fierce intensity that made your head spin.

He teased and tormented you with his touch, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. Your breath hitched as he plunged into you, filling you completely and setting your senses ablaze.

The rhythm between you grew frantic, fueled by a hunger that could not be satisfied. Every thrust brought you closer to the edge, your body yearning for his touch, craving the sweet release that only he could bring.

He whispered filthy words into your ear, his voice gruff and raw with desire. "You want it," he growled, "You need it." His fingers gripped your hips, guiding you onto his shaft with deliberate precision. You groaned, lost in the ecstasy of his touch, your body begging for more.

He kissed you fiercely, his tongue dueling with yours, their movements synchronized with the wild rhythm of their bodies. His hands roamed over your skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake, as he explored every inch of your body with a possessive possessiveness.

You moaned, writhing against him, your body trembling with need, your heart pounding in sync with the frantic beat of his, as he plunged deeper into you with each thrust. Your nails dug into his back, leaving crescent marks that would later serve as a reminder of this night.

His lips trailed down your neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses as he nuzzled your collarbone, then your chest, and finally your nipples, which hardened under the gentle caress of his tongue. You arched your back, your body craving for more, as his hands cupped your breasts, kneading them with a ferocity that made you gasp.

As he continued to ravage your body, you could feel the heat building between your legs, a fiery ache that begged for relief. Your hips bucked against his, seeking that sweet release, the friction sending spears of pleasure through you. He groaned, his own arousal swelling, and he thrust harder, his hips meshing with yours.

His hands roamed your body, caressing your curves, leaving trails of electricity in their wake. You arched your back, your breasts thrusting forward, begging for his attention. He didn't disappoint, his mouth closing over one taut nipple, teeth gently scraping against the sensitive flesh, while his other hand trailed down your side, slipping between your legs.

Your breath hitched as his fingers found their mark, teasing your swollen folds, sending shivers of anticipation coursing through you. Your body trembled, desperate for his touch, for him to drown you in sensation. He obliged, his fingers delving deeper, slick with your arousal. 

The roughness of his touch against your sensitive skin became a symphony of pleasure, as he slid in and out, his rhythm perfect, his fingers working in unison with the movements of his hips. You could feel yourself nearing the edge, your body coiling tighter and tighter with each thrust.

“Fuck, c’mon darlin, be a good girl, give it to me,” He groaned, as he sensed your impending release and increased the speed of his fingers, sending you over the edge in a wave of pure ecstasy. Your back arched off the bed, your nails digging into his skin as you cried out his name. He followed you over, spilling into you with a guttural moan.

You collapsed onto the bed, spent and breathless, but he wasn't done with you yet. He rolled you onto your hands and knees, positioning himself behind you. You felt him smirk against your back before he slammed into you again, filling you up completely.

His pace was rougher now, more primal as he claimed your body as his own. You met each thrust eagerly, reveling in the raw passion that flowed between you.

He reached around to caress your clit, adding another layer of stimulation to the already mind-blowing experience. Your moans and cries filled the room as he drove you both to new heights of pleasure.

As you were both on the verge of climax once again, he flipped you over onto your back and plunged into you one final time. With one hand gripping your thigh and the other tangled in your hair, he pounded into you with an intensity that left you breathless.

When he finally let go and spilled inside of you for a second time, it was like a dam had burst within both of them. You clung to each other as waves of pleasure washed over you both until eventually subsiding.

You lay there tangled together in a sweaty mess, your limbs intertwined as you both fought to catch your breath. The air was thick with the scent of passion, the sheets clinging to your bodies in a sensual embrace. As the haze lifted from your minds and your heart rates slowly returned to normal, you looked up at him and smiled, your eyes shining with a mix of contentment and wonder.

"That was incredible," you whispered, your voice barely above a breath, as if speaking too loudly might shatter the delicate moment.

His lips curved into a satisfied grin, his gaze burning into you with a intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. "You're incredible," he replied, his voice husky with desire, the words caressing your skin like a lover's touch.

You both lay there for a while, basking in the afterglow of your intense lovemaking. The sheets were tangled around the two of you, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was the feeling of being intertwined with him, your bodies still connected in an intimate embrace.

A part of you couldn't help but feel a twinge of apprehension, a nagging voice in the back of your mind warning you that this was uncharted territory. You were jumping headfirst into the deep end, and the risk of drowning was ever-present. But as you gazed into his eyes, the warmth and affection you saw there quelled your fears, replacing them with a sense of exhilaration and anticipation.

"I can't believe this is happening," you murmured, your fingers tracing the contours of his face, as if to reassure yourself that this was real. "I never thought we'd end up here, but I'm so glad we did."

He chuckled, the deep rumble of his laughter sending a shiver of delight through you. "Darlin', you have no idea how long I've been waitin' for this," he confessed, his hand caressing your cheek with a tenderness that belied the passion that had just consumed them.

You felt a surge of emotion welling up inside you, a mix of joy, trepidation, and a deep, abiding love that threatened to overwhelm you. "I'm scared," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "But I'm also so excited to see where this takes us."

His expression softened, and he pulled you closer, his lips brushing against yours in a gentle, reassuring kiss. "I'm here, darlin'," he murmured, his breath warm against your skin. "We'll figure it out, together."

As you lost yourself in the warmth of his embrace, you knew that no matter the challenges, you would face them side by side. The risk of drowning may have been ever-present, but with him by your side, you were ready to dive in, to explore the depths of this newfound love and see where it would take you.

[mokulule]

Eternity, I pledge

Dead on MAYn Day 3  Prompt: King Danny & Knight Jason Warnings: angsty and bittersweet.

Jason kneeled in front of his King. Around them the court of ghosts were quiet, but they could have been shouting for all that Jason noticed them; he only had eyes for one person.

Danny.

His King, his savior, his… friend. He had never seen him cold like this. For all that he had a core of ice, he usually had such warmth to him, a smile never far from his lips. 

He was laughter and gentle teasing as he eased Jason into his new powers - softening Jason’s frustration with tales of his own early struggles with his powers. He was a grounding hand to hold as Jason had to come to terms with the fact he hadn’t come all the way back. He was a tired smile after a long patrol, dark circles under human eyes, blunt nails rubbing into his scalp, something they hadn’t talked about building warm and pleasant in the space between them.

But now he was cold, frigid and deadly like icy waters. He was furious.

It wasn’t like Jason had expected him to be happy, Jason wasn’t an idiot. He’d known Danny would be unhappy, but he hadn’t expected this.

“Make your pledge then,” Danny finally spoke, though it was more like a cold snap. Frost nipped at Jason’s very human nose. There was nothing to do but go ahead, Jason could no more take back his actions than Danny could refuse them. He met Danny’s glowing blue eyes straight on and forced himself to speak loudly and firmly.

“I, Jason Todd, pledge myself to you, Danny Phantom, High King of the Infinite realms, to uphold your word as law, to serve as both your sword and shield-“ Jason paused to take a breath and then plunged in, “to be your Knight until the End.”

His words rang out with finality. The ancient pledge had not been heard in millennia, not since Halloween pledged himself to Dark and was dubbed Fright Knight. He suppressed a gasp as energy surged in his core. He felt open, laid bare. 

Finally Danny pulled the ice sword at his side, it howled like a storm as it escaped its scabbard. Jason felt chilled, for one terrifying moment certain that Danny would reject his pledge and plunge the blade into his chest. He had no idea where that came from. He trusted Danny with his life, but he had never seen him so angry.

Then, the blade rested lightly on one shoulder, then the next.

“Rise, my Red Knight.”

Jason rose stiffly. This would probably have been easier in ghost form, if nothing else he’d have been more resistant to the cold, but Jason hadn’t yet reached a point where he was comfortable in that form. Finally he’d wrangled his cold muscles into order and was standing.

Danny thrust the sword hilt into Jason’s right hand and blessedly held on as the power surged into him from the sword, a tsunami of power racing into his core. His knees threatened to buckle, but Danny squeezed harder and Jason forced his legs straight. The power, Danny’s power, felt exhilarating. There was pain too as his still healing core was forced to grow to accept it, but most of all it felt like flying, like stars swirling above, and that delighted swoop in his stomach.

Finally, after it felt like his core had grown three sizes and he would simply burst if he received any more power it stopped. Dazed Jason looked from his hand, to Danny’s hand still holding on. Then his gaze moved to Danny’s face and it was like a bucket of ice water had been poured over him.

“I hope you’re happy,” Danny spat lowly only for their ears, then let go, leaving the ice blade in Jason’s hand; he may as well have left it stabbed through his heart. 

The silence turned into a cheer around them that roared like useless noise in Jason’s ears. None of that mattered, only Danny, who turned his back on Jason and left.

Inside he screamed, howled like the winds he knew his new blade - Stormbringer, it whispered to him - would create, if only he let it. Jason sheathed the sword, ending the temptation. He wanted to go after Danny, but he had been surrounded by well-wishing ghosts, only some he recognized. He wanted to go after Danny, but he had never seen him so angry, maybe it was better to let leave him alone for now. He let the ghosts move him to the party, but he wasn’t quite there.

A year ago was the first time Jason noticed something more than usual was wrong with him. He tired easily. Sleeping didn’t replenish his strength. The rage that had been a constant companion was down to embers - something he’d thought was the result of bettering the relationship with his family, but apparently rage had been the fire that had kept him going and now- then- he’d been dying. 

It had been a slow steady decline. He tired more easily. His aches and bruises healed slower, and then it seemed not at all. It had taken two months from Jason realizing until he’d told Alfred as the first one, but by then they’d all suspected something was up anyways.

Nearly six months ago Jason had been bedridden, moved to the mansion for what they feared were his last days. 

That is when Danny - Phantom then - had come, like a light in the encroaching darkness. Jason could still vividly feel his ghostly fingers on his cheeks, his forehead resting against his as he seemed to breathe life back into him - or rather as he would later learn afterlife, ghost energy, ectoplasm. 

Jason had been properly awake and free of pain for the first time in months. 

Danny’s theory was that Jason had been a slowly forming halfa, when the League had gotten their hands on him. Jason would have probably eventually come back to awareness if just left on his own, though it may have taken years. Of course, nobody had known that, and Jason’s dip in the Lazarus Waters had forcibly brought his brain back online. 

Lazarus Water, however, was antithesis to ectoplasm. It healed only the living. It had only worked because his body had been enough alive due to the strangeness that governed halfa formations, but it had stunted his core formation - poisoned it. And so when the life force given to him by Lazarus had burned out, there had been nothing to stop Jason’s slow decay, his Ending - until Danny, who had been passing through Gotham had sensed him.

There had been a lot of chaos. His family had thought for a terrible moment that Phantom clad in his cloak seemingly weaved of the night sky itself had been Death themself come to claim him. And in a way he was, though it would only be later they learned he was the Ghost King. 

He had introduced himself, only after saving Jason, as Phantom, merely a passing spirit. Bat paranoia momentarily shelved due to Jason’s recovery, had meant fewer questions than would have normally been asked. Yes, Jason would recover now. No, he did not need anything in return. 

And then he’d gone.

A week later Jason was well enough to go home to his own apartment, cleaned by Alfred for his return, because it had been in a sorry state when he left. Finally alone, that was when Phantom had appeared again. That was when Phantom introduced himself as Danny, to just Jason, because they were the same. That was when Danny explained his theory, because he had spent the week doing research.

He could have just left, but Jason would be developing powers now. Danny wanted to be sure Jason had the support he’d never had. So, he wanted to tell him he was sticking around Gotham in case he needed him. 

And boy, had Jason needed him when he got stuck having fallen halfway through the floor a week later. Luckily Jason had had his phone in hand when it had happened and Danny was only a call away. 

It would be another month until Jason discovered that by sticking around Gotham it meant human Danny was squatting in a damp, moldy, half collapsed building slated for demolition and Jason had dragged him back to his own apartment - no matter Danny’s protests that the vibes were right for a ghost and that he couldn’t get sick anyways.

But despite his protests Danny hadn’t left. 

It was easier like that, Danny was close when he had mishaps and besides he was good company, especially because he’d been benched due to rapidly developing powers and didn’t have the outlet of patrols. 

It was easier, despite how it meant Danny had to be reintroduced to the rest of the family. Something that Jason thought went rather well, but Danny lamented as an unmitigated disaster. 

Two months ago, Danny had started to look worried. 

One month ago Danny had explained he would have to leave soon. Jason would be okay, he had his basic powers under control. He might still develop more, but since he had a feel for his core now, he’d likely master them easily enough. 

Danny would visit of course. He hoped Jason would like him to visit. 

Jason had prodded and prodded until Danny admitted to being the Ghost King. That his Knight was sick due to having broken his oath to the previous king. He had released him from the oath, but the only reason he was still existing at all was due to him being the spirit of Halloween. 

He was without a Knight and that was not a situation that could continue. For the stability of the Infinite Realms and himself he had to have a Knight. He had to leave to oversee the challenges the candidates had to overcome. 

Jason had asked to come along, to see the Infinite Realms he also belonged to. Danny had been unable to argue that point. He had even despite his worry, given Jason a small excited smile telling him he looked forward to showing him. 

Jason had felt a stab of guilt, because his real reason was to enter the challenges. 

Jason had known Danny would be angry, but he had never imagined he’d be that angry. The words “I hope you’re happy” spat at him like acid, echoed in his mind again and again.

A whispy hand on his shoulder brought him back to the present. He’d mostly been left alone by the partying ghosts at this point. He around turned to see the translucent shadowy form of Halloween. 

It was hard to believe this had once been the Fright Knight depicted in paintings and tapestries in the castle. He was barely solid for short bursts that pulled his shadows together only to drift apart again slowly. Only his green eyes shone with any sort of vitality. 

“You did well,” his voice was weak like a call from a distance instead of right next to his ear. 

Jason didn’t know whether to laugh or cry right then, his throat made some sort of half choked noise without his permission. “Danny doesn’t think so.”

“You were the strongest candidate, especially suited to His Majesty… because you are both Halfa…” 

Jason could practically see the way Halloween’s energy waned as he struggled to speak. He tried to tell him he didn’t have to say anymore, but the former Knight forged on.

“He will see…. 

In time…”

Jason grabbed for him reflexively as he faded from view. For just a moment, Jason thought he’d Ended, just like Jason had nearly Ended half a year ago. His breath stuck panicked in his throat, until he realized he could still feel Halloween’s presence. 

Slowly and carefully he let out his burning breath. Halloween had merely exhausted himself.

-

The following week was torture. Danny didn’t lose his cold fury for even a moment, as Jason followed him on his official duties: meetings and introductions of Jason as Red Knight to the leaders of the Realms, as well as the more mundane territory disputes and requests spanning from help with the more eldritch elements of the Realms to approval of taking a date to the living realms Danny apparently dealt with, now and again, that had been put off when Danny had been in the living realm. 

He was quite literally giving Jason the cold shoulder. The Realms were noticeably colder than they had been when they had arrived together. The Far Frozen seemed to be the only place that wasn’t affected, but then that had already been frigid. The ghosts they met with were unnerved by Danny’s mood, even though he was fair as ever. From what Ember had told him with an amused smirk, they usually argued more with Danny, so at least something good had come out of Danny’s anger with him. 

Every day of this Jason’s frustration grew. How were they supposed to resolve things when Danny would not even look at him! It was like the Danny he knew had been locked behind a glacier and every day it became more and more tempting to try and punch his way through the barrier.

It came to a head in a hallway. They had spent a very long day in a meeting with a delegation from some far off kingdom that had spent something like five years to even get here to greet the new Ghost King. Jason was tired from standing all day, and Danny stopping in the hallway, barely turning his head to say “you may leave”, was the last drop.

“What is the matter with you!” Jason snapped.

“Me?” Danny asked dangerously, the air itself rippled around him, but Jason had had enough, he was prepared to dig his grave as deep as it needed to go.

“Yes you, what the Hell crawled up your ass?”

Danny turned in the air and for the first time his anger was hot. He poked Jason in his chest forcing him to take a step back. If Jason had been in ghost form, maybe he could have resisted.

“I take you here on your request to see the Realms, and you lied to me. You enter the challenges. You, who couldn’t even free yourself from the floor a few months ago, who didn’t even know you were a ghost! You, who are still not comfortable enough to stay in your ghost form for any length of time! You could have Ended.”

Jason’s momentary guilt was burned up by the attacks on his faillings. 

“But I didn’t. I won. Even in my weak human form.”

Danny scoffed. “What do you want Jason? A gold star for binding yourself to me for eternity? You didn’t even talk to me!”

“You wouldn’t have let me!”

“Of course I wouldn’t. I’ve had a decade to come to terms with eternity, you’ve had not even six months!”

“Six months, a decade, I don’t see how it matters. You needed a Knight!”

“It didn’t have to be you!”

“You would have settled for one of those two bit ghosts?”

“They would have been serviceable!”

Fury and jealousy rose so fast and ugly in his chest Jason expected to see green - of course no green came, because Danny had rid him of every last speck of Lazarus influence when he’d healed him. Danny, who had shown him a whole new world, who’d made him feel like- His thoughts staggered, unwilling to go there. Danny was telling him he’d rather have some low rate poltergeists, that was the important part.

“You would pick them over me!”

“Kneel, Jason!” Danny’s voice thundered and Jason’s knees promptly hit the floor sending a jolt of pain all the way up his spine. Disoriented, it took him a moment to understand, a moment for the horror to settle in. 

His body had moved on its own. “Do you get it now, what it means that my word is law?” Danny snarled and held the anger for all of three more seconds. Then, his face crumbled and he fell to his own knees in front of Jason. His hands clenched into fists in his lap as he looked up at Jason. Jason was shocked to see tears in his eyes. 

“Do you understand now?” Danny pleaded, “Do you understand what you’ve pledged to me for eternity?”

“Danny…” Finally, Jason understood why Danny was so upset. 

“I love you Jason,” Danny confessed hoarsely, voice barely more than a whisper, “I wanted you by my side, not three steps behind.”

Jason followed the tears down Danny’s cheek until they made small splashes as they landed on his clenched fists. 

“Danny,” Jason repeated and drew him into his arms. Danny shuddered through a sob and desperately held on to him in return. 

“Why did it have to be you?” 

Jason didn’t have any arguments anymore, he was left only with the simple truth. He couldn’t abide anyone else as Danny’s Knight-

“Because I love you.”

Danny only cried harder at that. The entire castle shook and rolled with his grief. Jason couldn’t do anything but hold him. Nothing he could say could change the past. 

Nothing could change the fact that he would do it again.  

He buried his face in Danny’s soft hair to hide his own tears. It was the truth. No one else was good enough. Maybe if there had been more time, but there hadn’t. Danny had already spent a decade with a not-properly pledged Knight, who was weakened from betraying the old King. They had already pushed the choosing as far as they could waiting for Danny to grow into his own role. Halloween had explained this to Jason. “Why-” Jason stopped for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts into something sensible, “why does this have to stop us?” Danny drew back, looking a Jason in disbelief with his red-rimmed eyes. 

“I hold all the power, that’s a terrible basis for a relationship!”

Jason reached out, cupping Danny’s cheek. He closed his eyes and he couldn’t help but lean into it.

“You wouldn’t misuse that power - I trust you.” Jason didn’t trust easily, but Danny had had the power all throughout the time they’d known each other. Even if it hadn’t been as clear. Even if it hadn’t been as literal as now, he’d always been careful of making sure Jason had a choice, he’d been homeless in Gotham to stick around just in case Jason wanted his help. Jason trusted him.

“I don’t trust me,” Danny said quietly and his usually glowing green eyes were matte and lifeless as he reopened them to look at Jason. “Eternity is a very long time, Jason. People change.”

Jason growled. He hated seeing Danny so listless, so defeated. As if him becoming a tyrant was a certain path. He took Danny’s face into both his hands and pressed his forehead to his in a mirror of what Danny had done so many months ago. If only Jason could inject a bit of life back to him, but that wasn’t Danny problem. Danny problem was that Jason was bound to obey him through his pledge. His pledge!

“Swear to me-“ What? He couldn’t swear not to ever give Jason an order, he was his Knight he would serve his King, he gained power from serving him. There had to be something else. Something that would let Jason help and not just follow blindly…

“Swear never to silence me, swear you will at least listen and consider and-“ Jason smiled “I will tell you when you are being an idiot.”

Danny sputtered drawing back Jason’s hands to hold them instead, but there was light back in him as he looked at Jason bemused.

“This doesn’t solve the core problem.”

“No. But I like to think it helps.”

Danny huffed. Then looking at Jason intently for any indication of discomfort he lifted Jason’s right knuckles to his lips. A delighted shudder ran up Jason’s arm leaving his hairs standing on end.

“I think it’s supposed to be the other way around,” Jason commented mouth dry as sand.

Danny ignored his inane comment and just kept holding Jason’s eyes as he spoke, “I swear to never silence you.” Then he lifted up the left hand and kissed those knuckles too. “I swear I will at least listen to and consider your words.”

The promise settled like a weighted blanked around them. It was nothing like the pledge in the throne room, which was power and chains, even if Jason hadn’t recognized the chains at the time, this was a comfort. 

They had a long way to go still, but at least Danny was the Danny he knew now instead of the furious king. They had time, eternity in fact to work out things. 

Jason tried to think of that as a good thing.

-

I feel I must apologize for the ending, it's just the mood this fic wanted. But I hope you enjoyed it anyways!

If it helps I do imagine them happy eventually, though it takes Danny a very very long time to ever give words to things he wants in the context of the two of them.

[sprout-fics]

Tag, You're It: Part One

(Poly 141 x F! Reader) 18+

Masterlist

Rating: Explicit, 18+ WordCount: 6.3k Tags: F! Reader, Minors DNI, SoapGhost, Restraints, Chase/Takedown, Hunter/Prey, PiV sex, Oral sex (M receiving), Vaginal fingering, Dirty talk, Consent checks, Spitroasting, MMF, Unprotected sex (Use protection) Warnings: Mild Consensual Non Consent A/N: This chapter is the revised version of the originally posted chapter. To see the original please go here

It’s Johnny who finds you first, naturally. 

The team spends most of the day making you wait. You had found a hiding spot before sunrise, brought along a small pack of supplies and some things to keep you occupied while you waited for someone to find you, for the chase to truly begin. Yet by mid-morning you were bored, and by noon you were practically groaning in frustration, considering using your phone to drop hints so they would just get on with it.

So you decide to take things into your own hands.

You begin darting between safe zones, checking your corners, making sure to watch your six, eyes keen and trained for threats. This little game of yours had specific zones on base mapped out to avoid at different times during the day, forcing you to adapt to your environment constantly to avoid curious stares from other soldiers and recruits. 

It’s fun, the thrill and anticipation has you feeling a bit like a little kid all over again, giggling into your hands as someone bypasses your hiding spot. Yet the thrill is only doubled by the knowledge of the consequences of you being found.

You realize too late that this new method of yours is exactly what the team has been waiting for.

You get sloppy. You’re looking over your shoulder when you round a corner at the edge of the armory in the light of mid-afternoon, halting mid step when you spot a familiar figure peeking around the opposite side of the building. 

Shit.

You double back quickly, but it’s too late, because the Scot barks a delighted little laugh, calls after you as he gives chase. His footsteps are slow, purposeful, and for a moment you’re reminded of the villains in horror movies that seem to walk so damn slow and seem to inevitably catch up with their victims. It should terrify you, but instead it makes something in your stomach twist with exhilaration.

You manage to draw him to one of the empty supply warehouses at the edge of the base, skidding inside and diving into a smaller hiding spot hidden into the shadows. Yet Soap has clearly seen you at least enter the building, because in the distance you can hear his footsteps echo against the concrete floor, glass breaking under his boots.

“Ohh songbird…”

You feel your heart hammer against the cage of your ribs, hands planted across your face to prevent even a single sound from escaping at the tenor of Johnny’s voice floating through the unused warehouse, sing-song, teasing, hungry.

There’s a light flickering in the aisles of upended crates and empty boxes, and the intermittent brightness manages to catch against the whites of your eyes. The flickering dimness of this space seems to only add to the rapid thump of your heartbeat, muscles coiled in preparation to run, to flee should you be discovered.

“I know you’re in here.” Soap taunts, and you can hear the clear excitement in his voice despite the fact that he’s trying to play into the persona of an enemy- tracking you down, taking you what he wants, only to set you free once more.

He’s close, you realize as his boots thud down the end of the hallway. Too close. You can hear his footsteps from where you press yourself inside the shadows of a doorway, his heavy boots a purposeful, slow echo throughout the empty space. It’s almost like he wants you to know exactly where he is, advertises his presence with every noise. What his strategy is, you aren’t sure, but you’re certain that if he gets any close he’ll find you for sure, claim his prize through the price of your flesh, your pleasure.

“Come out come out, wherever ye are…” He chuckles, and you rise slowly from where you crouch, tip-toe to the door and see the profile of him vanish just beyond the edge of the hallway. It gives you the chance you need, and you quickly but quietly move down the other direction, keeping eyes on where he’s disappeared to. 

Yet then your foot crunches against something fragile and you freeze, hear his pleased little noise of realization a split second before you bolt, shoes hitting the floor harshly as you sprint away from the sound of his pursuit. 

“There you are!” Johnny calls gleefully from behind you, and Christ- how did he close the distance so fast?! You can see the blur of him in the periphery of your gaze, the blue of his favorite shirt a mere blob of color as you race away from him, heart in your throat.

You did promise to not make it easy, after all. 

You skid around the next corner, nearly stumble, and launch yourself forward past a darkened doorway yawning into a pitch black room-

Before you realize your mistake a moment too late.

Skeletal hands reach out, snatch you mid-step and drag you backwards into the broad plane of a chest. You yell from behind the gloved palm covering your mouth, adrenaline spiking in your blood and trying to thrash away from Ghost as he hauls you further into the darkness. 

“Caught you.” He murmurs in your ear as your hands are dragged behind you, back flush with the rigid surface of his front. It sends a jolt of something through you, dark and thrilling as he overwhelms you with his adamantium strength, smears charcoal across the inside of your skull with his mere presence. You thrash in his grip, trying to actually put effort in even though you’ve not once dislodged him in all the time you’ve spent in his hold. Exhilaration squirms breathlessly in your chest, bright and electric with every gasping breath.

It only grows when the zip-ties fasten around your wrists, and you again try to wiggle free with no success. 

“You’re a fast little bugger.” Johnny pants as he catches up, leans on the doorway, his gloved fist planted on the frame. Yet his eyes dance with delight as he witnesses you caught in Ghost’s grasp, dragging his lip between his teeth at the conflict of outrage and desire in your gaze. 

“Hells bells.” The Scotsman breathes, and he steps forward, his hand falling to the noticeable bulge in his pants, which he idly strokes through his pants. You hadn’t even noticed, and realize belatedly that the thrill of the chase must affect him just as much.

Yet then his eyes catch that of Ghost’s behind you and he grins, untamed and starved. 

“Teamwork makes the dream work, eh LT?”

Of course. He chased you here on purpose, pursued you right into a trap. Right into Ghost. Working in tandem as they always do, sharing twice the reward with you, and with each other.

You fuckers.

“Get in here Johnny.” Ghost offers instead to Soap’s quip, and you clamp your thighs together as his hand abruptly descends into your pants, your wetness soaking through his gloved fingertips. You make a little sound of protest, trying to buck his hand away, only for a thick thigh to wedge between your legs and force them open.

“Looks like our pet likes to be chased.” Ghost observes idly, and if you didn’t know him better you’d swear he sounds detached, playing the villain all too well. It only ratchets the excitement inside you higher, and you answer it with a muffled yell that only summons a chuckle from the sergeant before you, now pressing against your front and sandwiching you between the two men. 

“Tough luck, us finding you first.” He tuts, and his hand raises your shirt and presses flat against the softness of your stomach appreciatively, suggestively. “Won’t be much left for Price and Gaz once we’re done with ye, hen.”

You stare defiantly up at him, and it only seems to please Soap, who’s eyes dance bright in the dimness and his fingers rise to tug a nipple under your shirt. It makes you falter for a moment, the sudden sharp sensation making your expression shift into something wanting, a stifled little mewl escaping you at the pleasure that rises inside you between his fingers and Ghost’s digits stroking against your folds. 

“Fuck, we’re going to ruin you.” He promises, and Ghost hums a dark, pleased assent in response. “Fill you up and send you scampering so the others can hunt ye down and have their fun too, aye?”

It’s the reminder that they’ll have their way with you before setting you loose again that has you shift on your toes, accidentally grazing your folds across the pads of Simon’s fingers. A bright trace of pleasure jolts through you as a result, and your eyes flutter for a moment as you try to resist the urge to repeat the motion. It’s hard to not break character while you’re this excited, trying your best to maintain the persona you’ve agreed upon, a little mouse caught in the jaws of a fox, held tight and let go, only to be chased down once more. 

It’s exhilarating, and despite the feigned fear in your eyes you can see your own excitement mirrored in the eyes of the sergeant with his face tilted down to regard you. Even so, you see his eyebrows raise an inch expectantly, waiting for a signal for the two of them to continue this act of theirs, the dangerous hunters who have captured you and will treat you as they see fit. You nod enthusiastically against Ghost’s palm, and the smirk that pulls at Johnny’s lips sets your stomach aflutter.

“Don’t worry hen, we’ll take care of you.” He promises, and gently pulls Ghost’s gloved hand away, tilts your head so his lips descend to meet your own. Teasing, he seizes your bottom lip  between his teeth, sucking it before releasing it with a wet little pop. You make a little sound of protest against his lips, but Soap’s only response is to cradle the back of your head and press you further into him. 

Kissing Johnny is always a touch overwhelming. It feels like you're drowning in him with the utter decadence he pours into you, lips moving against your own, tilting you into him, warm breaths fogging across your face as swallows down your gasps. It’s dizzying in the best ways, always leaves you a little drunk on the haze of him. The temptation of him makes your knees tremble underneath you, but even if you wanted to buckle you can’t, not with him pressing you up against Ghost’s front and moaning against your lips when you offer a little whimper of overwhelmed sensation. You try to suck it back in, not wanting to give them the satisfaction of your noises they obtain through the victory of your capture.

You close your mouth against Johnny as a result, sealing your lips against him a little indignantly at the sounds he’s able to elicit from you just by kissing you. Yet Ghost seems to catch on almost instantaneously, and the chuckle that rumbles up his chest vibrates against your back and sends you shivering between them. You clamp down on the shuddering gasp that threatens your throat, only for Ghost’s to press firmly down on your clit so abruptly it makes you choke.

“Nu uh, none of that.” He admonishes, and his other hand slides up to your face, squeezing your cheeks together and twisting you so you gaze up into his shadowed stare that reeks of devastation. “No need to be quiet, pet. Nobody but us can hear you here, so be as loud as you want.”

“Aye.” Soap agrees, and a broad hand reaches down to your back, dragging himself flat against your front so you’re squished between the muscular forms of the two men. “Can’t wait to hear all those pretty noises, sweetheart.”

You squirm a little between them, feeling too warm, too much suddenly with Soap trapping Ghost’s hand in your panties, pressing you up against the soldier so you can feel a poking hardness against your back. Arousal pools between your legs, and you whimper suddenly, baring your neck to them both when Soap rolls his hips forward experimentally. 

“Soap.” Ghost says then, and you feel him nod, watching as Soap follows his gaze to a crate that’s about waist high in the corner of the room. Soap grins.

It takes him a minute for him to wrangle the crate at an appropriate angle away from the wall, making a point to cheekily pat it beckoningly at you. You don’t have time to roll your eyes though, because Ghost forces you forward, making you trip over your feet before your hips collide against it. 

“Down.” He tells you easily, and there’s a hand pressing at the small of your spine, gently ushering you to bend until your cheek is pressed against the surface. Yet that isn’t enough, because his hands hoist your hips just a little higher so you have to balance on your toes.

They circle you, like sharks in the water, eyeing the prize of your flesh. Touching hands against your waist, your shoulders, tracing the swell of your ass. Wetness pools at your core, warmth spreading across every inch of exposed skin as they gaze down at you like the thing you are- their prey.

You try to raise yourself up off the crate, toes skidding as you seek purchase. It’s for show, the idea that you could escape from them. You know even if you stand, escape past the door it’s only a moment of freedom before one of them catches you once more, forcing you to the ground in defeat. 

Before you can entertain the idea further, Ghost’s broad palm settles low between your shoulder blades, gently pushing you flat against the surface of the crate once more.

“You’re not going anywhere, love.” He warns, voice low with the whisper of a threat that makes you shudder with vivification under his touch. It’s the same tone he uses when you bite at him in bed to get a move on, to stop wasting time. Dark, amused, saying with his tone alone that he’s going to take his time in dismantling you piece by piece until you’re nothing more than a gasping, whining puddle of desire. 

Now it echoes down at you and promises that same ruin, reminds you of your utter helplessness under their spell. “We’re just getting started.”

Behind you, Soap suddenly yanks your pants and underwear down to your knees, and the sudden air against your bare skin is enough for you to gasp, squirm away from the hands that smoothe over your hips. Yet Johnny’s touch is tender, almost reverent, a reminder of his affection for you, that even as you are their prisoner you’re their partner first and foremost, that they’ll keep you safe, wring the pleasure dry from you and then kiss the tears of overstimulation from your eyes after with a murmur of adoration.

It’s encouraging, and even as your heart pounds up your throat in anticipation your voice trembles as you play the part, snapping at them something to the effect of how they’ll never get away with this, to let you go.

You gasp as Soap’s hand cracks down on your ass smartly, making you flinch in surprise. He soothes his hand over the sting, the calloused palm of his hand grazing against the soft flesh there.

“Watch your words, darling.” He croons, sickly sweet. “Otherwise I’m sure LT will find a way to keep your mouth occupied.”

As if that somehow deters you. Instead you lift your gaze up to Ghost once more, summoning wordless defiance in your gaze. Ghost only chuckles, and you watch his other hand rub himself through his pants. The sight alone of his length pushing against his pants is enough for your expression to change, shift into something hungry.

There’s a pause between them, and as you look up you see a look exchanged between them before Soap’s voice speaks, softer and attentive.

“Color?” He asks gently, thumbs pressing into the dip of your flesh just above your ass. 

You breathe in for a moment, consider the stammer of your heartbeat, the race of searing excitement that pulses through your veins in delightful anticipation. 

“Green.” You declare. “About as green as a cadet fresh out of boot camp, Johnny.”

Soap huffs a little pleased laugh, talking over your sprawled form to Ghost. “She has a smart mouth, doesn’t she, LT?”

Ghost makes a little noise of assent, and his hand is unexpectedly sweet, reassuring for a moment as it strokes the edge of your face. You nuzzle into it briefly, flicking your eyes to him as a gentle reassurance. There’s a softness in his gaze as he tilts his head down at you for a moment before the mask of a hunter once more settles across his dark eyes, looking to the Scot behind you.

“We should do something about that, shouldn’t we, Johnny?” He asks darkly, palming himself before that same hand reaches to unfasten his belt. You can feel saliva collect in your mouth as he adjusts, frees himself from his pants. The flushed, thick girth of him has you flick your eyes up to him, pleading silently. Yet the look Ghost offers you is only amused.

“Over.” He states, and you feel Soap seize your hips and lift, twist so you suddenly are on your back, arms pressed under you.

“Oh, much better.” Soap observes as he catches sight of your half-lidded eyes. “Shite, we’re going to have so much fun with ye, pretty girl.”

You squirm a little at that, at being so openly on display for them. With your pants down to your knees, your shirt rucked up past your belly button, you shiver at the little thrill of exposure they give you. 

You watch as Ghost unfastens himself, and allows his cock to spring free with a little exhale of relief. The girth of him trills low in your stomach with the reminder of just how many times you’ve been split on his cock, his hand pressing you into his shoulder, the pillows, the sheets, your teammates…

“Open.” He declares, voice low but firm, a hand cupping under your head and lifting you so the tip of him grazes against your lips before pulling back. Tease.

You jolt when Soap leans over you, watching intently as Ghost strokes himself just above your face, and pushes a single finger inside you. He groans at the warm heat of you, the little flutter of invitation that greets him. It’s enough to startle a wanting little moan from you, legs shifting around his hips wedges between your thighs.

“Steamin’ Jesus.” He hisses, dragging his finger out, only to push it back in. It’s embarrassing how wet you are for them, worked up from the chase, from their words, from their touch alone. 

“The sight of you, hen” Soap breathes, his hand digging into your thigh to keep you from bucking. “Never seen anything prettier in mah life, I swear.”

You shift shyly, a little modest at the utter reverence in the Scot’s voice, skin warming as he gazes down at you. His lip is caught between his teeth, eyes glinting with utter fixation, watching the way you squirm under the intensity of his gaze. That look never fails to set your skin aflame, feeling his eyes trace your exposed flesh almost like he wants to eat you alive.

Before you can wiggle too far off the crate, however, Ghost presses a hand down on your shoulder to keep you in place with a murmur of “Stay. Put.”

“Can’t get away from us.” Johnny taunts playfully, and he steps back to pull your pants down past your ankles, tossing them to a corner of the room and fully baring your entrance to his burning gaze. “Fuck, look at this, LT.” and you whine a little as he swipes his fingers through your folds, holding them aloft so Ghost can inspect the webbed slick between them, glistening in the dim light. 

Ghost hums in appreciation, and your eyes draw back to him as he presses a thumb against the slit of his cock, where a small dribble of precum coats the flushed tip. You can feel your mouth water at the sight, lips parting a half inch in beating anticipation of the weight of him against your tongue. Ghost manages to catch the half-lidded stare you offer him, because you swear you see the fabric of his mask twitch in a smile. 

“Eager.” He observes. a hand cupping under your head and lifting you so the tip of him grazes against your lips. You don’t wait for him to tell you to open, jaw dropping so he can push just the head of him against you before retreating. You make a little noise of frustration at that, try to crane your head up to catch him, but Ghost keeps you in place, a hand wrapped around his cock and stroking himself just out of reach. 

“Use your words, pet.” He encourages. “All you have to do is ask.” 

You feel a flash of indignation at that, brow wrinkling in frustration at the idea that he wants to make you beg. Yet the desire of tasting him thrums low below your belly, and with a little twist of Johnny’s finger inside you the inhibition falls away with a shuddering little moan.

“Please.”

You hear Soap whoosh out a breath from the other side of you, air stolen from his lungs at the need in your voice. There’s a second finger stroking inside you now, and when Soap crooks his fingers you arch up with a little cry of ‘F-fuck, Johhny!’

“That’s it.” Ghost encourages. “Not such a smart mouth now, is there?”

It’s a little mocking, a little teasing, and yet laced with affection. It melts you at the seams, makes you swallow wetly, looking up at Ghost upside down.

“Please.” You beg openly now. “Please Sir, I-I want it. Just- ohh, hmnng-” You teeth your lip as Johnny once more curls his fingers, trying to close your legs for the barest indication of friction, only for the sergeant to plant a firm hand against the soft flesh of your thigh to keep them open.

“Oh, go on LT.” He encourages even as you writhe and whimper on his fingers, trying to force yourself down whilst also trying to rise up towards Ghost’s cock shamelessly. “I think she deserves it.”

Ghost nods with a little pleased huff, purring down at you as he once more presses the tip against your lips. “Good girl.” 

Finally, finally he allows the head of him to push inside your mouth in earnest this time, gently cupping your head as he guides you down his shaft. You want to thank him, but your breath stutters to nothing as Soap scissors his fingers inside you, stretching your entrance until your back bows off the crate, drawing taut with need. 

Your eyes flutter shut as Ghost gently rocks himself forward until at last the tip of him bumps against the back of your throat before pulling back and setting a gently, rocking rhythm past your lips. The precum of him floods across your tongue and you moan, eyes fluttering shut and opening your mouth wider so he can slide deeper.

“If that isnnae the hottest shite I’ve ever seen.” Johnny curses, and he shifts so he grinds the bulge of himself against you through his boxers. “Shame Price and Gaz aren’t here to see.”

“Day’s young.” Ghost remarks, and fuck- the reminder that they plan to just set you loose after this until your caught again has an electric pulse flutter below your stomach, making you clench down on Johnny’s fingers.

“Oh, ye like that?” Johnny breathes, amused. “Ye like being our capture or kill little thing, darlin?”

Yes. Yes- You think feverishly past the size of Ghost’s cock rocking into your mouth in slow, languid thrusts. You want to touch him, want him to reach down to Johnny, to circle your clit. Yet your hands remain fastened behind your back, and the thought of that alone has your legs fall open a little wider. You’re entirely at their mercy, submitting to their touch and whims as they use you as they see fit. You moan around Ghost, the sound vibrating through him and he grunts, holding back a little huff of pleasure before rocking into you a little deeper.

“Get on with it, sergeant.” He hisses at Johnny, and you can hear the strain in his voice now, as deeply aroused as you are. You take a little pleasure in that, that you are the one to summon this in him, 

“Mah pleasure, LT.” Soap returns a little breathlessly, and he pulls himself from his boxers so the weight of him smacks against your thigh. You can hear the schlick of him as he gives himself a few strokes, making a point to let his length drag against your stomach teasingly. The sound of encouragement you make is muffled by the weight of Ghost’s cock on your tongue. The salty, briny taste of him floods across your tongue, precum coating your tongue as he presses further, further, until your nose presses up against his pelvis and the thickness of his cock makes your throat spasm around him. He waits there until Johnny rolls his hips inch by inch, at last pressing his hips flush with yours.

The whine you try to make only squeezes the muscles of your throat down on Simon’s cock and you hear him force air through his nose with a long, low moan dragging you deeper into the hazy temptation of pleasure. It fogs against your senses, the world narrowing down further and further until the only sensations left are your breathless moans as he retreats and the pressing, unrelenting fullness Johnny presses into you.

You hear the sergeant groan, his thumbs pressed into your stomach as he braces himself, relishing the grip of you down onto his cock. There’s a low, purring pressure as he gives an experimental thrust into you, giving you a moment to adjust before setting a pace in earnest. Ghost pulls out from you long enough to hear the cracked moan that makes you throw your head back against his palm cushioning it from the crate. 

“Good girl.” He croons, holding himself and stroking to the same tempo Johnny sets inside you. “Taking him so well, pet.”

You shudder at the praise, nerves glowing brightly, warm with building arousal just as Johnny snaps his hips to yours in a precise, unerring thrust. The girth of him presses a delicious, wanting fullness into you. 

“G-God, Johnny-” You pant, chest rising, face warm, sweat beading at your back. “Fuck, Johnny please, please, I want-”

“I know, darlin, I know.” He coos, fingers digging into your hips for purchase as his hips begin to smack against yours. The drag of him has gasps shivering from your chest, a series of punched out little moans as his reward as he begins to fuck you in earnest. “Look so pretty split on mah cock, shite-”

He groans, and when your eyes flutter to him you see him throw his head back, brow scrunched shut and beading with sweat. 

“Fuck-” He curses, lost in the sensation of your walls gripping down on him, the stretch of you around his cock as you try to drag him deeper, deeper. “Gonna fill you up so good, give Gaz and the captain something to look forward to, aye?”

You choke on a little broken noise at that, at the idea of Gaz and Price getting their hands on you only to find Johnny’s load still dripping between your thighs. It whimpers up your throat, arousal sparking taut through your form and drawing your muscles a little rigid and wanting in response. 

Yet then Ghost has the audacity to hush you, lifting your head and sliding himself back into your mouth once more to muffle any other noises you can offer. He too offers a long, drawn out groan as he resumes his thrusts a little faster than before, relishing your gasping moans around the width of him sliding into you wetly. His other hand braces against your chin, keeping you in place as he pushes just shy of your throat. You curl your tongue against the tip of him and relish the surprised little grunt he offers you in response, hips stuttering for a moment before he collects himself and pushes a touch deeper in response.

“Good girl.” He practically snarls, and his other hand raises to trace the slight rise of his girth in your throat. “Fuck.”

A hand descends to your chest, twisting a nipple through your thin shirt and you jump a little under his touch, clenching down on Johnny’s length buried inside you.

“Shite-” The sergeant moans, a little high in his throat. “Fuckin stranglin’ mah cock, hen, Christ-”

You huff as Ghost gently pulls back from your throat, and make it a point to flex your muscles and clench down on the stretch of Johnny inside you, if only to hear the keen that escapes from him in response. 

It gives him the indication he wants, because soon you feel him thrust a little deeper, the curve of his cock grazing over something pulsing warm and full inside you. The sound you offer just as Simon pulls himself almost entirely out of you is nothing less than obscene, bucking up into him in an effort to repeat the sensation of your limbs going completely weak against the unyielding wash of searing, white-hot desire that coils sharply in your core. 

A thumb smears the tears of pleasure beading in the corner of your eyes as Ghost pauses to take in the sight of you with dark, hungry eyes. You’re splayed on your back, bottom half entirely exposed as Johnny buries himself deeply inside you. The thin tank top you’re wearing bunches around your collarbone, revealing the rise and fall of your chest as you pant, gasping in desperate pleasure. 

“Bleedin’ Christ.” Ghost growls, a hand twisting an exposed nipple again if only to see you jump with a little gasp of “A-ah-!”

“Aye, don’t forget about me.” Johnny teases, as he too speeds his thrusts into you, hands dragging you by your hips to greet the slap of his thighs against yours. It makes a muffled little whimper escape you, partly silenced by Ghost’s cock as it slides wetly over your tongue. You can only force your mouth wider, eyes rolling back as Johnny thrusts into you, each press of his cock filling you with delicious, addictive pleasure. It weakens across your hips, forces you pliant and open between them as they fill you at both ends, rendering you limp to their pleasure, and to yours. 

You can hear every dragging breath from them both as they begin to use you in full, and you float endlessly in pleasure, unable to tether yourself down as something molten coils tighter in your core with every thrust. Whatever words they say next are lost to you, deafened by the series of choked moans that spill around Ghost’s cock, suffocating your chest in a searing, hot push of air that clouds your senses in warm velvet. 

It’s so much, and you try to catch yourself but you can’t, helpless between them as pleasure winds tighter below your belly. The wet gush of you squelches lewdly around Johnny’s length as he thrusts with firm, precise thrusts inside you, and when he lifts a leg to give himself more access he manages to graze over that perfect, glowing nerve that briefly has you seize against them both, endorphins drowning out all other sensation as electricity races up your spine.

“Fuck, fuck-” Johnny swears in response to the broken, whimpering groan you give him, and you feel yourself suddenly twisted so you lay on your side, one ankle slung over his shoulder as his hips stutter against yours in an uneven rythm. Ghost adjusts to the new angle, and with every thrust you can feel him bump against the back of your throat, his voice dropping in a series of low, choked groans as he chases his climax. 

You wish he’d pull back long enough for you to babble senselessly for them, your words an unending mantra of Yes, more, please, good, so good-

You’re lost in them, in the pull of Johnny’s hot, pulsing cock in the wet clutch of your cunt, the ridged veins on the underside of Simon’s cock tracing over your tongue. The marrow of you feels weak against pleasure, surrendering to them twisting you to their whims, reverent and yet merciless, knowing the map of your desire and plucking the threads of you until the stuffing of you spills free into their touch. Fuzzy, muffled by the thrum of blood in your ears and the drum of your heart in your throat.

You’re going to come, you realize. You can feel the inevitability of it winding through your veins, nerves alight with sparkling, glowing desire that burns brighter, hotter between the three of you. It draws closer, closer, and as it does you feel as if you gaze up at a towering wave that threatens to crash over your head. It shadows your senses and you try to climb upwards as it crest so you don’t drown-

Yet then Soap presses a thumb down on your clit and you sob at the sudden intensity of the pleasure right as your orgasm breaks over you, drawing you down into an endless tumult of sensation. Distantly, you can feel your walls spasm around Soap’s cock, your entire body going rigid as you suck in a breath against the urgent swell of pressure that releases from your core and floods through every fiber of your taut muscles. 

You hear Soap whimper.

The sound must do something to Ghost, because suddenly he’s grabbing his sergeant’s shirt and dragging him closer, rucking the mask up to his nose so he can press a sloppy kiss against Soap’s parted, panting lips. 

You feel Soap’s hips stutter as the aftershocks of your orgasm begin to pulse through you, and he presses himself flush with your hips before a silky wet warmth spills deep inside you. The groan that pours from his lips is only swallowed by the lieutenant in front of him as Ghost shifts to pull himself past your lips. 

Simon releases Johnny, and as you heave and gasp for air, shuddering as your orgasm begins to recede, he fists his cock over your face, the shine of your spit glistening against the flushed width of him. He plants a fist next to your head with a cracked moan, bracing as his hips buck forward into his grasp, eyes scrunched shut in pleasure before his cock twitches, cum squirting across your face and fluttered gaze. 

Johnny leans over you, thrusting a few shallow, slow jerks into you as the fluttering pulse of you milks him dry. His chest heaves, arms shuddering with the force of his orgasm as he slowly gathers breath. He braces on his forearms, bent over you, and you can feel the warmth of him press against your stomach as he gasps, hips jerking reflexively. 

“Fuck.” He grits, letting his head drop to the plane of your abdomen for a moment as the three of you gather yourselves. “Fuckin’ beautiful, darlin. Did so well for us.”

“Y’good, sweetheart?” He gasps after a few moments, and it takes a few extra to offer him a nod, head drooping with the sudden dearth of energy your orgasm has left you. You can feel your heart still hammering in your ears, body slumped against the crate under you. 

When Soap pulls himself from you, there’s a little whimper of overstimulation at the drag of him against your walls. Yet he only shushes you gently, kneading little circles into your hip to ground you once more. 

“Shh, you did so good, baby.” He tells you earnestly, voice still a little breathless as he gathers himself. Likewise, Ghost forces breaths through his nose above you, trying to even his breathing and bracing a hand on your shoulder to keep you from flopping onto your back at an uncomfortable angle. When he shifts, it’s to reach for something on his belt. There’s a click as he flicks open his knife, cutting the zip ties from your wrists and freeing you once more. 

“Solid, sergeant?” He inquires gently, and you nod to him. 

“Right as rain, sir.” You offer, and he huffs a little noise of contentment at your response. His hands land on you gently, hauling you upright as Johnny fumbles for your pants tossed forgotten in the corner of the room. You tilt your head back into Ghost’s front appreciatively as Johnny gets them over your ankles the same way they came up. 

“Can you stand?” Ghost asks, and even though you hesitate for a moment you nod. As you rise off the crate both he and Johnny tuck themselves back into order, exchanging a few words over you to check in with each other as well. 

You wobble a little on your legs for a moment, and you can feel the smugness radiate from both of them without even looking. You shoot them a dirty look, but the look Soap gives you in return is full of mischief. 

“Better get a move on.” Ghost intones, and his voice too is tinted with a chuckle. “Gaz and Price are waiting.”

“Aye, LT is right.” Soap drawls. “Day’s still young. Plenty left to play before it’s over.”

You nod, take a single step forward. Yet then you yelp as Johnny’s hand smacks against your ass, making you jump about a foot in the air in surprise. You stumble a few feet before you dart off, heart thrilling at the remainder of the game left just as the sun dips below the horizon.

Taglist: (Please reblog this post to be added to the taglist!)

Please have your age in bio to interact with this fic. Minors do not interact

@soupbinsoup @tiredmetalenthusiast @homicidal-slvt @grumpyfurball @bigboywiththeskullface @cherrycoloredfunk86 @soapskneebrace @makariaspresence @alicesfracturedmirror @akona17 @fruitymoonbeams-blog @howdareubumfluff @ess-perspective-blog @sugarspicelivelife @ballsincorporated @telecoms-profiterols @artsy-trash-panda @ramadiiiisme @crunchlite @scatter-mind001 @holt-from-the-blue @military-boyfriends @mutuallimbenclosure @tamayakii @sparklinginthecorneroverhere @330bpm-whiplash @corgideer @embers-of-alluring @kitty-satan1 @meadowfuldaises @butterbunana @thychuvaluswife @asd3ku @simon-rileys-princess @kaninkronikorna @kinskyy @serh0etonin @preciouslittlecreature @stitch-me-a-dream @bucketbunny @doggydale @fivedicksinatrenchcoat @kaninkronikorna @crunchlite @torchbearerkyle @ashy-kit @soapskneebrace

If you'd like to not be on the taglist, please DM me!

[hotpinkboots]

IDEA IDEA

so jareth and lost child reader who goes into the labyrinth on accident and gets stuck there, so jareth sorta becomes like a semi-distant caretaker to the child, gender neutral PLEASE

Also have a lovely day 🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷

~~~~~

~Father figure!𝕵𝖆𝖗𝖊𝖙𝖍 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕲𝖔𝖇𝖑𝖎𝖓 𝓚𝖎𝖓𝖌 x Child!Reader Headcanons~

Thank you, darling! I hope YOU have a wonderful day, too!

Summary: As a child lost in the Labyrinth, it can be both a fun, exhilarating experience, and a terrifying, confusing experience. Luckily, you're being looked after by the Goblin King himself. Warning(s): None

~~~~~

~At first, Jareth was sarcastically thinking:

"How grand. A child, of all things. I bet I'll be hearing it screaming all the way from my castle."

~He then found himself viewing your journey through his crystal balls, saving you at the last minute if you were in danger, and finding it amusing when you were so proud of yourself for solving a puzzle.

~It did not take very long for the Goblin King to realize that he had grown fond of you.

~Jareth occasionally shows up to taunt you and give you more challenges. He won't go easy on you just because you're a child. But, if you perhaps start feeling overwhelmed and you shut your eyes in fear, suddenly the thing that had been threatening you disappears into thin air. He pushes you around and tests you to find out what you can and can't handle.

~For awhile, it's as though you're simply a piece of entertainment for him. He keeps poking at you and teasing you.

~This is because he thinks you're cute. You're cute when you get upset, you're cute when you're trying to outsmart him, you're cute when you're intimidated by the big scary Goblin King. So, he keeps pushing you around to get a reaction. For awhile, he acts more like a bratty older brother, rather than a father figure.

~Jareth will grow softer towards you. He eventually takes pity when he sees you growing genuinely frustrated and fidgeting because your feet hurt from walking. First, he decides to materialize out of nowhere to spook you. Then, he helps you out. He won't give you answers, nor will he simply let you through whatever challenge he has set up for you, but he'll give you hints, and walk you through it until you figure it out.

~Imagine a patient teacher helping you figure out a math problem.

~You may notice that he has more of a soft and proud look to his expression when you solve the challenge.

~From this point on you're his kid now YAY

~~~~~

Request Guidelines!

Join my Discord Server! There you can talk about my fanfiction, roleplay, chat, watch movies and listen to music with other fandom nerds!:

~~~~~

~Love, PinkBoots

[jaystardust]

‎ ☆ 🖇️ 𖥻 ˚.ᵎ UNVEIL

Pairing: Park Jay x reader

Genre: bad boy, strangers to lovers, angst, blackmailing, suggestive, kind of Gossip Girl universe themed, apparition of Yeonjun (txt)

Warnings: blackmailing, making out, angst, betrayal (tell me if I forget something)

Summary: Enigma, Hybe High's anonymous gossip queen, finds her carefully crafted world threatened by the arrival of Park Jay, a rebellious kind of bad boy. a web of blackmail and stolen glances leads them down a thrilling path of forbidden desire, risking Enigma's online persona and a chance at real love.

Word count: 6.5K

--------------------------------------------------------

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and Prada perfume mingled in the air, a potent signature of your mornings at Hybe High. You weren't royalty, but reputation was everything at this elite private school, and yours was meticulously crafted. 

You were Enigma, the mastermind behind the anonymous blog, Unveil. A digital oracle dispensing juicy gossip about the student body with a scathing wit that left its targets squirming. 

This year, however, the tea had gone cold. The usual suspects – the president's son's gambling problem, the head cheerleader's secret nose job – held no allure. You craved a real scandal, something to reignite the blog's fire and solidify your position as the school's unseen puppeteer.

Then came Park Jay, the new transfer student who arrived shrouded in a veil of mystery. He wasn't your typical Hybe High royalty. Clad in a worn leather jacket and ripped jeans, his indifference to the school's social hierarchy was as refreshing as it was infuriating.

However, digging up dirt on Jay proved impossible. He was a ghost, his past shrouded in mystery as thick as the expensive perfume that clung to you. Frustration gnawed at you, a familiar itch that Unveil usually scratched. But this time, it was different. This time, the frustration was laced with a strange fascination for the boy who didn't seem to care about the social games everyone else played.

One gloomy afternoon, as you hunched over your laptop in the library, a shadow fell over your screen. You looked up to find Jay, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Enigma, I presume?" His voice was a low rumble, sending shivers down your spine.

Your heart hammered a frantic rhythm against your ribs. How? How did he know? You scrambled to mask your surprise, forcing a nonchalant shrug.

"And who might you be, Sherlock Holmes?" you retorted, trying to sound flippant.

"Just someone who appreciates a good secret," he said, his gaze unwavering. "And who wouldn't want to leverage it?"

The blood drained from your face. Leverage? This couldn't be happening. Your mind raced, desperately searching for an escape route. He leaned closer, his voice a husky whisper.

"How about you do a few little things for me, Enigma," he purred, "and I keep your little blog a secret?"

The world tilted on its axis. This wasn't how the game was supposed to be played. You were the puppet master, not the marionette. Yet, there you were, trapped in his gaze, the weight of your secret a suffocating burden.

"What kind of things?" you managed to croak.

A slow, predatory smile spread across his face. "Homework, errands, maybe even something a little… humiliating." His eyes glinted with a challenge, daring you to defy him.

You hated him. You hated the way he made your carefully constructed world crumble around you. But more than that, you hated the strange thrill that danced along your nerve endings. This was a game you didn't know the rules of, a game that was both terrifying and strangely exhilarating.

In the end, you agreed. You couldn't risk exposure. Unveil was your lifeblood, your shield, and the thought of losing it was unbearable.

The weight of Park Jay settled on your shoulders like a leaden cloak. You, Enigma, the queen of gossip on Unveil, were now a prisoner of your own creation.  The evidence he held was a leash that kept you tethered to his whims. You weren't a captive in the physical sense, but your freedom of speech, your very identity as Enigma, was held, hostage.

Becoming Jay's shadow began subtly. A whispered request for a double-shot espresso from the overpriced cafe across the street during your first-period break. A casual mention of "forgotten" notes in trigonometry class, with a knowing smirk that sent a shiver down your spine. You complied, your stomach churning with a mix of apprehension and a strange sense of obligation.

The whispers started then, too. Furtive glances followed you as you delivered the steaming coffee cup to Park Jay's table, a tableau that felt staged, and surreal.  "Y/n, errand girl for Park Jay?" the hallway echoed with unspoken questions. The indignity of it all fueled a simmering anger within you.

But the tasks escalated. One afternoon, you found yourself hunched over his desk during your lunch break, surrounded by textbooks and loose-leaf papers spilling like a chaotic waterfall. 

The afternoon sun streamed through the window, casting your workspace in a harsh spotlight. You were translating a French poem for his literature class, lines blurring before your eyes as the indignity of the situation gnawed at you. This wasn't just running errands anymore; it was academic servitude.

"This," you finally muttered, slamming the textbook shut with a force that sent papers scattering across the floor, "is getting ridiculous."

Jay, sprawled lazily in his chair, finally looked up.  A flicker of amusement danced in his eyes, a challenge that ignited a spark within you. "Is it?" he drawled, his voice laced with a hint of something you couldn't quite decipher. "Or are you secretly enjoying the attention, Enigma?"

You straightened in your chair, glaring at him with defiance. "Attention?" you scoffed, the word laced with venom. "I'd rather clean the toilets with a toothbrush than be seen cavorting with you in public."

His amusement morphed into a full-blown laugh, rich and intoxicating. The sound filled the room, washing over you like a wave, and for a moment, you forgot the anger simmering beneath the surface. He stopped abruptly, his gaze locking with yours, the laughter fading to a smoldering intensity. "Don't lie, Enigma," he said, his voice a husky whisper. "You find me fascinating."

The heat that rose to your cheeks was a betrayal. You scoffed again, but this time, it lacked conviction. He was right, of course. Park Jay was an enigma wrapped in a mystery, a puzzle you couldn't resist solving. His disregard for the social hierarchy, and his rebellious streak – it was a stark contrast to the entitled drones who populated Hybe High. 

He was a constant thorn in your side, a danger that sparked a rebellious fire within you. You hated being under his thumb, yet there was an undeniable allure to the challenge he presented. Jay was a storm brewing beneath the surface, and you, once the master of information, were now caught in its eye.

--

Days bled into weeks, the initial awkward tension between you and Jay morphing into a strange, symbiotic dance. Resentment, once a simmering ember, cooled into a begrudging respect fueled by your growing realization that his intellect mirrored your own.

Witty remarks became heated debates that spilled over lunches, dissecting the intricacies of literature, or anything that threatened to break the charged silence simmering between you. 

Discussions that began in hushed tones over hastily consumed sandwiches would morph into stolen moments after school, the library your refuge from the watchful eyes and gossiping tongues of Hybe High.

One particularly dreary afternoon, rain lashed against the library windows, a relentless drumbeat mirroring the disquiet in your heart. You found yourselves huddled under the awning, a shared haven from the downpour.

The library lights cast a warm, honeyed glow on Jay's face, highlighting the sharp angles and the unexpected vulnerability that flickered in his eyes.

"You know," he said, his voice a low rumble that sent a tremor through you, "blackmailing someone isn't exactly how I envisioned my first semester at Hybe High."

You snorted, a humorless sound escaping your lips. "Being someone's secret errand girl wasn't exactly on my top ten either."

He chuckled, a low, rich sound that seemed to vibrate through the air. "So, Enigma," he continued, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "is there anything you crave from me besides the assurance of keeping your little blog a secret?"

Your breath hitched in your throat. This wasn't part of the bargain. You hadn't signed up for emotional entanglements, for the way your heart would stutter a frantic rhythm in his presence, or the jolt that shot through you when his fingers brushed against yours while passing a textbook.

Yet, here you were, caught in the captivating pull of his gaze, a prisoner of your own traitorous emotions.

"I, uh…" you stammered, cheeks burning under the harsh glare of his scrutiny.  "What makes you think I want anything from you?"

His smile was a knowing one, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. "The way your eyes linger on me a beat too long when you think I'm not looking. The way your cheeks bloom a charming shade of pink whenever I unleash a particularly witty remark."

He was right, of course. You had tried, oh how you had tried, to maintain the facade of the detached blogger, the anonymous voice of truth. But the walls you'd so meticulously constructed around your heart were crumbling under the relentless assault of his undeniable charm.

Suddenly, the air crackled with a tension that transcended words. He leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear as his lips hovered tantalizingly close to yours. "Unless," his voice dipped to a husky whisper, "you'd prefer I ensure your secret's safety… in another way."

Before you could even register the audacity of his suggestion, his lips were on yours. The kiss was an electrifying collision, a tangle of pent-up emotions and unspoken desires. He tasted of rain and peppermint, a heady mix that sent a jolt through your system.  

Your initial resistance crumbled like sandcastles under a tidal wave, and you melted into his touch, a desperate need washing over you.

His hand snaked around your waist, pulling you closer, his touch igniting a fire deep within you. The kiss deepened, a desperate exploration that spoke volumes more than words ever could. It was a whirlwind of stolen breaths and tangled limbs, a moment of raw passion that felt forbidden and exhilarating all at once.

Just as abruptly as it started, he pulled away, leaving you breathless and yearning for more. His eyes held a dark intensity you hadn't seen before.

"This changes things, Enigma," he murmured, his voice rough with emotion.

"Changes what?" you whispered, your voice barely above a breath.

He stared at you for a long moment, a battle of emotions playing out in his gaze. A beat of silence followed, and then, with a smirk that sent a shiver down your spine, he added, "See you tomorrow, Enigma. Don't forget – French poem, due first thing."

He turned and walked away, leaving you reeling in the wake of his touch. Your heart thumped against your ribs, a frantic drumbeat echoing the conflicting emotions swirling inside you. You had just crossed a line, a line you never thought you'd even consider.

The guilt gnawed at you like a persistent pest. Here you were, the anonymous blogger who reveled in wielding information and controlling the narrative, now entangled with the boy who held your secret hostage. 

But amidst the turmoil, a flicker of something else bloomed – a tentative hope that maybe, just maybe, this forced partnership could lead to something more. 

Something exhilarating, something terrifying, and something that felt like a story far more captivating than anything you'd ever written for Unveil. This wasn't just a stolen kiss under a library awning; it was a turning point, a page ripped from a yet-to-be-written chapter.

The following day, French class was a blur. You sat there, the poem forgotten on your desk, replaying the kiss over and over again in your mind. Each stolen glance from Jay across the room sent a jolt through you, a secret language only the two of you could understand. 

The power dynamic had shifted. The fear of exposure was still there, a cold serpent coiling in your gut, but it was overshadowed by a burgeoning sense of… possibility.

After class, you lingered by your locker, pretending to rummage through your bag. His voice, nonchalant yet laced with a hint of amusement, broke the silence. "Ready for round two, Enigma?"

You met his gaze, a wry smile playing on your lips. "Just call me Juliet, yearning for her forbidden Romeo."

He chuckled a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. "Careful, Enigma," he drawled, leaning closer so only you could hear. "This game we're playing could have unforeseen consequences."

His words sent a thrill of excitement through you. This wasn't just about blackmail anymore; it was about a secret shared, a line crossed, and the exhilarating uncertainty of what came next.

"Consequences?" you echoed, feigning innocence. "What consequences could there be, besides detention and disapproving stares?"

He stared at you for a long moment, his eyes unreadable. Then, a slow smile spread across his face, a hint of something dangerous glinting in his eyes. 

"Let's just say, Enigma," he said, his voice a low murmur, "the consequences could be very interesting indeed."

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving you breathless and a little bit scared. But more than fear, you felt a surge of excitement, a sense of being swept up in a whirlwind of your creation. 

You, the anonymous blogger, were now a player in the game, and the lines between truth and deception, love and hate, were about to become beautifully blurred.

The story you were living was far more captivating than anything you could have ever written, and you couldn't wait to see where the next chapter took you and Park Jay.

--

The next few hours were a whirlwind of stolen glances, cryptic messages disguised as homework assignments and a constant battle within yourself.

You should have been furious, plotting elaborate revenge schemes against the infuriating boy who had manipulated you into his web. But as you watched him across the crowded hallways, a strange warmth bloomed in your chest, a flicker of affection that defied logic.

You were drawn to his sharp wit, his rebellious spirit – qualities that felt like a refreshing splash of color in the beige monotony of Hybe High. Yet, the memory of the stolen kiss lingered, a bittersweet reminder of the precariousness of your situation.

Then, it happened. On this exact same day you discovered that your secret wasn't so safe anymore.

Lunch break buzzed with the usual pre-weekend chatter as you sequestered yourself in a corner booth, laptop humming with the final touches of a particularly scathing post for Unveil. The target? A particularly arrogant senior named Yeonjun, whose inflated ego needed a good public deflation.

Just as you were about to unleash your literary vitriol, a shadow fell over your keyboard. Your blood ran cold. Park Jay stood beside you, a mischievous grin plastered on his face. He didn't have to say a word. The look in his eyes, a mix of amusement and something you couldn't quite decipher, was a dead giveaway.

Panic clawed at your throat. You scrambled to shut down your laptop, fingers fumbling like a startled cat. But a gaggle of students, including the aforementioned Yeonjun, had already gathered around you, lured in by the commotion.

"What's going on here?" the senior demanded, his voice dripping with entitlement, his gaze flitting between you and the now-ex-blackmailer.

Jay's smile widened, devoid of any warmth. "Just enjoying a little private reading session, wouldn't you say, Enigma?" His voice echoed in the cafeteria, each syllable dripping with calculated malice.

A collective gasp rippled through the crowd. The air crackled with shock and disbelief. You felt exposed, raw, like a butterfly pinned beneath a collector's gaze.

Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring the cruel grin spreading across Yeonjun's face. You wanted to lash out, to scream at Jay for his betrayal, but the words wouldn't come. Shame and humiliation choked them back.

Yeonjun, his relief barely concealed beneath a mask of fury, snatched your laptop before you could react. He flipped it open, revealing the unfinished blog post – a glaring accusation aimed squarely at him. A cruel laugh erupted from his lips, echoing cruelly in the stunned silence.

"So, this is Enigma”, he sneered, brandishing the laptop like a trophy. "The anonymous coward who's been making a fool of everyone."

He turned his gaze back to you, eyes filled with malicious glee. "Well, Enigma," he said, his voice dripping with venom, "it looks like your reign of terror is over."

The whispers started as a low hum, growing into a cacophony of accusations and judgments. You felt like a hunted animal, cornered and exposed. The world you'd so meticulously built around yourself crumbled to dust.

Jay, however, remained strangely detached. He watched the spectacle unfold with a blank expression, a hint of something akin to amusement lurking in his eyes.

It was that amusement that stung the most, a final betrayal that ignited a spark of defiance within you. Taking a deep breath, you forced yourself to meet his gaze. "You said everything changes," you whispered, your voice surprisingly steady. "Seems like you were right."

Without another word, you snatched your bag and pushed past the crowd, the weight of everyone's stares heavy on your back. You fled the cafeteria, tears finally spilling down your cheeks, a mixture of anger, hurt, and a strange sense of liberation.

Jay's betrayal had shattered your carefully crafted facade, but it had also freed you from the prison you'd built around yourself. The journey ahead would be far from easy, facing the school's judgment as your true identity was revealed.

But as you walked away from the cafeteria, a newfound determination hardened your resolve.

You wouldn't let Park Jay, or anyone else, control your narrative anymore. You would weather this storm, pick up the pieces of your shattered reputation, and emerge stronger, a different person, perhaps, but a person nonetheless.

And who knew, maybe in the process, you'd even find a way to turn the tables on Jay. After all, the story was far from over.

--

As the days passed monstrously slowly, the fallout from the cafeteria incident was immense. You became the subject of relentless gossip, your once-admired anonymity a distant memory. 

Yeonjun, fueled by his newfound power, used your blog posts to turn the tables on his rivals, creating a wave of chaos within the school's social hierarchy. The whispers followed you like a swarm of angry bees, stinging at your ears and filling you with a bitter mix of shame and anger.

You mostly kept to yourself, seeking refuge in the library and the solace of fictional worlds. Yet, despite the isolation, you noticed a shift within yourself. You weren't consumed by self-pity or anger. Instead, a quiet strength bloomed within you. It was a resilience born of necessity, a determination to rise above the ashes of your shattered reputation.

One day, while browsing the library stacks, you stumbled upon Jay. He was sitting at a corner table, meticulously reading a book on philosophy. Your heart hammered against your ribs, a strange mix of anger and a lingering curiosity. He shouldn't be here, not after what he'd done. He should be basking in his victory, reveling in the chaos he'd unleashed.

He looked up as you approached, his expression unreadable. No trace of regret seemed to flicker in his eyes, only a cool indifference that ignited a fresh wave of anger within you.

"Shouldn't you be writing your next scathing article, Enigma?" he said, his voice devoid of warmth. The mockery in his tone cut like a knife, a reminder of the manipulative boy who had used you for his own gain.

"I'm done with that life," you said, your voice firm, laced with a newfound steel. "And with you." You met his gaze head-on, no longer the scared, cornered girl from the cafeteria.

"Oh?" An eyebrow shot up. "Then why are you here?" His voice held a hint of amusement, a cruel edge that grated on your nerves.

You hesitated for a moment, then squared your shoulders. "Because," you said, holding his gaze, "I want to understand why you did it." You needed to know, not out of forgiveness, but out of a desperate need for closure.

A flicker of surprise crossed his face, quickly replaced by a cocky smile that did little to mask the tension building in his jaw. "Is this where we confess our undying love, stripped bare by the power of truth?"

You rolled your eyes, refusing to be drawn into his games. "Hardly. I just want an explanation. What was the point of all this?" The betrayal burned in your gut, a constant ache that demanded answers.

He sighed, a hint of weariness creeping into his voice. "Let's just say," he began, leaning back in his chair, "my situation at Hybe High is a bit more complicated than it appears." He didn't elaborate, but in his guarded eyes, you saw a flicker of something akin to vulnerability. 

Perhaps, there was more to his story, more to his motives, than you initially thought.

"Fine," you said after a beat of silence. "But don't expect my forgiveness just yet." You wouldn't let him manipulate you again, not without a fight.

He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that sent a shiver down your spine despite yourself. "Fair enough," he conceded. "But perhaps we can start with a truce? No more manipulations, no more secrets. Just… two people trying to navigate the wreckage of this whole mess."

A truce. The word hung in the air, a flimsy offering in the face of his betrayal. There was a raw honesty in his gaze, but trust wouldn't come easy, not after the way he'd thrown you under the bus. He'd used you, exposed you, and left you to pick up the pieces of your shattered reputation.

A bitter laugh escaped your lips. "A truce?" you repeated, the word tasting like ash in your mouth. "You think after everything, a simple truce is enough? You get to walk away unscathed, while I face the consequences of your actions?"

"No," he countered, his voice firm. "I messed up. Big time. But I'm not the only one who can fix this." His words hung in the air, a plea for some kind of partnership, but the betrayal still stung too raw.

"Then fix it," you spat, your voice shaking with barely contained anger. "Fix the mess you created. Pick up the pieces of my reputation that you so carelessly shattered. Then, maybe, we can talk about a truce."

The challenge hung in the air, a gauntlet thrown at his feet. His face hardened, a flicker of frustration crossing his features

A tense silence stretched between you, thick with the weight of his betrayal and the defiance simmering in your eyes. Jay clenched his jaw, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the worn armrest of the chair.

"You want me to fix it?" he finally said, his voice low and dangerous. "You want me to navigate the school's social minefield, clean up the mess you made stirring the pot anonymously?"

"Isn't that what you wanted all along?" you countered, your voice sharp. "To control the narrative, to use me as your puppet master? Well, now you can face the consequences of pulling the strings."

He scoffed, a sound devoid of humor. "Easy for you to say. You can walk away from this, disappear back into the shadows. But me? I can't just vanish."

The vulnerability in his voice, a stark contrast to his usual arrogance, gave you pause. Perhaps there was more to his story, a secret that held him captive at Hybe High. But the hurt and anger were still fresh, a wall you weren't ready to tear down just yet.

"Then figure it out," you said, your voice softening slightly. "That's the price you pay for playing with fire, Park Jay. You get burned." 

Turning away from him, you started to walk away, leaving him sitting at the table, his face a mask of conflicting emotions.

"Wait," he called out after you, his voice laced with desperation. You stopped, but didn't turn around.

"What?" you asked, your voice flat.

He hesitated for a moment, then took a deep breath. "There's more to this," he confessed. "More to my situation than I can explain right now. But trust me, it's not what you think."

You considered his words, the weight of his secret hanging heavy in the air. Part of you wanted to believe him, a flicker of curiosity igniting within you. But the other part, the part that still ached from his betrayal, remained wary.

"Then prove it," you said finally, turning back to face him. "Show me that you're not just another manipulative player. Show me there's a way out of this mess, for both of us."

A flicker of hope sparked in his eyes. "Okay," he said, his voice steady. "But it won't be easy. It'll require… a different kind of partnership."

Intrigued despite yourself, you crossed your arms and raised an eyebrow. "A different kind of partnership?"

He leaned forward, a mischievous glint returning to his eyes. "One where we use your words, my information, and maybe a little bit of chaos to rewrite the narrative, together." 

The challenge in his voice was laced with a hint of something else, something that sent a shiver down your spine.

Perhaps, just perhaps, there was a way to turn the tables on their betrayers, to reclaim your voice and expose the truth, all while forging an alliance as unexpected as it was thrilling.

"Alright, Park," you said, a slow smile creeping across your face. "Let's see what kind of trouble we can get into."

The truce might be off the table, but a new game had just begun. A game where revenge and redemption intertwined, and the lines between enemy and ally blurred. And as you locked eyes with Park Jay, a sense of anticipation buzzed in the air.

The road ahead wouldn't be easy, but one thing was certain: the story of Enigma was far from over.

--

Weeks bled into months, the dust of the exposé settling over Hybe High like a shroud. You weren't the untouchable gossip queen anymore, the fear and thrill of anonymous takedowns a distant memory. But a different kind of power simmered beneath the surface. 

People saw you, the face behind the Voice of the Unheard, and that honesty felt far more liberating than fleeting popularity. It was a power borne of vulnerability, a shared connection with the students who finally saw themselves reflected in your words.

Your relationship with Jay remained a complex puzzle, a Rubik's Cube of guarded glances and unspoken truths. The initial distrust still lingered a guarded tension that crackled between you whenever you brushed shoulders in the crowded hallways. Yet, beneath it, a hesitant camaraderie had begun to take root. 

Shared late nights fueled by brainstorming sessions revealed a surprising depth to him. You discovered a mutual love for the way words could paint vivid landscapes and ignite emotions, a passion for literature that transcended the walls of the stuffy library.

But most unexpectedly, you found a fierce passion for social justice burning just as brightly within him.

One afternoon, hunched over worn library texts researching the history of student activism, you found yourselves locked in a heated debate. The topic? The ethics of anonymity.

"People deserve the truth, unfiltered," you argued, your voice ringing with conviction, the memory of Yeonjun's smug face fueling your passion. "Anonymity shields those in power, leaving the vulnerable even more exposed."

"But at what cost?" Jay countered, his gaze sharp, challenging you to see the other side. "Sometimes, anonymity is the only shield for the vulnerable. It allows them to speak their truth without fear of reprisal."

His words struck a chord. Maybe Unveil wouldn't be a platform for petty gossip anymore. Maybe it could be a weapon wielded in the name of justice, a voice for those too afraid to speak, those silenced by fear or social hierarchy.

A slow smile played on your lips, a hint of a plan forming in your mind. "So, Park," you said, testing the waters, "partners in truth?"

He returned the smile, a hint of mischief flickering in his eyes, the playful glint that sometimes replaced the guarded facade. "Partners in truth it is, Enigma."

"But with one condition," you added, leaning closer, your voice a low murmur, the scent of old paper and forgotten knowledge filling the air.

He raised an eyebrow, a silent question hanging in the air.

"No more blackmail," you stated firmly, the sting of betrayal still a fresh memory. "This time, we fight together, on equal footing. Collaboration, not manipulation."

"Deal," he replied, a thrill coursing through you as your hands brushed for a fleeting moment. The spark of shared purpose ignited something deep within you, a sense of hope you hadn't dared to feel in a long time.

This new chapter, this partnership with Jay, felt exhilarating. It was a chance to rewrite the narrative, not just for yourselves, but for every unheard voice within Hybe High's walls.

The school, once a symbol of conformity and stifling authority, now held the potential for change.

The first salvo of the revamped Unveil targeted the archaic dress code, a system that blatantly favored students of wealth. Armed with interviews from disgruntled students who felt ostracized for not fitting the mold, and research on the psychological impact of such regulations, you crafted a compelling piece that ignited the student body.

The response was electric. Comments flooded the forum, sparking debates that reached the ears of the administration. Buoyed by this success, you and Jay tackled a series of issues – the exorbitant cost of textbooks that burdened families, the lack of mental health resources leaving students drowning in silent struggles, and the rampant cheating culture fostered by the relentless pressure to succeed.

Each meticulously researched and written piece ignited a firestorm of student activism, forcing the school to acknowledge and address the long-ignored problems. Through it all, your partnership with Jay deepened. 

The initial spark of curiosity had blossomed into a genuine friendship, one built on mutual respect, shared ideals, and a healthy dose of playful banter.

You discovered a side of him you hadn't expected – a fierce loyalty that extended beyond his carefully constructed persona, and a genuine desire to use his privilege to help those less fortunate, to dismantle the very system that had once benefited him.

Together, you were the Voice of the Unheard wielding the power of words to rewrite the narrative of Hybe High, one story at a time. The road ahead wouldn't be easy.

Powerful forces still held sway, determined to maintain the status quo. But for the first time, you felt a flicker of hope. You weren't alone. You had him, and with him, the unwavering belief that change, however gradual, was possible.

–

One crisp autumn morning, as you sat huddled over your laptops in your usual library corner, a charged silence crackled between you. You glanced up from your screen, catching Jay's gaze linger on you a beat too long. A slow smile tugged at his lips, sending a familiar warmth fluttering through your chest.

"Being a partner in truth with Enigma isn't exactly how I envisioned spending my senior year," he said, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. 

It wasn't just the words, but the way he said them, a hint of something deeper, something unspoken, lingering beneath the surface.

You mirrored his smile, a playful glint in your eyes that masked the tangled mess of emotions churning inside you. "And getting blackmailed by Park Jay wasn't exactly on my bucket list either," you countered, the memory of his betrayal still a fresh wound.

He chuckled a rich sound that sent a jolt through you. "But somehow," he continued, his eyes locking with yours, "it all worked out in the end… maybe."

The last word hung in the air, heavy with unspoken possibilities. Before you could decipher the meaning, the library door swung open with a bang, shattering the fragile peace.

Yeonjun stood there, a smug smirk plastered on his face, his eyes scanning the room until they landed on you.

"There you two are!" he boomed, his voice dripping with mock surprise. "Skipping class again? Looks like someone's got a lot of explaining to do."

A surge of defiance coursed through you. "Actually," you said, your voice firm, "we're working on something rather important. Something that might actually benefit the school, unlike your… extracurricular activities."

Yeonjun's smirk faltered for a moment, a flicker of unease crossing his features. Jay leaned closer, his voice a dangerous murmur that sent chills down your spine. "And if I were you, Yeonjun," he said, "I wouldn't push your luck. We have a few stories about you that might be of interest to the student body."

The threat hung heavy in the air. Yeonjun's face flushed red, and he stammered a few incoherent words before retreating with a defeated slump. You watched him go, a sense of satisfaction washing over you. 

The tables had truly turned. Unveil wasn't just a blog anymore; it was a force for positive change, all thanks to your unlikely partnership with the boy who had once held your secret hostage.

As you turned back to your laptop, Jay raised an eyebrow, a playful glint in his eyes. "So," he said, a hint of something more flickering in his gaze, "ready to tackle the next injustice, y/n?"

You swallowed, the sudden shift in the atmosphere making your heart pound a frantic rhythm against your ribs. "Always, Jay," you managed, a secret thrill dancing in your chest. "Always."

The future stretched before you, an open book waiting to be written. But in that electric moment, the words on the screen seemed insignificant compared to the unspoken tension simmering between you and the boy who had become your unlikely ally.

The silence returned, thick and heavy with unspoken desires. Jay's gaze held yours, a storm brewing beneath the surface. You felt the warmth creep up your neck, a blush mirroring his. The air crackled with an energy you couldn't explain.

"Maybe Unveil isn't the only thing that needs a revamp," he murmured, his voice husky and low, sending a shiver down your spine.

Your heart hammered against your ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the sudden stillness. He leaned closer, his breath warm on your cheek. The familiar scent of peppermint mingled with something new – a musk that sent shivers down your spine.

"There's something I've wanted to do ever since that stolen kiss in the library," he whispered, his lips brushing your ear.

You inhaled sharply, the memory of that electrifying moment flooding back. The defiance, the spark, the raw emotion – that stolen kiss had ignited a flicker within you that you hadn't dared to acknowledge.

He didn't wait for your answer. His hand cupped your face, his touch sending a jolt through you. The library, once a refuge, now felt charged with a dangerous tension. He tilted your head up, his eyes searching yours.

Despair battled desire in his gaze. "This might be crazy," he admitted, his voice a rough rumble, "but I can't keep pretending anymore."

His confession hung in the air, heavy with unspoken longing. The dam within you broke. You closed the distance between you, your lips meeting his in a searing kiss.

This was different from the one fueled by defiance and adrenaline. This kiss was desperate, raw, and filled with a yearning that had been simmering beneath the surface for weeks. 

His lips were firm, and demanding, yet held a tenderness that surprised you. You clung to him, your fingers tangling in his hair, the scent of his cologne a heady mix.

The world dissolved around you. There was only the frantic press of his body against yours, the frantic beat of your hearts, the intoxicating taste of him. You explored each other with a hungry urgency, the pent-up emotions of weeks finally finding release.

He pulled away abruptly, his breath ragged. His eyes were dark with desire, his gaze roaming your face like a famished man surveying a feast.

"We should stop," he muttered, his voice thick with restraint. "This isn't the time, not here."

You traced a finger across his lips, a silent plea mirroring the turmoil in your own heart. "Don't stop," you whispered, your voice barely above a breath. "Not yet."

He surrendered to your unspoken request, pulling you closer once more. This time, the kiss was slower, more deliberate, an exploration filled with tenderness.

His hands roamed your back, sending shivers down your spine. You melted into his touch, a delicious sense of surrender washing over you.

Just as you were about to get lost entirely, the library door creaked open again, shattering the spell. A young couple, oblivious to the drama that had just unfolded, snuck in, searching for a quiet corner.

Jay cleared his throat, a sheepish grin on his face. "Looks like we have an audience."

You blushed furiously, burying your face in your hands. Despite the interruption, the tension remained an unspoken promise hanging heavy in the air.

"We should probably get back to work," you mumbled, gathering your scattered laptop and papers.

Jay helped you up, his hand lingering on yours a moment too long. A silent promise flickered in his eyes. The rest of the afternoon flew by in a blur. You barely registered the words on the screen, your mind replaying the kiss over and over again.

As you packed your bag to leave, he approached you. "So," he said, his voice a low rumble, "about that revamped Unveil…"

You met his gaze, a playful smile tugging at your lips. "Thinking of a more… hands-on approach to exposing injustice?"

He winked, a knowing glint in his eyes. "Maybe. But perhaps there are other kinds of stories we could write together as well. Ones that don't involve the student body."

Your heart skipped a beat. The thrill of the forbidden, the intensity of his touch – it was intoxicating, and you knew the risks. But the memory of his kiss, the vulnerability in his eyes, whispered a different story.

"Maybe we can," you whispered, the thrill of the unknown dancing in your chest. "Maybe we can write a story no one will see coming, not even us."

You walked out of the library together, not just partners in truth, but partners in a different kind of adventure, one fueled by desire and the promise of something new, something exhilarating, something that felt like the start of a story even more exciting than the one you were writing for Unveil. 

The crisp autumn air felt electric as you walked side-by-side, the weight of unspoken desires and a shared secret creating a bond as powerful as any exposé.

The road ahead was uncertain, filled with potential consequences, but you weren't facing it alone. And with him, the exhilarating certainty that the most captivating story of all was just beginning.

A/N: hope that you liked it! i really like to associate enhypen members with that kind of Gossip Girl universe. should i do it for future work for other members? don’t hesitate to give me some feedback 🌷

[bonnyhoddie]

Elements of Disharmony - Rarity

Heyyy, victim 2 of the Elements of Disharmony, Rarity, the Element of Thievery.

Lore time!

Rarity has always been confident, but her confidence was never unfounded, and many ponies that knew of her knew that.

Along with being naturally beautiful, she was blessed with some visible traits from a distant recessive gene from a crystal pony, a race which had not been seen for over a thousand years due to the Kingdom's disappearance after King Sombra's reign. While it did not give her body the crystalline texture and make, it gave her coat and mane a beautiful shine, and gave her eyes the diamond glint often seen in crystal ponies.

However, one of the blessings she didn't receive, was money. Her family, using the money they put aside to help Rarity with her dream, along with family connections, were able to supply her with the boutique and the basic materials, but they were just about enough to create the beautiful dresses she envisioned, and there were only so many times Rarity could rely on the gems she could find before they started to lose their value and quantity.

To make matters worse, very few ponies in Ponyville were interested in such extravagent dresses, and Canterlot was both too expensive to move to, and almost too expensive to deliver her dresses there.

However, one day, the news of Rarity's skills as a dress designer somehow got to Princess Celestia, through methods she is still confused about, since she wasn't very successful in attracting customers, and requested dresses for herself, Princess Cadance, and Twilight Sparkle, for a gala. Rarity was over the moon to hear of this, and quickly went to work at designing and creating the most beautiful dresses in Equestria.

However, none of her materials or gems were meeting her expectations. They were too dull, or too sparkly, or the texture was off. Nothing was right. However, she didn't have the money for anything better, and haggling for the lowest price both still took chunks out of her wallet, and felt humiliating.

However, one day, while unsuccessfully haggling, something clicked in her mind, which even she is confused by. Maybe it was the desperation, or the frustration, but one day, while the vendor's back was turned, she quietly grabbed hoof-fuls of pearls, before thanking the vendor for his time and leaving.

The rest of her day was spent using her magic to take this and that. Rolls of fabric, ribbons, string, buttons, anything she needed or wanted, she simply took, and she was both terrified of getting caught, and found an exhilarating rush from the risk, and was excited that she finally, for at least one day, didn't need to worry about money.

She learned that day that nothing was truly out of her reach.

From then one, even after she had finished making the dresses, she continued to steal, and her targets got bigger and bigger, taking anything she thought was beautiful. And, the best part was that nobody could dare suspect or accuse her of such a thing, for how could a mare so beautiful do such a thing.

But nopony could have ever expected that, after the gala, she would suddenly acquire 6 new beautiful shaped gems, with a power that only the Princess of Equestria could know of.

Rarity is now the unaware keeper of the elements, and, as the keeper, she has witnessed many of these gems change colours over time. Along with changing in dullness and brightness.

Please help a family if you’ve scrolled this far down.

[merakiui]

I know this isn't super timely..... but the magic dildo from the twst asks........... with scaramouche........... ,,>﹏<,,

OOOOOOOOOO OTL but which version of mouchey???

Kabukimono who audibly yelps when he feels something warm and tight clench around his cock. He probably doubles over, too, holding himself up against the wall if he happens to be standing, or if he's sitting up he has to lie down because he is genuinely so overwhelmed and he only becomes so much more overstimulated the longer this feeling persists. Omg tears in his eyes and everything... he has his hands slapped over his mouth as he bucks his hips up into the air, sloppily thrusting in time with the hole that takes every inch of him. He's such a pretty mess as he chokes on his own little weepy moans and mumblings of how good it feels, how he loves it, how he never wants this to end. He's actually so heartbroken when the hole that once hugged his cock so snugly retreats and he's left feeling so cold and alone. He takes very long walks in search of any clues as to what that was. Either that, or he very innocently asks Niwa or Katsuragi about it and they're absolutely stunned wondering, there's no way Kabukimono got laid, right???????

Scaramouche who is most likely busy with Fatui missions. Maybe he's in the Abyss and the next thing he knows someone's riding him so good, and he has to hide somewhere to avoid detection by any of the monsters in the Abyss, biting into his arm to muffle his pleasured sounds. Or he's leading some troops and he has to force himself to remain composed so no one knows their high and mighty leader isn't about to succumb to carnal desires (i.e. make the most neediest babygirl sounds anyone will ever hear from the terrifying Lord Scaramouche) while some mysterious stranger is busy cock-warming him. Aaaa he's so frustrated! How dare someone be so sneaky with him? How dare someone curse him like this? You're lucky and bold to have succeeded once, but you must really have a death wish when you do it the following week and the week after that until it becomes something he actually looks forwards to with great anticipation. Scaramouche will dedicate any free time and Fatui resources he has to tracking you down, and when he finds you pray he's in a pleasant enough mood to spare you of a torturous end and punish you in other ways. :) and he will find you. That is a guarantee. Once he does, you'll have a very nice collar and leash waiting for you, unless you'd much rather he carve his name into your skin so everyone will know you belong to him now. They often say that if you play with fire you should expect the burns that will follow, and once you're Scaramouche's you won't know freedom again.

Wanderer claims hobbies are for "idle bodies who have the free time to think about such things," but his hobby is about to become sex because omg does it feel good to have your hole tightening around his dick. He's going to be thinking about you 24/7 after every instance it happens, and he'll also start to look forward to it (though he will adamantly deny anything if anyone asks why he seems so pleased and satisfied). Wanderer probably already knows you're the one behind it, but he's more than happy to feign ignorance just to make it fun. In return, he'll mess with you in lots of troublesome ways, using Anemo to send a few rough breezes your way so you're forced to hold your clothes down so they won't blow up and you won't give everyone an unprompted show. Or he'll choose to visit you at the absolute worst times (i.e. you just finished fucking yourself with the dildo and he's come to say hello with post-sex exhilaration clinging to his tone). Archons, he's obsessed with you. You think you're so sly, don't you? You think he's so oblivious, right? If you really wanted him so badly, you didn't have to enchant a sex toy. Wouldn't it feel much better to have his weight pressed against yours, pinning you to the bed so he can use you for his own pleasure, sly revenge for all those times you used him? Wouldn't it be so nice to feel his lips on every inch of you, every kiss searing your skin and marking you as his? :) and luckily for Wanderer he has no hobbies, so he has all the time in the world to spend fucking you against every surface, in every position, for however long you desire it. <3

[ftm-radio]

My gender is 4 years old

...and four days, as of April 15th. This post is a bit late. 😅

Four years ago, all the confusing little puzzle pieces I'd been collecting came together in a genuine eureka! moment and I realized I was transgender. It was exhilarating and terrifying and it undeniably changed my life for the better.

The last few years have felt pretty damn slow and I've had to scramble over a few frustrating obstacles (never changing my name AGAIN, lmao, that was annoying as fuck) but it's all been worth it and now it feels like I'm really making headway.

I started testosterone this past year! I did that! I'm almost 7 months on T now! Currently on a dose of two pumps of gel, which I have only missed applying once in all that time because I was literally sick. The changes are gradual but they are real and they have already brought me so much joy and made me so much happier in my humble flesh prison. 💗

The most anticipated change for me (and for a lot of transmasc folks, I imagine) is my voice, and BOY (heh) am I happy to share this data comparison with you:

[ LEFT: A screenshot from the Voice Pitch Analyzer app, dated November 3rd, 2021. It shows that OP's voice registers fully within the female voice range. RIGHT: Another screenshot from the app, dated April 12th, 2024. This one shows that OP's voice registers mostly between the Androgynous and Male voice ranges. ]

My voice is so different now. It sounds different, it feels different, and in just the last week or so I swear it has gotten a little rougher and raspier and I am LIVING. I could not be happier!!!

...okay, fine, I could be happier lmao.

I'm adjusting to my deeper voice and still learning how to use it in a way I like & that feels best to me, so I'm starting to do some casual at-home voice training again after basically forgetting about the concept completely since 2021. (Whoops.) But I am already so much happier and more content with my voice than I have ever been in my life, so it's only getting better from here, lads. <3

I've also had to go to a lot of appointments and answer a ton of phone calls about said appts recently because I kinda fucked up my eyeball (it's better now, don't worry! and be gentle to your eyes, they are delicate and eye drops are so fucking annoying when you're doing them seven times a day, jfc) and my voice has reached a point where I was a lot more comfortable interacting with strangers and I also didn't notice any surprise or confusion when I introduced myself with a male name! It was kind of amazing.

Also singing is even more fun now. I love love LOVE singing along with a male vocalist and feeling the way my voice kinda rumbles through my chest. 10/10 sensory experience.

Other changes aren't nearly as exciting or obvious as my voice, but here's a quick (?) rundown, for those who are curious:

Mood — Gotta be honest, I don't think I've really noticed any significant change in my day-to-day mood, though I may not be the best judge for this because I have trouble figuring out what/how I'm feeling in general, tbh. But I think I have certainly gotten more comfortable and content with myself and I'd even go so far as to say I feel a little more confident these days. It's nice, I appreciate it.

Acne — I definitely noticed a change in how my acne presents itself on my face. I wouldn't say it's worse than before (I've had very bad acne since I was a young teenager and only got medication for it like, last year which has helped immensely) but I think it's different. More little red spots and roughness than the unpleasant and painful pimples I'm used to. I don't even mind it, really. Oddly affirming.

Facial Hair — I've got facial hair. I really do!!! Not clickbait!!! It's not much, not enough for me to be brave and take my dad up on his offer of shaving lessons quite yet, but it has grown in enough that I don't feel silly including it in self portraits! 🤭🧔🏻 Got a little bit of a mustache happening, a little bit at the sides of my face, some fuzz on my chin (with one LONG hair that I can only assume has been greedy and stealing his brothers' growth), and a frankly surprising lil patch of hair under my jaw. On a semi-related note, not sure if my brows have gotten much darker/thicker. They might have? idk.

my new discord icon, hehe... 👁💜🪓

Body Hair — I have gotten a little more hair on my forearms, and it may have gotten a little darker too! I have a tattoo on my arm just below my left wrist and it's been surprisingly helpful for measuring arm hair growth because for years my tattoo was not covered by hair at all but the left side of it's a little fuzzy now... 😏 I've gotten more noticeable hair growth on my upper arms, which were basically hairless before (free gender euphoria every time I put on my T) and on my thighs. Don't think my lower legs have gotten much hairier, and I'm a little impatient about it lmao. I want to get hairy enough to rival my brother.

Energy/Appetite — Can't say I've really noticed any differences here? I am not a very active person and I already struggled with appetite and getting myself to eat before I started T (thank you adhd & poor eating habits 🥲💀), so I can't quite tell if I'm ignoring more hunger signals than usual. 😅 I am hoping to get more active and start doing more physical activity now that it's starting to get warmer outside again, so hopefully that will help me see these sorts of changes and also get me into some better eating habits as I expend more energy and work up a proper appetite! (Also, since we're on the topic... a reminder for all of us that taking care of yourself and feeding the body you live in is a million times more important than aesthetics and numbers on a scale. ❤)

Menstruation — I am still getting my period right on schedule, but I am happy to say it is considerably lighter than it was before I started testosterone! My period has begun getting shorter, too. It lasted for roughly 7–9 days before, but I was bleeding for exactly 7 days last month, and only 6 days this month. I'm not sure if this trend will continue at such a dramatic rate, but if my next round is only 5 days I will be very excited about it, lol. My uterus can retire any day now, please...

Bottom Growth — if any of my friends read this part, don't speak to me about it lmao — Yeah... there's a little bit of something happening down there. Not a lot, and I haven't really noticed any pain or sensitivity, but there's a Difference. Aaaaand I like it. 😌 I am looking forward to any and all future developments. 😏👉🏻👉🏻

Okay! I think that's it, really.

I know I haven't been super active on this blog for quite a while now (I have really gotten into fandom blogging on my main lmao, and also discord is my favorite thing right now, it's where 90% of my friends live) so I hope this nice, long, ramble-y post makes up for that a little bit. <3

Not gonna make any promises that I'll post here more often, but y'know. I might. It could happen. Definitely not leaving this blog to sit and gather dust, that's for sure. I'll still be reblogging stuff semi-frequently, even if I'm not writing up my own posts.

So goodbye for now, and thanks for tuning in! 👋🏻📻💖💙✨️

[mononijikayu]

monster like me.

The weight of Gojo Satoru's presence became increasingly palpable as he shifted his gaze towards the setting sun. An oppressive silence enveloped them both, one laden with the shared grief too profound for words. Their unspoken understanding needed no verbal reinforcement. Two unhappy people together had no need for words, after all.

GENRE: pre - hidden inventory arc to shibuya arc (1990s to 2010s);

WARNING/S: domesticity, fluff, angst, trauma, implied death, violence, romance, hurt/comfort, character death depiction of death, depictions of loss and depression, depiction of anxiety, mention of death, mention of grief, profanity, family drama;

LISTEN: monster like me by morland and debrah scarlett

NOTE: i wanna give satoru and genmei a hug pls,,,,,,why are they being mean to you both??? (its me, im mean to them)

masterlist

u s and t h e m

[ Mikoto Shrine, September 2007; Kyoto Prefecture ]

ZENIN GENMEI THINKS ITS HARD TO THINK STRAIGHT THESE DAYS. Perhaps it was the unrelenting heat, or maybe the absence of a soothing summer breeze, but Genmei felt a restless impatience brewing within her. The days seemed to stretch endlessly, each moment dragging longer than the last, reminiscent of a past she thought she had managed to bury deep within her.

It felt like those days all over again—the days when Kaiko left her. Yet, there was a stark difference now, a disparity that puzzled and tormented her. Back then, the pain was sharp, a sudden severance of a bond she had known her entire life. It was a profound loss, the kind that reshapes one's entire existence in its wake. But this current feeling, this lingering ache—was it worse? How could the loss of someone she had known for merely three years weigh so heavily on her, seemingly more painful than the loss of someone who had been a fixture in her life from the beginning?

The question gnawed at her, a persistent echo in her mind that refused to be silenced. Each day without resolution brought with it a heavy sense of sorrow, mixed with a deep-seated confusion about the nature of her attachments.

Had her years with Kaiko been so deeply ingrained in her being that they became a part of her subconscious landscape, a piece of her identity that she could detach from, however painfully, because it was expected? Was the surprise of forming a new, profound connection later in life—only to lose it unexpectedly—somehow more jarring, its abrupt end more disorienting because it was unforeseen?

Genmei pondered these questions, feeling the weight of her thoughts like the oppressive summer heat. The lack of clarity frustrated her, the inability to rationalize her emotions or predict their impacts made each day a maze of memories and what-ifs. The absence of Kaiko had been a void she learned to navigate, filling it over time with new experiences, allowing it to scar over in a way that became manageable, if not entirely healed.

But this—this was different. This pain was raw, fresher; a wound reopened before it could fully heal. It questioned her understanding of attachment, of love and loss. It forced her to confront the possibility that perhaps the intensity of a connection isn't measured in the length of time it's endured but in the depth it reached in one's soul.

Maybe, in those three years, she had allowed herself to open up in ways she hadn't with Kaiko, to be vulnerable in a manner that was both terrifying and exhilarating, which now left her exposed in the aftermath.

Letting out a small, weary exhale, Zenin Genmei could do nothing but sit still. But she seemed to hate that more than anything.The stillness provided no answers, only the space to acknowledge the deep caverns of this beast of feelings. Perhaps understanding would come with time, or maybe it wouldn't. For now, Genmei had to accept the drowning in her emotions. And she cannot run away. She can never run away.

As Genmei wrestled with the tumultuous thoughts swirling through her mind, she began to realize that perhaps the profound sense of loss she felt was intricately linked to who Geto Suguru was—and, more importantly, what he had represented to her. If Satoru was the moon, Suguru was the sun. The moon cannot exist without the sun. And Genmei cannot live them both. Not even if she tried.

The more she thought about it, the clearer it became that her suffering stemmed from a deep yearning how deeply she felt about Suguru. She'd never reflected on it this deeply before. But it's all Genmei had.

Genmei could only think about how she longed for his smile—so full of warmth and life, so distinctly his. She ached to hear his voice again, tender and reassuring. It was as though he was life in itself. And she could only dream, that he would come back. Even after all he had done.

Genmei can only sigh as she leaned her head against the tree. Her lips locked in a tight line as she looked at the small echo of the setting sun. Her hands tried to reach far and wide, but even as her fingers caught the light, there was nothing that could prevent the sun from leaving.

"You're getting too quiet."

Genmei looks to her corner, the silver halo echoing from the peripheral of her sight. "Temples are usually quiet, Satoru."

"People at temples aren't this quiet."

"It's for prayers."

His blue eyes looked at her, as though searching for something she could not understand. "Then pray. I'll listen."

"You're too much of a brat, Satoru."

He snickers, leaning his body towards the small of her back. "You'd never cared before."

Genmei couldn't help but snicker quietly. Gojo Satoru had never once believed in gods his entire life. If anything nowadays, he was more like a god than anything. But Genmei thinks she'd deny him of her prayers being said out loud. Genmei had never been eager to celebrate grief with others. She'd never been good at it. The Zenin kept things to themselves. No one talked about anything.

The Mikoto thinks it should be discussed in the depths of one's lonesomeness. To let it all drift away with the wind itself. Mother had always told her that reflection heals all wounds. That was expected from her mother, she supposed. Her mother was born to reflect, to keep those emotions, those echoes of loss, in the silence of reflection. A priestess through and through. An attribute she supposed she earned from her.

Father used to say the opposite, Genmei could recall. Her father with her loud boisterous voice, his warm hands and his bright starlight eyes. One must wonder how he was ever a Zenin. He often said that humans are not islands, cannot exist as islands. Islands need life. Islands need the touch of humanity. Genmei did not know if she agreed with her father, but it was something she was mindful of, to at least learn. To understand.

Genmei had seen it all too many times with the people that are left behind each and every mission. She noted each and every emotion on their faces, as though she was remembering what they used to feel like. How they fit her face when she had learned it all those years before, on the bright gaze of a bright eyed young wonder. Her father, Kaiko, Namie and now Suguru. They taught her how, to blossom in wonder. And now they took it away too. What had been relearned, Geto Suguru took it away with him too.

When people are sad, she remembered how people crave the need to be together. They yearn to feel whole at the thought of loneliness abandoned. Genmei never needed that before. The warmth of another person's touch, the space to let the eyes dampen with those unspent tears. The cries that ring desolation. Genmei wondered if she ever allowed herself to be like that. To be able to cry again like that. To be human.

Emotions expressed, of what she learnt at one point ─ the dead took it with them. Suguru himself took what remained. All that warmth that had built the fullness of a human's home had died once more. Genmei supposed it's what helped her last in Zenin manor recently. Like all those times before, Zenin Genmei ran to her emptiness to survive.

Yet, as she sensed the subtle tilt of his head resting against her shoulder, Zenin Genmei thought that deep down ─ she was allowing herself to dig through that numbness. He was warm, Satoru always was. Even the moon he was, he was still more warmth than barren cold. Even in the grief that dug through him, he brought the coldness she felt back to life with his warmth.

She noticed a faint, inaudible sigh escaping her mouth while a dull ache began to take root in her legs. She was feeling the discomfort of the stiffness that comes with the way she sat under the grass. Nevertheless, she remained unmoving, steadfast in her conviction. He wanted to rely on her in this moment, the most humbly human of requests. He needed this, she supposed.

The day would soon draw to a close. Genmei could not remember when the last time her world stopped for such a moment of quiet. Jujutsu sorcerers rarely had the time to savor things like these. When they do, it was a treasured thing. Blue hour was upon them, gleaming like the dark deep shine of Okinawa's deep blue. Memories hit her, tugging at her heart to remember the humanity that dwelled with the love that she wanted to lock away.

Years ago, such treasured moments were stolen moments. Even from where they sat, the thought of all those times beckoned her on. To unlock the key and return to those moments. Genmei purses her lips tight as she looked onward upon the dancing grass. Laughter filled her ears, as though it was a song stuck in her head. The smiles glistened panel after panel in each fragment hidden under lock and key. Before Satoru, before Suguru, before Shoko.

Those memories haunted her. All those echoes retorted to her, gnawed at her with all it had. Just one look at the sunset beam, Genmei recalled it all. The youth where she smiled the truest, the past three years where she reclaimed that smile. The young daughter of clan Zenin blew a soundless breath in the air.

The day unfolded with such breathtaking splendor, resembling a veritable Eden unveiled before their eyes. Both of them long discarded their talk. The sudden breeze serenading their languid forms, the unyielding tree bark etching its presence upon his charcoal uniform, the slight glimmer of scarlet light dancing against the slit of her hakama.

The descending sun showered them with its farewell caress, a poignant parting gesture. Not all days boasted such perfection, nor did they all weigh as heavily on the heart as this. All death, all tragedy, all lost of youth, its worth mourning. Even beautiful skies must be mourned.

The heron heralded its imminent arrival, casting the benevolent embrace of the ethereal blue hour that gradually consumed the fiery vestiges of the scarlet sky. On an ordinary day, Zenin Genmei might have lamented her perceived lack of productivity. Even then, she can't blame Satoru for it.

The gods demanded honesty and clarity from their priestest. Yet, she knew she would not be able to give that to the gods. Not when Suguru's words replayed over and over in her mind like a broken record. His smile so genuine as he spoke of the world he dreamed of. The one where the world burns and his conviction would remain steadfast in the joy it would bring him.

Genmei thinks it was better to say nothing to Satoru.

He wouldn't be able to handle all of it, she thinks.

He'd never be able to understand how Suguru smiled.

‘It repeats over and over, the song of tragedy rhymes again,’ Genmei contemplates with an air of exasperation as if a disconcerting sensation tempts her away for a brief dalliance with nicotine. The key was unlocked, she was sure.

The throes of her humanity fighting its way to come alive. She yearns for the noxious tendrils of smoke to vacate her lungs, as if they held the power to purge her thoughts, her endless sufferings. ‘With all that I could have seen and have not allowed myself to say…’

Her solitary recourse lies in the graceful inclination of her head, a poignant gesture born of inner turmoil as she contemplates the disheartening notion of history unfurling itself once more. The weight of self-reproach deepens as she revisits the keenly missed telltale signs, those subtle cues that her discerning eye had once so deftly unveiled.

Her lilac eyes, now narrowed, bear the heavy burden of accumulated recollections spanning years, all converging inexorably to that austere conclusion—the same deluge of denouement. It was bound to happen all over again. She warned them. Souls that break can never return. Yet they did not listen to her. And they repeated the same mistake. And all is left is tragedy.

Yet, despite the overwhelming emotions that surge within her, the most she can muster is a profound, resigned sigh.

With a leisurely closure of her eyes, she wished for reprieve. The young woman yearns to erase her thoughts. Though, that in itself may be tedious work. Genmei had tried to forget. Tried to fight the box that had burst from within her. But the memories come rushing back one way or another. Genmei mourns, then she cries. Then she marches forward and then loses to fate. The cycle repeats. The worst of it she supposed is to remember in the quiet.

One that had plagues her as she sits to meditate. The words so sweet from the mouth of someone she loved, visiting her like a curse that had been willed to haunt her. Tilting her head slightly downward, she permits the weight of her contemplations to rest on Satoru. As he leans into her, he seems content to remain motionless. To lose any sense to the mundane.

The warmth shared between them feels like fire, intensified by the uneven caress of the vanishing sun. Infinity appears to exist only in the obscurity behind his dark glasses. Genmei remains uncertain about his countenance to reality, yet she cannot help but imagine that their faces had dried against a torrent of mournful tears. Not that Genmei could even blamed him. She would have gone mad with all of it, too. Well, she has. 

When he sought her out, he did so without uttering a single word. Veiled in impenetrable silence behind the obsidian lenses of his dark shades, he extended a hand and gently beckoned her away from her solitary stance. He stole her away from her own bitterness, so they may sit together, bitter.

Their departure from the temple was a measured procession, their hearts coursing with the blood of shared experiences, and their bond weighed heavy with the burden of mutual silence. In time, they found solace beneath the same trees where joyful memories had once danced in her mind like fragments of a shattered mosaic.

Genmei ponders whether he had nearly forgotten how to draw breath. Yet, she could scarcely hold it against him, for the shock of such a profound loss was an expectation that accompanied it.

Youthful love is the most grotesque loss, Genmei knew from the start. When one thinks of curses, love  is the worst. Much more with the denial that it is lost forever. Most cases Genmei found that the cases she deals with comes from the madness of love becoming the curse that people bear. 

Satoru's not the type to unleash such malice upon the world, she knew that at the very least. But it did not stop the hurt, nor will it ever stop it from breaking his heart. To be separated from the person he held dearest, the one who tethered him to humanity. In the solitude of divinity, kamis often found themselves lonely, far too easily. You never get use to it. Genmei was certain to speak from experience. She hasn't let go after all this time, either. 

Nevertheless, they were aware that they could never truly attain humanity. Yet, in the union of Satoru and Suguru, there existed the closest semblance of a kami becoming fully human. Genmei's head lowered gently as she contemplated the glistening grass underfoot. She reminisced about the gentle smile that had once graced humanity within the soul of Suguru Geto, now replaced by an overwhelming sense of grief for what might have been.

‘Was I like this back then, with Kaiko? With Namie? With my father?’ she pondered silently, opening her eyes to witness a small bird taking flight. Suppressing a quiet laugh with a bite of her lip, she added, ‘I don't remember.’

‘No,’ a voice whispered back to her, almost mockingly. ‘You do remember, and now you feel it once more, clawing at you. But you realize it, don't you? How worse it is now? How you let yourself break like the weakling you are. You loved that boy too much and now it burns you whole.'

Her lips tightened against her jaw. ‘Silence.’

The voice chuckled but refrained from further conversation. She didn't anticipate it would speak further.

At that moment, the young woman found herself immersed in the world around them, the clouds waning as the sun continued its haunting descent beyond the horizon. Lost in her thoughts once more, the young woman with lilac eyes inwardly cursed the voice in her head as youth flooded in like an unstoppable tide.

Genmei's thoughts churned like a turbulent sea, brimming with memories, regrets, and unspoken sentiments, all of which remained tightly sealed, many of them never to be revealed, not even on her final day. Yet, perhaps one day, some of those words would find their way into the world.

The weight of Gojo Satoru's presence became increasingly palpable as he shifted his gaze towards the setting sun. An oppressive silence enveloped them both, one laden with the shared grief too profound for words. Their unspoken understanding needed no verbal reinforcement. Two unhappy people together had no need for words, after all.

As the light faded, she discreetly stole a glimpse of Satoru, his face still concealed behind those dark glasses. She wondered about the world he perceived and the emotions he harbored. However, there was no need to inquire; their connection transcended mere words. She sensed the tempest of emotions raging within him—a storm of pain, anger, and sorrow.

"I wish I could alleviate your pain." she murmured, her words barely more than a breath of air. She meant those words. That she was certain. Yet she knew he heard her. There was no necessity for a response; her mere presence sufficed for now. "To make it easier—"

"You can't." Satoru responded nonchalantly, maintaining his cheerful facade. Her lips pursed into a line, and she could only sigh. "Not even if you tried."

For a moment, Genmei closed her eyes once again, allowing the world's sounds and sensations to wash over her. She felt Satoru's warmth against her, a small source of comfort amid the overwhelming grief. Memories of happier times with him flashed before her—moments of shared laughter, dreams, and quiet intimacy, a bittersweet montage.

"I won't let you face this alone," Genmei whispered in her words a solemn pledge to the man beside her. She had confronted her demons and regrets in the past, and now she was determined to help him confront him. They were two souls intertwined in a shared history and a profound understanding.

He snickered, almost haughtily.

He looks at her, almost mockingly.

Genmei's used to it, after all this time.

"Promises being met? Rare these days, Genmei - senpai." He always liked to bait her into mockery with the word 'senpai'. Suguru had always scolded him for that. But Genmei knew she did not mind. She never truly did. "Don't promise something you can't fulfill."

"Do you doubt me, Satoru?"

"You've given me no reason to trust you right now." Oh. He knows. He felt him here, his residuals. Genmei bit her lower lip. Of course he did. He is the honoured one, after all.

Lilac against blue. "No, I have not."

The world beyond their cocoon of grief carried on, oblivious to their suffering. Birds continued their evening serenades, and a gentle breeze rustled the leaves above. It was as though nature itself sought to offer solace, reminding them that life persisted, even in the face of loss.

At that moment, beneath the darkening sky, Genmei and Satoru became acutely aware of the world's indifference to their pain. It presented a stark contrast to the intensity of their emotions as if the universe had turned a blind eye to their heartache, a nearly jarring dissonance.

Yet, as night deepened and the stars gleamed brilliantly, a sense of unity with the cosmos began to seep into their souls. It was a silent recognition that their grief, however profound, was just one thread in the vast tapestry of existence. They were but specks in the grand scheme of things, yet their pain was real and valid.

Genmei glanced at Satoru, still shrouded in darkness, his presence a constant reassurance. Despite the void that had taken root in their hearts, they were not truly alone. The world might not pause for their sorrow, but it continued to offer its beauty and wonder, and they could choose to find solace in that. Genmei turned her gaze away, focusing on the darkening sky.

"Genmei," he called to her again, unmoving. He dropped the honorifics, though he had never needed to use them. Genmei sensed the eerie strength in his tone.

Deep within Genmei, one kami recognized another—the Honored One.

The voice within Genmei snickered, almost excited.

All of it had made her head hurt more than anything else.

"What is it, Satoru?"

"Promise me.”  

“What do you want from me?”

“Don't ever leave me."

Four words reverberated, four words etched in their shared history. Genmei would have laughed, had this been years ago when she was younger and more brash, overflowing with confidence and unburdened by the weight of unmade choices and untraveled paths. But now, older and wiser, she understood the significance of those four words, as meaningful as the three or even one. 

Satoru was not offering her a choice; it was a command, and Genmei's words constituted a promise—an island reaching out to another, a connection of lonely souls. Zenin Genmei closed her eyes, her fingertips reaching toward the warmth of his hand.

Gojo Satoru made no move to stop her. Infinity once again ceased to exist between them as their smallest fingers intertwined in a solemn pledge, like children binding themselves to a sacred vow.

"I swear it," Genmei whispered to him, as his grip tightened around her finger. "Monsters have to stick together."

He laughs at her words. "Monsters, huh?"

Her eyes softened. "Well, aren't we?"

"Hm, I guess we both are."

[itsnotzka]

Fancy reading my original story? ;)

Without revealing too much, it's a very character-driven, slow-burn(ish), bitter-sweet romance story centered around self-discovery, with music and movies playing a significant role in the background :)

If you want to give it a go, you can read The Higher We Soar here (I'm currently sharing it on Wattpad, as I, unfortunately, haven't found a better alternative...). The first three chapters are already published (and it always will be free :))

You can also read the prologue below ⬇︎

You should never expect too much from Tuesdays. They're like the middle children of the week—less demanding than Mondays, less depressing than Wednesdays, but definitely not as fun as Fridays. Tuesdays quietly go about their business, neither imposing nor exhilarating.

As usual, I didn't have high hopes for that particular Tuesday either. It was one of those days that seemed to slip from memory almost as soon as it happened, no matter how much I wracked my brain to recall it.

The weather? If someone had told me there was the worst snowstorm of the century on that day, I would have readily accepted their claim without a single question. If I had read somewhere that it was the hottest day of the year, I would have simply nodded in agreement. I couldn't even tell you whether I decided to take a bus, a tram, or maybe I just, quite merrily, took a walk to the studio.

All those details somehow simply left my mind, overshadowed by one seemingly insignificant, and quite short encounter. Nothing remained the same after that fateful, yet somehow very ordinary, casual Tuesday morning.

Like a clueless fool, I failed to sense the impending, monumental shift in my life—a weird, terrifying, passionate avalanche that, in retrospect, seemed glaringly obvious and impossible to miss from the beginning, no matter how hard you might try... Yet, I did.

Before I delve further, you should know that I've never really liked interns.

It's not a sentiment I'm particularly proud of, as I despise prejudice in any form. My dislike isn't rooted in any of my antisocial tendencies; in fact, I generally find it quite easy to connect with people, especially in the music industry. 

But I never really liked interns.

Their enthusiasm often comes across as superficial, and I can't stand it when they ask what to do, only to neglect the tasks I give them. I don't don't like when they think they have it all, believing they are more knowledgeable than anyone else around the studio, despite never having composed a single piece of music in their lives. I don't like how, before I can even properly learn their names or discover their strengths, they vanish without a trace, leaving behind a mess of equipment they weren't supposed to touch in the first place.

I also don't like when interns assume I'm just one of them.

It's a frustrating realization, mainly because, begrudgingly, they have the right to do that. After all, most of them are just a tad younger than me. Who could blame them?

That seemed to be the case with most interns. Except for one notable exception.

It didn't take long for me to notice that one individual stood out from the rest of the pack. Slightly older than the typical interns we usually had, he possessed a remarkable ability to effortlessly connect with people of all ages and ranks—spanning from the youngest staff members to seasoned audio engineers and even the senior employees of our cleaning crew. He had this certain level of cheerfulness and genuine interest that set him apart, a stark contrast to the usual ennui seen among interns I knew.

Right. First things first, though.

The scene: Early spring. A typical Tuesday morning just a little past ten o'clock.

I found myself in the live room, brimming with anticipation to finally record the first version of my demo, or at least my initial idea for one. But as luck would have it, nothing seemed to align with my plans. True to form, the interns had left a chaotic mess in their wake, leaving me with the arduous task of tidying up before I could even begin to think about diving into my creative process.

I let out a sigh of frustration, futilely rummaging through the clutter in search of a balanced cable before all my inspiration gone to waste. And that's precisely when the blonde intern came into the room, flashing his straight, pearly white teeth at me.

"Oh, hey. Hand me that boom stand, eh?" I gestured towards the stand, hoping to deal the cleanup process faster.

Weirdly enough, he sauntered over to me joyfully, yet his hands were conspicuously empty. It took a few moments for the realization to dawn on me, and when I turned my head to him, there he was, meeting my gaze with a cheerful twinkle in his light brown eyes, smiling at me with the sincerity of a five-year-old child.

"Hello? The boom stand, please?" I reiterated, juggling a handful of cables, none of them the balanced one I desperately needed, and gesturing towards the frustratingly out-of-reach metal stand.

"Oh, you're talking about this thing!" he exclaimed, as if my words had just registered. With a sudden burst of energy, he hastily retrieved the boom stand and brought it over to me. "Here you go."

I shot him a skeptical look as he nonchalantly slipped his hands into the pockets of his well-worn cardigan—a piece of clothing that might have been deemed unwearable by most, yet it somehow suited him perfectly. In an oddly charming way, it emitted a subtle bohemian vibe, and I couldn't help but imagine it gracing the runway of some avant-garde fashion show, although my knowledge of fashion was rather limited.

"Do you want to tell me you didn't know what a boom stand is?" I dared to ask, raising an eyebrow in disbelief.

"Yeah, sorry..." he prudishly feigned embarrassment, though it was evident that he didn't feel particularly bad about it. "I had no clue what you were talking about."

I eyed him inquisitively, suspecting the worst but needing confirmation. "What about a shock mount? Can you pass me that, then?"

He tilted his head and subtly pursed his lips, as if I had switched to an entirely different, foreign language he couldn't comprehend. Utterly astonished, I pointed to the nearby, star-shaped object, and his eyes widened in realization.

"Oh... that's a shock mount? Well, I had no idea about that, either," he admitted, seemingly unfazed by his lack of knowledge, with no intention of handing me the item. In response, I spread my hands and cast him a puzzled, inquisitive look, to which he simply responded with another chuckle.

"Let me be honest with you, okay?" he shrugged once more, entirely at ease. "I know nothing about making music or any of this equipment..."

"Are you shitting me?" I blurted out, dropping the cables from my hands in sheer disbelief. "In that case, I have no idea why you're even here. How on earth did you manage to land this internship in a scoring studio?"

The smirk never left his lips, his eyes twinkling with joy, as if he wasn't even aware that I considered firing him during his very first week on the job. Well, I couldn't actually fire him. I could ask someone else to do it for me.

"What can I say?" he offered another smile, his eyes mirroring the same cheerfulness. Even his bohemian gray cardigan seemed uncharacteristically cheerful as he spoke. "I aced the job interview. Sophie, that gal who interviewed me, seemed to really like me. She was very sure I'd be a great fit here!"

"That gal?" I repeated with a scoff... and a smile. "You mean Sophie, the producer? One of the most important people around here? If not the most important one?"

He nodded as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "The very same."

"Right. Sophie and her desire to change the whole world for the better..." I remarked, my tone laced with sarcasm that he simply chose to ignore.

There. My proof. 

That was the reason why I never really liked interns. He should have said something to make me believe he was taking it seriously, shouldn't he? He should have been embarrassed, he should have shown me his willingness to learn everything as quickly as possible, he should have tried to help me set everything up faster. But he didn't. Instead, he didn't take his eyes off me for a second, making me uncomfortable. It was as if looking at me like that was the most normal and ordinary thing in the world for him — as if it was our hundredth talk. No shyness. No awkwardness on his part. No guilt whatsoever.

"I don't know if I have time for your incompetence, then. I have things to do here, and they have to be done well," I finally stated, trying hard to maintain eye contact.

After all, I was supposed to be the more competent one, not him. Yet, inexplicably, I suddenly felt as though I were the intern, and he was the one showing me the ropes, not the other way around.

He hummed, faintly amused, as if I had cracked a half-hearted joke. "Come on... you only need to be more specific about what you want me to do. I can handle anything with clear instructions. I'm a very quick learner, you know?"

I found myself smiling as he began to lecture me on how to handle an intern like him. In fact, I burst into unexpected laughter—not at his expense, but because I couldn't believe his extraordinary gullibility.

No, gullibility was definitely not the right word. It was more like... certainty. An unwavering, absolute conviction that everything, always, would unfold just as he anticipated, with ease, enjoyment, and no difficulties whatsoever. There was no room for doubt. Moreover, it felt as if it wasn't because he wanted it to be that way, but because the universe, it seemed, had an uncanny knack for bending space and time just to make him smile.

"Let's see. Do you even know what I do here?" I asked, not with impatience anymore, but with genuine curiosity.

"Hey, I'm not that dense," he scoffed, then added a bit unsure, "You're a composer, right? Or am I mixing something up..."

I laughed and nodded in confirmation. His smile held a touch of embarrassment, a genuine one this time.

"You're not. I am a composer. So tell me one more thing, if you don't know anything about making music, why do you even want to work here?" I asked, finally bringing the shock mount closer and starting to set the microphone next to the piano.

He sighed, falling into deep thought for a brief moment before finally responding, "I think you're asking the wrong questions here. Why wouldn't I want to give it a try? It's fascinating. Besides, I'm a huge movie buff and you're making scores. I feel like I can rest my case here."

"Oh, yeah? Your love for movies? You think that's enough?"

"Uh-huh," he nodded, casually picking up the cables I dropped before, "Well, that would be more than enough if we were in an actual movie, wouldn't it?"

"Well, we're not, though," I chuckled, "We're not even in some poorly written novel. Life's quite different from the movies, especially if you know how they're made."

He hummed once more, a quiet laugh escaping his throat as he gave me another intrigued look.

"You think so? I think it all depends on your point of view..." he said with such conviction, as if everything really depended solely on that.

I shook my head in amusement and, unintentionally, found myself agreeing with him.

"Hey, I think I didn't catch your name before..." I said, a little troubled by the fact that despite Sophie repeating the names of all five interns for a week, I couldn't remember any of them.

"Oh, I'm Maddox. At your service!" he replied, his smile widening even further. "People usually call me Maddie, though."

"Really? Do they ever call you Madd?" I quipped. "Maybe that suits you better?"

A spark flickered in his eyes, then chuckled, "I've heard that one before... But sure. I can be Madd for you."

By then, I was laughing opelny, and I forgot about the mess around us.

It surprised me that he didn't ask for my name, and I decided not to give it away. I wasn't sure if he already knew it; he hadn't mentioned it even once that day. It seemed my name just... didn't matter to him back then. He struck me as someone very curious about the world and everything around him, yet for some reason, I didn't really seem to be one of those matters.

Like many things, it didn't bother me much, though.

After that Tuesday morning, marked by a string of mishaps that he effortlessly remedied with a perfect blend of enthusiasm, interest, and clever comments, a tad too clever for just an intern, we didn't teally talk for a few weeks.

Throughout the initial month of his three-month internship, our encounters were fleeting, lacking any real depth or substanc. Yet, I knew, there was an unspoken acknowledgment of each other's presence that hung in the air, like a perfectly fitting soundtrack playing in the background—barely noticeable, yet undeniably there.

I was busy with my projects that weren't going as well as I wanted them to. He, on the other hand, was busy surpassing almost all expectations, learning things at an astonishing pace, and effortlessly charming everyone he encountered. At least that's what I had heard from my co-workers, and from Sophie. He worked mainly under her, after all.

Every now and then though, I'd catch a glimpse of his eyes, squarely directed at me, particularly when I was on my way to the break room in search of my caffeine salvation. Sometimes, amidst the chaos of the studio, I'd hear his laughter, his rather melodic voice rising above the cacophony of others, as I struggled to maintain my focus on the stubborn music sheets in front of me. I quickly noticed he was quite the conversationalist, engaging in lively discussions with anyone willing to participate. Yet, our interactions rarely extended beyond a simple exchange of greetings, such as a casual 'hello' or 'how are you?'

That didn't bother me, either. Well, it didn't bother me at the beginning.

Everything always seems different at the beginning, doesn't it?

[sprout-fics]

Tag, You're It: Part One (Unrevised)

(Poly 141 x F! Reader) 18+

Masterlist

Rating: Explicit, 18+ WordCount: 5.2k Tags: F! Reader, Minors DNI, SoapGhost, Restraints, Chase/Takedown, Hunter/Prey, PiV sex, Oral sex (M receiving), Vaginal fingering, Dirty talk, Consent checks, Spitroasting, MMF, Aftercare Warnings: N/A A/N: This chapter has been revised to reflect changes in line with the rest of the story. Please see the masterlist for the updated version

It’s Johnny who finds you first, naturally. 

The team spends most of the day making you wait. You had found a hiding spot before sunrise, brought along a small pack of supplies and some things to keep you occupied while you waited for someone to find you, for the chase to truly begin. Yet by mid-morning you were bored, and by noon you were practically groaning in frustration, considering using your phone to drop hints so they would just get on with it.

So you decide to take things into your own hands.

You begin darting between safe zones, checking your corners, making sure to watch your six, eyes keen and trained for threats. This little game of yours had specific zones on base mapped out to avoid at different times during the day, forcing you to adapt to your environment constantly to avoid curious stares from other soldiers and recruits. 

It’s fun, the thrill and anticipation has you feeling a bit like a little kid all over again, giggling into your hands as someone bypasses your hiding spot. Yet the thrill is only doubled by the knowledge of the consequences of you being found.

You realize too late that this new method of yours is exactly what the team has been waiting for.

You get sloppy. You’re looking over your shoulder when you round a corner at the edge of the armory in the light of mid-afternoon, halting mid step when you spot a familiar figure peeking around the opposite side of the building. 

Shit.

You double back quickly, but it’s too late, because the Scot barks a delighted little laugh, calls after you as he gives chase. His footsteps are slow, purposeful, and for a moment you’re reminded of the villains in horror movies that seem to walk so damn slow and seem to inevitably catch up with their victims. It should terrify you, but instead it makes something in your stomach twist with exhilaration.

You manage to draw him to one of the empty supply warehouses at the edge of the base, skidding inside and diving into a smaller hiding spot hidden into the shadows. Yet Soap has clearly seen you at least enter the building, because in the distance you can hear his footsteps echo against the concrete floor, glass breaking under his boots.

“Ohh songbird…”

You feel your heart hammer against the cage of your ribs, hands planted across your face to prevent even a single sound from escaping at the tenor of Johnny’s voice floating through the unused warehouse, sing-song, teasing, hungry.

There’s a light flickering in the aisles of upended crates and empty boxes, and the intermittent brightness manages to catch against the whites of your eyes. The flickering dimness of this space seems to only add to the rapid thump of your heartbeat, muscles coiled in preparation to run, to flee should you be discovered.

“I know you’re in here.” Soap taunts, and you can hear the clear excitement in his voice despite the fact that he’s trying to play into the persona of an enemy- tracking you down, taking you what he wants, only to set you free once more.

He’s close, you realize as his boots thud down the end of the hallway. Too close. You can hear his footsteps from where you press yourself inside the shadows of a doorway, his heavy boots a purposeful, slow echo throughout the empty space. It’s almost like he wants you to know exactly where he is, advertises his presence with every noise. What his strategy is, you aren’t sure, but you’re certain that if he gets any close he’ll find you for sure, claim his prize through the price of your flesh, your pleasure.

“Come out come out, wherever ye are…” He chuckles, and you rise slowly from where you crouch, tip-toe to the door and see the profile of him vanish just beyond the edge of the hallway. It gives you the chance you need, and you quickly but quietly move down the other direction, keeping eyes on where he’s disappeared to. 

Yet then your foot crunches against something fragile and you freeze, hear his pleased little noise of realization a split second before you bolt, shoes hitting the floor harshly as you sprint away from the sound of his pursuit. 

“There you are!” Johnny calls gleefully from behind you, and Christ- how did he close the distance so fast?! You can see the blur of him in the periphery of your gaze, the blue of his favorite shirt a mere blob of color as you race away from him, heart in your throat.

You did promise to not make it easy, after all. 

You skid around the next corner, nearly stumble, and launch yourself forward past a darkened doorway yawning into a pitch black room-

Before you realize your mistake a moment too late.

Skeletal hands reach out, snatch you mid-step and drag you backwards into the broad plane of a chest. You yell from behind the gloved palm covering your mouth, adrenaline spiking in your blood and trying to thrash away from Ghost as he hauls you further into the darkness. 

“Caught you.” He murmurs in your ear as your hands are dragged behind you, back flush with the rigid surface of his front. It sends a jolt of something through you, dark and thrilling as he overwhelms you with his adamantium strength, smears charcoal across the inside of your skull with his mere presence. You thrash in his grip, trying to actually put effort in even though you’ve not once dislodged him in all the time you’ve spent in his hold. Exhilaration squirms breathlessly in your chest, bright and electric with every gasping breath.

It only grows when the zip-ties fasten around your wrists, and you again try to wiggle free with no success. 

“You’re a fast little bugger.” Johnny pants as he catches up, leans on the doorway, his gloved fist planted on the frame. Yet his eyes dance with delight as he witnesses you caught in Ghost’s grasp, dragging his lip between his teeth at the conflict of outrage and desire in your gaze. 

“Hells bells.” The Scotsman breathes, and he steps forward, his hand falling to the noticeable bulge in his pants, which he idly strokes through his pants. You hadn’t even noticed, and realize belatedly that the thrill of the chase must affect him just as much.

Yet then his eyes catch that of Ghost’s behind you and he grins, untamed and starved. 

“Teamwork makes the dream work, eh LT?”

Of course. He chased you here on purpose, pursued you right into a trap. Right into Ghost. Working in tandem as they always do, sharing twice the reward with you, and with each other.

You fuckers.

“Get in here Johnny.” Ghost offers instead to Soap’s quip, and you clamp your thighs together as his hand abruptly descends into your pants, your wetness soaking through his gloved fingertips. You make a little sound of protest, trying to buck his hand away, only for a thick thigh to wedge between your legs and force them open.

“Looks like our pet likes to be chased.” Ghost observes idly, and if you didn’t know him better you’d swear he sounds detached, playing the villain all too well. It only ratchets the excitement inside you higher, and you answer it with a muffled yell that only summons a chuckle from the sergeant before you, now pressing against your front and sandwiching you between the two men. 

“Tough luck, us finding you first.” He tuts, and his hand raises your shirt and presses flat against the softness of your stomach appreciatively, suggestively. “Won’t be much left for Price and Gaz once we’re done with ye, hen.”

You stare defiantly up at him, and it only seems to please Soap, who’s eyes dance bright in the dimness and his fingers rise to tug a nipple under your shirt. It makes you falter for a moment, the sudden sharp sensation making your expression shift into something wanting, a little mewl escaping you at the pleasure that rises inside you between his fingers and Ghost’s digits stroking against your folds. 

“Fuck, we’re going to ruin you.” He promises, and Ghost hums a dark, pleased assent in response. “Fill you up and send you scampering so the others can hunt ye down and have their fun too, aye?”

Ghost presses down firmly on your clit and you mewl, nod frantically in an effort to get them to really touch you, giving into temptation and erasing this farce of pursuit that’s led you here. Ghost notices and huffs a laugh, low and dark in your ear. 

“So needy, pet.” He murmurs, and you shift so you can grind yourself down onto his hand, eyes fluttering as it stokes the pleasure burning inside you. “Didn’t take you long to drop the act, did it?”

Of course it didn’t. That’s the bloody point, and you want to tell him as much, but instead Ghost’s fingers rub a gentle little circle over your clit that makes your knees abruptly weaken. You don’t buckle however, not with the men on either side of you keeping you upright.

“Don’t worry hen, we’ll take care of you.” Soap promises before you can even try to answer, and gently pulls Ghost’s gloved hand away, tilts your head so his lips descend to meet your own. Teasing, he seizes your bottom lip  between his teeth, sucking it before releasing it with a wet little pop. “Just need to ask us for it. Mm?”

You consider escape once more, could draw this out and try to get away even with your hands zip-tied, but between Johnny’s decadent touch and Ghost’s unyielding grasp, you find yourself with few other places you want to be. 

You surrender, gasp out your reply in a wanting sigh that spills across his tongue. 

“Please.”

Soap breathes out in a whoosh, the air tickling your face. His thumb presses down on your bottom lip, and you open your mouth willingly, tongue circling the pad.

He curses.

“Good girl.” Ghost supplies instead with a growl, and the full breadth of his gloved palm presses bare against you, cupping your mound and giving you the smallest indication of friction. You stifle a moan, throw your head back against his chest.

“Nu uh, none of that.” He admonishes, and his other hand slides up to your face, squeezing your cheeks together and twisting you so you gaze up into his shadowed stare that reeks of devastation. “No need to be quiet, pet. Nobody but us can hear you here, so be as loud as you want.”

“Aye.” Soap agrees, and a broad hand reaches down to your back, dragging himself flat against your front so you’re squished between the muscular forms of the two men. “Can’t wait to hear all those pretty noises, sweetheart.”

You squirm a little between them, feeling too warm, too much suddenly with Soap trapping Ghost’s hand in your panties, pressing you up against the soldier so you can feel a poking hardness against your back. Arousal pools between your legs, and you whimper suddenly, baring your neck to them both when Soap rolls his hips forward experimentally. 

“Soap.” Ghost says then, and you feel him nod, watching as Soap follows his gaze to a crate that’s about waist high in the corner of the room. Soap grins.

It takes him a minute for him to wrangle the crate at an appropriate angle away from the wall, making a point to cheekily pat it beckoningly at you. You don’t have time to roll your eyes though, because Ghost forces you forward, making you trip over your feet before your hips collide against it. 

“Down.” He tells you easily, and there’s a hand pressing at the small of your spine, gently ushering you to bend until your cheek is pressed against the surface. Yet that isn’t enough, because his hands hoist your hips just a little higher so you have to balance on your toes, kicking a little for purchase. 

They circle you, like sharks in the water, eyeing the prize of your flesh. Touching hands against your waist, your shoulders, tracing the swell of your ass. Working you up, making you wait, summoning your restraint to snap. Snap it does, because you grit your teeth and bite at them when the touches vanish.

“For fuck’s sake, just get on with it.” You groan.

Ghost chuckles, and a hand braces on your nape, raising you just an inch upwards so you’re forced to see the towering stature of him above you.

“Eager.” He observes. “Demanding words for someone who tried to run away.”

“I can’t run now, you bloody- ah!” You gasp as Soap’s hand cracks down on your ass smartly, making you flinch in surprise. 

“Watch your words, darling.” He croons, sickly sweet. “Otherwise I’m sure LT will find a way to keep your mouth occupied.”

As if that somehow deters you. Instead you lift your gaze up to Ghost once more, summoning wordless defiance in your gaze. Ghost only chuckles, and you watch his other hand rub himself through his pants. The sight alone of his length pushing against his pants is enough for your expression to change, shift into something hungry, eager just as he’s said.

Yet behind you, Soap suddenly yanks your pants and underwear down to your knees, and the sudden air against your bare skin is enough for you to gasp, squirm away from the hands that smoothe over your hips.

There’s a pause between them, and as you look up you see a look exchanged between them before Soap’s voice speaks, softer and attentive.

“Color?” He asks gently, thumbs pressing into the dip of your flesh just above your ass.

You groan with frustration, forcing yourself back so you can feel the bulge of him wedged between your ass cheeks. 

“Green.” You declare. “About as green as a cadet fresh out of boot camp, for fucks sake Johnny.”

Soap ignores you blatantly, talking over your sprawled form to Ghost. “She does have a smart mouth, doesn’t she, LT?”

Ghost makes a little noise of assent, and his hand is unexpectedly sweet, reassuring for a moment as it strokes the edge of your face. 

“We should do something about that, shouldn’t we, Johnny?” He asks darkly, palming himself before that same hand reaches to unfasten his belt. You can feel saliva collect in your mouth as he adjusts, frees himself from his pants. The flushed, thick girth of him has you flick your eyes up to him, pleading silently. Yet the look Ghost offers you is only amused.

“Over.” He states, and you feel Soap seize your hips and lift, twist so you suddenly are on your back, arms pressed under you.

“Oh, much better.” Soap observes as he catches sight of your half-lidded eyes. “Shite, we’re going to have so much fun with ye, pretty girl.”

You squirm a little at that, at being so openly on display for them. With your pants down to your knees, your shirt rucked up past your belly button, you shiver at the little thrill of exposure they give you. Yet then Soap’s hands descend past the soft flesh of your hips, two fingers gathering wetness from your folds and you whine at him, hiss at him once more to hurry the fuck up.

“Quiet.” Ghost declares, voice low but firm, a hand cupping under your head and lifting you so the tip of him grazes against your lips. You don’t wait for him to tell you to open, jaw dropping so he can push just the head of him against you before retreating. Teasing.

You jolt when Soap leans over you, watching intently as Ghost strokes himself just above your face, and pushes a single finger inside you. He groans at the warm heat of you, the little flutter of invitation that greets him.

“Steamin’ Jesus.” He hisses, dragging his finger out, only to push it back in. You arch off the crate, trying to grind yourself down onto him with a little whine. It’s embarrassing how wet you are for them, worked up from the chase, from their words, from their touch alone. “The sight of you, hen” Soap breathes, his hand digging into your thigh to keep you from bucking. “Never seen anything prettier in mah life, I swear.”

You don’t answer, because before you can Ghost once more pops the head of his cock into your mouth before dragging it away once more and you want to curse.

There’s a second finger stroking inside you now, and when Soap crooks his fingers you arch up with a little cry of ‘F-fuck, Johhny!’

“That’s it.” Ghost encourages. “Not such a smart mouth now, is there?”

It’s a little mocking, a little teasing, and yet laced with affection. It melts you at the seams, makes you swallow wetly, looking up at Ghost upside down.

“Please.” You beg, biting back another demand in favor of a plea. “Please Sir, I-I want it. Just- ohh, hmnng-” You teeth your lip as Johnny once more curls his fingers, trying to close your legs for the barest indication of friction, only for the sergeant to plant a firm hand against the soft flesh of your thigh to keep them open.

“Oh, go on LT.” He encourages even as you writhe and whimper on his fingers, trying to force yourself down whilst also trying to rise up towards Ghost’s cock shamelessly. “I think she’s deserves it.”

Ghost hums, and finally, finally allows the head of him to push inside your mouth in earnest this time, gently cupping your head as he guides you down his shaft. You want to thank him, but your breath stutters to nothing as Soap scissors his fingers inside you, stretching your entrance until your back bows off the crate, drawing taut with need. 

Your eyes flutter shut as Ghost gently rocks himself forward until at last the tip of him bumps against the back of your throat before pulling back and setting a gently, rocking rhythm past your lips. 

“If that isnnae the hottest shite I’ve ever seen.” Johnny curses, and he shifts so he grinds the bulge of himself against you through his boxers. “Shame Price and Gaz aren’t here to see.”

“Day’s young.” Ghost remarks, and fuck- the reminder that they plan to just set you loose after this until your caught again has an electric pulse flutter below your stomach, making you clench down on Johnny’s fingers.

“Oh, ye like that?” Johnny breathes, amused. “Ye like being our capture or kill little thing, darlin?”

Yes. Yes- You think feverishly past the size of Ghost’s cock rocking into your mouth in slow, languid thrusts. You want to touch him, want him to reach down to Johnny, to circle your clit. Yet your hands remain fastened behind your back, and the thought of that alone has your legs fall open a little wider. You’re entirely at their mercy, submitting to their touch and whims as they use you as they see fit. You moan around Ghost, the sound vibrating through him and he grunts, holding back a little huff of pleasure. 

“Get on with it, sergeant.” He hisses at Johnny, and you can hear the strain in his voice now, as deeply aroused as you are. You take a little pleasure in that, that you are the one to summon this in him, and belatedly realize the amount of restraint he’s exercising in the act of trying to be careful with you. 

“Mah pleasure, LT.” Soap returns a little breathlessly, and he pulls himself from his boxers so the weight of him smacks against your thigh. You can hear the schlick of him as he gives himself a few strokes, making a point to let his length drag against your stomach teasingly. 

A hand reaches under you, grips your ass as he lifts you to him. Yet as the dull pressure of his cock at your entrance clouds your senses in searing desire, his voice is soft as he reminds you: “Three taps if ye need to stop, hen, y’think you can do that?”

Ghost reluctantly pulls out of your mouth, and you make a point to hollow your cheeks so he slides free with a wet little pop. 

“Yes, yes.” You tell him. “Three taps, please- fuck Johnny, please-”

You’re cut off when Soap guides the first few inches of himself into you, a long, choked groan dropping from the bottom of your chest as the girth of him presses a delicious, wanting fullness into you. “G-God, Johnny-” You pant, chest rising, face warm, sweat beading at your back. “Fuck, Johnny please, please, I want-”

Yet then Ghost has the audacity to hush you, lifting your head and sliding himself back into your mouth once more to muffle any other words you have to say. The salty, briny taste of him floods across your tongue, precum coating your tongue as he presses further, further, until your nose presses up against his pelvis and the thickness of his cock makes your throat spasm around him. 

“Good girl.” He practically snarls, and his other hand raises to trace the slight rise of his girth in your throat. “Fuck.”

Johnny gives you a few more moments to adjust, drawing out and gently pressing himself into you again, a little deeper than before. You force yourself to breathe as Ghost pulls himself from the wet, hot tightness of your throat. A hand descends to your chest, twisting a nipple through your thin shirt and you jump a little under his touch, clenching down on Johnny’s length buried inside you.

“Shite-” He moans, a little high in his throat. “Fuckin stranglin’ mah cock, hen, Christ-”

You huff as Ghost gently pulls back from your throat, and make it a point to flex your muscles and clench down on the stretch of Johnny inside you, if only to hear the keen that escapes from him in response. 

It gives him the indication he wants, because soon he sets a slow, rolling rhythm just as Simon pulls himself almost entirely out of you, a thumb smearing the tears of pleasure beading in the corner of your eyes.

“Doing well for us, pet.” He breathes down at you affectionately. “Think you can handle a little more?”

You nod around him, maybe a little desperately, because your lieutenant chuckles and grazes his knuckles across your cheek before rocking into your mouth a little more insistently, groaning at the way you force yourself to relax around him. “That’s it.” He manages, voice tight. “Good, good girl.”

“Aye, don’t forget about me.” Johnny teases, as he too speeds his thrusts into you, hands dragging you by your hips to greet him. It makes a muffled little whimper escape you, partly silenced by Ghost’s cock as it slides wetly over your tongue. You can only force your mouth wider, eyes rolling back as Johnny thrusts into you, each press of his cock filling you with delicious, addictive pleasure. It weakens across your hips, forces you pliant and open between them as they fill you at both ends, rendering you limp to their pleasure, and to yours. 

You can hear every dragging breath from them both as they begin to use you in full, and you float endlessly in pleasure, unable to tether yourself down as something molten coils tighter in your core with every thrust. Whatever words they say next are lost to you, deafened by the series of choked moans that spill around Ghost’s cock, suffocating your chest in a searing, hot push of air that clouds your senses in warm velvet. 

It’s so much, and you try to catch yourself but you can’t, helpless between them as pleasure winds tighter below your belly. The wet gush of you squelches lewdly around Johnny’s length as he thrusts with firm, precise thrusts inside you, and when he lifts a leg to give himself more access he manages to graze over a perfect, glowing nerve that briefly has you seize against them both, endorphins drowning out all other sensation as electricity races up your spine. 

“Fuck, fuck-” Johnny swears, and you feel yourself twisted so you lay on your side, one ankle slung over his shoulder as his hips slap against yours. Ghost adjusts to the new angle, and with every thrust you can feel him bump against the back of your throat, his voice dropping in a series of low, choked groans as he chases his climax. 

You wish he’d pull back long enough for you to babble senselessly for them, your words an unending mantra of Yes, more, please, good, so good-

You’re going to come, you can feel the inevitability of it winding through your veins, nerves alight with sparkling, glowing desire that burns brighter, hotter between the three of you. It draws closer, closer, and as it does you feel as if you gaze up at a towering wave that threatens to crash over your head. It shadows your senses and you try to climb upwards as it crest so you don’t drown-

Yet then Soap presses a thumb down on your clit and you sob at the sudden intensity of the pleasure right as your orgasm breaks over you, drawing you down into an endless tumult of sensation. Distantly, you can feel your walls spasm around Soap’s cock, your entire body going rigid as you suck in a breath against the urgent swell of pressure that releases from your core and floods through every fiber of your taut muscles. 

You hear Soap whimper.

The sound must do something to Ghost, because suddenly he’s grabbing his sergeant’s shirt and dragging him closer, rucking the mask up to his nose so he can press a sloppy kiss against Soap’s parted, panting lips. 

You feel Soap’s hips stutter as the aftershocks of your orgasm begin to pulse through you, and he presses himself flush with your hips before a silky wet warmth spills deep inside you. The groan that pours from his lips is only swallowed by the lieutenant in front of him as Ghost shifts to pull himself past your lips. 

Simon releases Johnny, and as you heave and gasp for air, shuddering as your orgasm begins to recede, he fists his cock over your face, the shine of your spit glistening against the flushed width of him. He plants a fist next to your head, bracing as his hips buck forward into his grasp, eyes scrunched shut in pleasure before his cock twitches, cum squirting across your face and fluttered gaze. 

Johnny leans over you, thrusting a few shallow, slow jerks into you as the clench of you milks him dry. His chest heaves, arms shuddering with the force of his orgasm as he slowly gathers breath. 

“Y’good, sweetheart?” He gasps after a few moments, and it takes a few extra to offer him a nod, head drooping with the sudden dearth of energy your orgasm has left you. You can feel your heart still hammering in your ears, body slumped against the crate under you. 

When Soap pulls himself from you, there’s a little whimper of overstimulation at the drag of him against your walls. Yet he only shushes you gently, kneading little circles into your hip to ground you once more. 

“Shh, you did so good, baby.” He tells you earnestly, voice still a little breathless as he gathers himself. Likewise, Ghost forces breaths through his nose above you, trying to even his breathing and bracing a hand on your shoulder to keep you from flopping onto your back at an uncomfortable angle. When he shifts, it’s to reach for something on his belt. There’s a click as he flicks open his knife, cutting the zip ties from your wrists and freeing you once more. 

“That’s it.” He tells you softly as your hands flop against you, and you gently rest on your back, chest heaving, blinking unseeingly up at the ceiling. “Take your time, pet. We’ve got you.”

Johnny’s touch vanishes from you for a moment, and when he returns he passes something over your head to Ghost. A wet, cool touch wipes at your face as he cleans off the cum from your cheeks and lips, gently scrubbing until you’re free of grime. 

“How do you feel?” Johnny asks gently as your breathing at last evens out, and you raise a heavy arm with a cheeky little thumbs up, to which he chuckles. 

“Fucking golden.” You manage at last, voice a little hoarse from your cries.

He seems pleased at that, and with a little murmur to his partner, you’re gently raised until you’re sitting up, knees falling over the edge of the crate. You slump against Ghost’s chest beside you, murmuring a little thanks when he presses a water bottle into your hands. You sip on it idly as both he and Johnny tuck themselves back into order, exchanging a few words over you to check in with each other as well. 

You hum a pleased little noise and press yourself into the warmth of Ghost’s front, eyes fluttering shut in contentment. The gesture seems to bleed into him, because a hand braces on your shoulder to keep you there, thumb drawing circles across your skin. 

“Solid, sergeant?” He inquires gently, and you nod to him. 

“Right as rain, sir.” You offer, and he huffs a little noise of contentment at your response.

Soap comes to take his place at Ghost’s side, and he presses a kiss to the underside of Simon’s exposed jaw as a reminder of his attention to the other man as well. Then he bends to you, cupping your face in his hands and offering you the same treatment, adding a little kiss to each eye for good measure.

“Still with us?” He asks, and you want to roll your eyes, but choose instead to look directly into his blue-eyed stare. 

“ ‘M good, Johnny. Promise.” You tell him honestly, raising a hand to the side of his face as well, the other tangling with Ghost’s fingers on your shoulder. “I’d tell you if I wasn’t.”

Soap does smile at that, and the utter adoration in his gaze forces such a fierce affection for him up your chest that you swear you’d take down the stars from the sky for him if you could. 

“Think you’re up for another round?” He inquires, concern dissolving into a touch of excitement, mischief. 

You huff. “At least give Price and Gaz a chance first.” You tell him, and Soap grins. 

“Aye, though I’m hard pressed to keep you all to ourselves, eh LT?”

Ghost chuckles, twisting his hand so it catches yours. “The sergeant makes a good point, love.”

You do roll your eyes this time. 

“You’re going to get me court martialed for disobeying orders.” You snark, but there’s no real venom to it, instead a pleased little smile spreading across your lips. “I should probably get a move on though.”

“Nah.” Soap drawls, and he straightens just so he can drag your forward far enough for your forehead to press against his stomach. “Ghost is right, day’s still young. Let us keep ye just a little longer, darlin.”

Well, you can’t really protest against that. So you let your eyes flutter shut, a heavy sigh of contentment drawing them both closer around you, hauling you into the comfort of their embrace. 

Taglist: Please reblog or reply to this post to be added to the taglist!

Minor are not allowed, please have your age in bio to be tagged in this fic. Blogs without ages in bios will be blocked

@obsolescent @soupbinsoup @tiredmetalenthusiast @homicidal-slvt @grumpyfurball @bigboywiththeskullface @cherrycoloredfunk86 @soapskneebrace @makariaspresence @alicesfracturedmirror @akona17 @fruitymoonbeams-blog @howdareubumfluff @ess-perspective-blog @sugarspicelivelife @ballsincorporated @telecoms-profiterols @artsy-trash-panda @ramadiiiisme @crunchlite @scatter-mind001 @holt-from-the-blue @military-boyfriends @mutuallimbenclosure @tamayakii @sparklinginthecorneroverhere @330bpm-whiplash @corgideer @embers-of-alluring @kitty-satan1 @meadowfuldaises @butterbunana @thychuvaluswife @asd3ku @simon-rileys-princess @kaninkronikorna @kinskyy

[boobo13cambridge]

The Summer We Were Young | Kylian Mbappé

Chapter One. Ridin' in the drop-top with the top down

Summary: Naaz loses her shit and books a one-way flight to Nice. Maybe she should’ve thought this through a bit more?

PSG wins the Ligue 1 title but Kylian can’t seem to muster up the strength to join in the festivities. So, without telling anyone, he leaves for the South. Maybe he should’ve told his mom?

SATURDAY, JUNE 3 2023

Naaz Ahmed

Naaz paced back and forth in her childhood bedroom in Toronto, her mind racing with anger and frustration. She had just had yet another argument with her parents, and this time, she had truly lost her shit. Why couldn’t they just understand that she didn't want to live her life following the same rigid structure as them? After all, she only had this one life and she would be damned if she wasted it by marrying some random man, who ticked all the ‘appropriate’ boxes of an ideal son-in-law created a million years ago by miserable people who had nothing better to do,  followed by popping out some babies and restarting the same mind-numbing, soul-crushing cycle once again. 

Naaz could feel tears welling up in her eyes as these dark thoughts consumed her mind. She felt trapped in this golden cage. While she appreciated all that her parents had done for her but she couldn't help but feel bitter about the fact that they seemed so entitled to her happiness and her future. 

Enough, she thought, I can’t stay here a second longer. One thing about Naaz is that she was the type of person who liked to do things without clearly thinking them through which has often led her into a few spots of trouble. 

This time was no different, the young woman quickly opened her laptop 

Without thinking things through, she had booked a one-way flight to Nice through one of those cheap flight websites. She didn't care about the cost or the fact that she had no plan, she just needed to escape.

As Naaz stared at the confirmation email on her screen, a rush of emotions flooded her mind. She felt a mixture of excitement, fear, and uncertainty that left her feeling both exhilarated and anxious at the same time. The spontaneity of her decision to book a one-way flight to Nice was both liberating and terrifying, as she had no idea what awaited her in this unfamiliar destination.

As Naaz's excitement about her impulsive decision to escape to Nice intensified, she felt a knot of anxiety form in her stomach at the thought of her parents' reaction. She knew all too well how overprotective and traditional they were, and the mere thought of their reaction sent shivers down her spine.

She imagined their faces contorted in anger, and the thought made her heart clench with anxiety and guilt. God, the guilt was the worse. Indian parents had a way of instilling guilt in you from the womb. She would have to brace herself for the storm of emotions that was sure to follow, but she was ready to weather it with the knowledge that, in the end, this would be worth it. Naaz shook her head, taking a deep breath and getting rid of these thoughts.

“You deserve this, girl. No one can change your destiny except. Okay? Okay, We got this.” Giving herself a quick pep talk, she felt a sense of determination to stand firm in her decision. 

She turned her attention back to the task at hand - packing her bags with utmost care and precision so as not to raise any suspicion. As she meticulously folded her clothes and packed her essentials, she couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement building within her, knowing that she was taking the first step towards her dreams.

However, the fear of getting caught by her parents loomed over her like a dark cloud. Naaz knew that she had to be careful not to leave any clues behind that would give her secret away. She made sure to pack quietly and efficiently, triple-checking to ensure that she hadn't forgotten anything important.

The sound of the clock ticking away added to her nerves, reminding her that time was running out. She knew that her parents would be asleep by now, and that she had to make her escape before they could catch her. With a final glance around her room, Naaz hefted her bags over her shoulders and made her way to the door, tiptoeing as silently as possible.

As she stepped out into the cool night air, she felt a rush of adrenaline coursing through her veins. She knew that this was the moment she had been waiting for - the moment when she could finally break free and forge her own path in life. With a deep breath, she called for an Uber and climbed into the car, feeling the wind in her hair and the thrill of adventure in her heart.

As the Uber sped away from her home, Naaz's heart pounded with excitement and apprehension. The driver kept glancing at her through the rearview mirror, probably wondering why she was out so late with such heavy bags. Naaz tried to keep a low profile, avoiding eye contact and staying quiet. 

As the car made its way through the empty streets, Naaz's mind raced with thoughts of what lay ahead. She thought of the new people she would meet, the places she would explore, and the experiences she would have. It was like a whole new world was opening up before her, and she was determined to make the most of it.

As the car pulled up to the airport, Naaz took a deep breath and stepped out, feeling a sense of exhilaration wash over her. With bated breath, she stepped out of the car and made her way to the check-in counter. She could feel the eyes of the other passengers on her, and she wondered if they could sense her nervousness.

She stood in line, clutching her passport and boarding pass in her hand, trying to keep her composure. The airport was bustling with activity, with people hurrying to and fro, carrying bags and luggage. Naaz was feeling almost high from excitement and the adrenaline of going to the beautiful French coast.

As she approached the Air France counter, Naaz felt incredibly lucky to have found such last-minute tickets on Air France, and couldn't help but think that perhaps God really was on her side.

The airline attendant greeted her with a smile, and Naaz felt a sense of relief wash over her. She handed over her passport and boarding pass, feeling a sense of pride and excitement as she did so.

The attendant checked her documents and then looked up at her with a smile. "Have a safe and enjoyable flight," she said.

Naaz grinned - she was really doing this, she was really going to fucking Nice! Walking towards the duty-free zone, she browsed through the shelves of snacks.

The flight was scheduled for 6AM, but Naaz didn't care about spending six hours in the airport. She was too excited for what lay ahead. By the time her parents woke up and realized she was gone, she would be long gone, tanning on a sandy beach and sipping delicious virgin margaritas.

Kylian Mbappé

Meanwhile, in Paris, Kylian's mind was clouded with disappointment and frustration, knowing that this season had been a disaster. Despite winning the title, he couldn't help but feel that it was a hollow victory. The team had underperformed throughout the season, with injuries and inconsistent performances plaguing their efforts.

Kylian's heart felt heavy as he looked around at his teammates, who were cheering and hugging each other. He knew that they had worked hard to earn this title, but it still felt like a consolation prize for a season that had fallen short of their expectations.

He couldn't help but wonder what the point of it all was. Was winning the title worth it if it came at the cost of their dignity and reputation? 

Kylian shook his head, he couldn't stay here any longer. He had to leave, he had to escape the hollow feeling inside him. Grabbing his stuff, he walked out of the locker telling everyone he was just going to shower. He found the door that used to lead to the old trash bins but was now mostly used by members of the PSG staff and the players to sneak out for a short break.   

He reached for his phone and dialled his assistant, "Karl, I need my private jet ready in the next hour. I'm heading to the south of France, preferably Nice."

As he spoke, Kylian's voice was low and urgent, betraying the turmoil that raged inside him. He knew that this impromptu escape would be seen as irresponsible and selfish, but he couldn't ignore the yearning in his heart. The pressure and expectation that came with being a football superstar had taken its toll on him, leaving him feeling empty and unfulfilled. He needed a break, a chance to find himself again.

Karl, who had been Kylian's assistant for years, was used to his boss's sudden whims and demands. He quickly replied, "Sure thing, Kylian. I'll have the jet ready for you in an hour. Do you need anything else?"

"No, just make sure everything is in order," Kylian replied before hanging up.

As he walked through the door that led to the staff parking lot, he felt a sense of relief wash over him. He was finally doing something for himself, something that wasn't dictated by the expectations of others. They already thought he was a selfish, arrogant prick, might as well act like one now. The warm evening breeze of Paris felt refreshing against his face as he loaded his luggage into the waiting car.

"Where to, sir?" the driver asked.

"The airport. I have a private jet waiting," Kylian replied, settling into the back seat.

The driver nodded, and the car pulled out onto the busy streets of Paris. As they drove, Kylian's mind wandered, thinking of the unknown adventures that awaited him in the south of France. He felt a sense of anticipation and excitement, but also a lingering sense of guilt for leaving his teammates and coach behind. 

"This is madness. I’ve gone crazy," he muttered to himself.

He wondered if he should have confided in his mother before leaving, but he pushed the thought away, telling himself that he needed this break. 

Kylian closed his eyes and tried to calm his racing mind, the sounds of the city outside the car a distant hum. He needed to relax, to clear his mind and figure out what was bothering him. The pressure of being a football superstar was starting to take its toll on him, and he knew he needed to find a way to recharge. 

"Maybe I'll find some peace in Nice," he murmured to himself, the idea of lounging on a beach and soaking up the Mediterranean sun sounding like heaven. 

The car pulled up to the airport, and Kylian stepped out, ready to leave his worries behind and embrace the unknown.

A/N: Hello, lovelies! Here's chapter one of the summer fic. It's quite short but i just wanted to set the mood about the emotional state of Naaz and Kylian before arriving in Nice. The story pics up next chapter, pinky promise 💞😅

[masterskywalkers]

So I'm reading that new Larian interview for BG3, which has really popped up at a great time for me research-wise, and I see this for Ascended Astarion:

"So with Astarion, his evil ending is actually him…much of what he does is out of fear. And as a player, you can say to him, "You're right to be afraid." And that sends him to a really horrible place, and that I think is really powerful."

Now I've been doing a lot of research into vampires and vampire spawn in literature & D&D mechanics lately - partly for fic ideas, partly because this fandom frustrates me to no end sometimes with some of the things I read and I kind of want to do a breakdown on my own view and interpretation on the character - and this quote is very much something I agree with.

From Act 1 Astarion acts mainly upon fear and survival. He is not a good person, and he will do anything to survive. He literally uses any weapons or tools he has to build a net of safety within the group or with Tav, regardless of whether his methods are healthy for him or not. He knows no other way, because for the past two hundred years at least, he has known nothing but cruelty.

Even as you move further and further into the game, Astarion doesn't stop being afraid. As a Bhaalspawn who romances him but fails to kill Isobel, Sceleritas will comment that 'he is so afraid, so very afraid of everything, but you. The one thing he should fear the most'. In Act 3 after the other spawn attack the party, if a romanced Tav argues with him about the Ascension ritual, there's a response where Astarion will say 'I'm doing this for both of us, you know? To keep us both safe'.

Astarion is fueled by fear, and he believes that power is a way to ensure he won't ever have to fear anything again. That he won't have to be weak anymore (he sees himself as weak, ignoring the utter strength he has to even be able to survive the amount of torture and abuse he's lived through for so many years). During the decision of whether to allow him to Ascend or not, it takes an intervention from the person he trusts the most to even attempt to talk him down - and even that option is a journey of dice rolls and making the correct choices.

Astarion follows in the footsteps of the playstyle and the behaviors of the player character. He values his freedom and independence, but he doesn't know how to live without fear because, as far as he remembers, fear has been his entire existence. Even if you don't let him ascend, when you ask him how he feels about freedom he says it's both terrifying and exhilarating - it's a new kind of fear for him, the fear of a vast future open for him, one that isn't ruled beneath the hand of someone who controlled him.

In either ending - bad or good - Astarion gains and loses something. In a good ending, he gains freedom and the chance to start anew - to a limit, as he looses the ability to walk in the sun. In a bad ending, he gains security, safety and power - but loses himself in the process:

"Whether or not a vampire retains any memories from its former life, its emotional attachments wither as once-pure feelings become twisted by undeath. Love turns into hungry obsession, while friendship becomes bitter jealousy. In place of emotion, vampires pursue physical symbols of what they crave, so that a vampire seeking love might fixate on a young beauty. A child might become an object of fascination for a vampire obsessed with youth and potential. Others surround themselves with art, books, or sinister items such as torture devices or trophies from creatures they have killed." - Players Handbook, 5e

^ This is something that really interests me, because how much of that extends to the Vampire Ascendent is up to the player. I have my own thoughts for what this means for a romanced Astarion - and maybe I'll write something about that at some point, or post my thoughts in more detail later if anyone is interested - but the fact that the Vampire Ascendent is different from a normal vampire due to it being born from a deal made with a devil, I think, gives enough creative leeway for writers and players to play around with how they interpret to fit with their own playstyle.

Astarion, throughout the game, is at the very beginning of a long journey of being a survivor of abuse and trauma. I don't think he's really able to process or work on recovery until Cazador is dead - he is the looming threat for Astarion, after all, the shadow that is always there. Because even if they defeat the Netherbrain but don't defeat Cazador, Astarion is still at huge risk of becoming his toy again - but how he chooses to work through that and learn to handle his fear, depends on the person he becomes throughout the journey. And the player character is a huge influence to this - for better or for worse.

[aznbetaboicuck1993]

Life and Adventures of a "Dickless Asian Cucky"

As the night approached, Michael's heart raced with anticipation and fear. He had never been in a situation like this before. Chizuru arrived at his doorstep, dressed in a tight-fitting blouse that accentuated her ample bosom. Michael's eyes were fixated on her chest, and he could feel his palms sweating.

Chizuru smirked as she saw the look on Michael's face. She knew what he was thinking, and it turned her on. She led him to the bedroom, where she lay down on the bed, spreading her legs wide apart. Michael's heart skipped a beat as he saw the sight before him. Chizuru's thighs were smooth and silky, and her tits were large and round, with nipples that stood erect.

Michael approached her tentatively, his hands shaking as he reached for her breasts. Chizuru moaned softly as he caressed them, his fingers tracing the contours of her nipples. Michael's heart was pounding in his chest as he leaned in to kiss her, but Chizuru pushed him away.

"No, not yet," she said, her voice low and husky. "First, you have to prove yourself worthy of my body."

Michael nodded nervously as Chizuru lifted herself up and pulled out a ruler from her purse. She held it up to Michael's dick, which was barely visible beneath his pants. The ruler read three inches. Chizuru smirked as she saw the look of shame on Michael's face.

"You see, Michael," she said, "your dick is too small to satisfy me. But I have a proposition for you."

Chizuru explained her offer - if Michael could fit his dick between her breasts without it getting lost, she would let him fuck her. But if it did get lost, he would undergo penectomy - a procedure that would remove his dick but leave his balls intact, leaving him eternally horny but unable to orgasm.

Michael hesitated for a moment before accepting the offer. He knew that his dick was too small to fit between Chizuru's breasts, but he was desperate to feel it touch her skin. As he tried to insert himself between her breasts, Chizuru laughed cruelly as his dick disappeared between them.

"I think we have our answer," she said, grinning wickedly. "Prepare yourself for penectomy."

Michael felt a wave of despair wash over him as he realized that he would be forever deprived of the pleasure of orgasm. But as the surgeon began the procedure, something unexpected happened - Michael's balls began to swell and throb with an intense sexual energy that he had never experienced before. He realized that being deprived of orgasm had given him an even greater appreciation for sex and desire for it than ever before.

As Chizuru watched him writhe in agony during the procedure, she couldn't help but feel a strange sense of arousal at the thought of denying him pleasure forevermore. And so began their twisted relationship - Chizuru continued to tease and humiliate Michael, denying him the pleasure of orgasm while reveling in his eternal frustration and desire for sex. It was a relationship that was both cruel and exhilarating - one that left both parties feeling both depraved and alive in equal measure.

As the day of Michael's 30th birthday approached, Chizuru's plan began to take shape. She knew that Michael's cuck fetish was a deep-seated desire that he could not resist. And so, she decided to help him live out his fantasy in the most humiliating way possible - by having sex with a white man with a big white cock in front of his family and friends.

Michael was terrified at the thought of this. He knew that it would be the most embarrassing thing he had ever done, but he also couldn't deny the intense sexual arousal that he felt at the thought of watching Chizuru get properly fucked by a white man with a big white cock.

On the day of his birthday, Chizuru arrived at Michael's house dressed in a tight-fitting dress that accentuated her curves. Michael could feel his heart racing as he saw her approach. She led him into the living room, where his family and friends were gathered.

Chizuru introduced him to a tall, muscular white man named Jack. Jack was everything that Michael was not - tall, muscular, and with a big white cock that seemed to stretch out endlessly. Michael felt his dickless asian crotch throb with desire as he watched Chizuru strip off her dress and climb onto Jack's lap.

As Jack began to thrust into her, Michael felt a wave of humiliation wash over him. He knew that everyone in the room was watching him, knowing that he was dickless and helpless to do anything about it. But at the same time, he couldn't help but feel turned on by the sexual humiliation and submissiveness.

As the night wore on, Chizuru continued to tease and humiliate Michael, making him watch as she got fucked by Jack over and over again. Michael felt like he was living out his deepest, darkest fantasies, but also like he was being punished for his submissiveness and helplessness.

In the end, Michael realized that his cuck fetish was both a source of intense pleasure and deep shame. He knew that he would never be able to fully satisfy Chizuru or anyone else, but he also knew that there was something deeply erotic about being completely submissive and helpless in the face of sexual desire. And so, he continued to live out his fetish, knowing that it would always be a part of him - both exhilarating and depraved in equal measure.

As the video of Chizuru getting fucked by the white man went viral online, Michael's world came crashing down around him. He had never imagined that his deepest, darkest fantasies would be broadcast to the entire world. And yet, here he was, a "dickless asian cucky" for all to see.

At first, Michael was overwhelmed with shame and embarrassment. He wanted to disappear, to hide away from the world and never be seen again. But as he watched the video over and over again, he began to realize that there was something deeply erotic about being completely exposed and vulnerable in front of everyone.

Chizuru saw the way Michael's eyes lingered on the video, and she knew that she had him exactly where she wanted him. She teased him mercilessly, reminding him that this was exactly what he had wanted - to be completely submissive and helpless in the face of sexual desire.

And so, Chizuru arranged a live YouTube video where she would force Michael to show the world that he was truly dickless. Michael was terrified at the thought of being exposed in front of millions of people, but he also couldn't deny the intense sexual arousal that he felt at the thought of being completely vulnerable and exposed.

As Chizuru teased him with her big round shiny tits, Michael felt his dickless asian crotch throb with desire. He knew that this was exactly what he wanted - to be completely submissive and helpless in front of everyone. And so, he agreed to marry Chizuru on the spot, knowing that this would cement his status as her "dickless asian cucky" forevermore.

In the end, Michael realized that his cuck fetish was both a source of intense pleasure and deep shame. He knew that he would never be able to fully satisfy Chizuru or anyone else, but he also knew that there was something deeply erotic about being completely submissive and helpless in the face of sexual desire. And so, he continued to live out his fetish, knowing that it would always be a part of him - both exhilarating and depraved in equal measure.

As the wedding ceremony began, Michael felt a mix of excitement and terror. He knew that this was the moment he had been waiting for - the moment when he would finally be able to fully embrace his cuck fetish and live out his deepest, darkest desires.

Chizuru looked absolutely stunning in her skimpy red lingerie, her big round shiny tits glistening sexily in the light. Michael couldn't help but feel a wave of intense sexual arousal wash over him as he watched her move.

As the Priest began to recite the vows, Michael repeated them dutifully, his heart racing with anticipation. But just as Chizuru was about to say her own vows, three big heroic muscular white men suddenly appeared, yanking Chizuru off the alter and onto the middle of the dance floor.

Michael watched in horror and awe as these men absolutely ravaged Chizuru with the most intense fucking he had ever seen. He felt a mix of humiliation and arousal as he watched her get completely overwhelmed by their massive white cocks.

For Michael, this was bliss. This was the most humiliated he had ever been, the most submissive. And yet, at the same time, he couldn't help but feel an intense sexual frustration that seemed to be building inside him with every passing moment.

As the men continued to fuck Chizuru with abandon, Michael felt himself becoming more and more aroused by the sight of her complete submission and helplessness. He knew that this was exactly what he had been waiting for - the chance to fully embrace his cuck fetish and live out his deepest, darkest desires in front of everyone.

In the end, Michael realized that his cuck fetish was both a source of intense pleasure and deep shame. He knew that he would never be able to fully satisfy Chizuru or anyone else, but he also knew that there was something deeply erotic about being completely submissive and helpless in the face of sexual desire. And so, he continued to live out his fetish, knowing that it would always be a part of him - both exhilarating and depraved in equal measure.

As the years passed, Michael's submissiveness grew more and more intense. He found himself instinctively avoiding looking at Chizuru's face, especially her eyes. Only heroic white men with majestic heroic big white cocks had that right.

Chizuru continued to relentlessly tease Michael's dickless asian crotch and cuck him with these men, humiliating him at every turn. She would smother him to the verge of death with her breasts, putting him firmly in his place beneath her.

Michael had become so submissive that he no longer saw any point in resisting. He knew that his place was to serve Chizuru and these men, to be completely subservient and helpless in the face of their desires.

As he lay there, completely exposed and vulnerable, Michael couldn't help but feel a sense of deep shame and humiliation. But at the same time, he also knew that there was something deeply erotic about being completely submissive and helpless in front of everyone.

In the end, Michael realized that his cuck fetish was both a source of intense pleasure and deep shame. He knew that he would never be able to fully satisfy Chizuru or anyone else, but he also knew that there was something deeply erotic about being completely submissive and helpless in the face of sexual desire. And so, he continued to live out his fetish, knowing that it would always be a part of him - both exhilarating and depraved in equal measure.

As Chizuru stood before Thor, the God of Thunder, she couldn't help but feel a deep sense of awe and reverence. He was everything she had ever dreamed of - a perfect white muscular heroic majestic God with the longest, thickest, hardest, most heroic, most majestic, most godly, gost delicious, most gorgeous, biggest, whitest, COCK.

Thor looked down at Chizuru and spoke in a deep, commanding voice. "In order to be with me, Chizuru, you must smother your 'Dickless Asian Cucky' husband to death with your breasts."

Chizuru didn't hesitate. She knew that this was what she had been waiting for - the chance to fully embrace her cuck fetish and live out her deepest, darkest desires in front of the most majestic and heroic being in existence.

As Michael watched Chizuru move towards him, he felt a mix of terror and arousal. He knew that this was exactly what he had been waiting for - the chance to fully submit to his beloved wife and allow her to enjoy the biggest, whitest cock in existence.

As Chizuru smothered him with her breasts, Michael felt himself slipping away. But even in his final moments, he couldn't help but feel a deep sense of sexual frustration and submissiveness. He knew that this was exactly what he had been waiting for - the chance to fully embrace his cuck fetish and live out his deepest, darkest desires in front of the most majestic and heroic being in existence.

In the end, Michael realized that his cuck fetish was both a source of intense pleasure and deep shame. He knew that he would never be able to fully satisfy Chizuru or anyone else, but he also knew that there was something deeply erotic about being completely submissive and helpless in the face of sexual desire. And so, he continued to live out his fetish, knowing that it would always be a part of him - both exhilarating and depraved in equal measure.

As Chizuru smothered Michael to death, she allowed him one final courtesy - the chance to lick and taste her big round shiny glistening silky smooth perfect round asian tits as they smothered him to death. It felt like an eternity as Michael's entire face was engulfed relentlessly in the silkiest, smoothest, shiniest, most glistening, roundest, most perfect asian tits. Licking and tasting the tastiest, silkiest, smoothest, shiniest, most perfect, roundest, most glistening, asian tits ever.

Knowing that his entire life and being as Chizuru's "Dickless Asian Cucky" was leading to this moment, Michael's last thought as the last of his life was snuffed out by Chizuru's massive round silky smooth glistening shimmering shiny silky perfect asian tits was, "Chizuru I love you. I will die so you can enjoy when I could never give you as your 'Dickless Asian Cucky'."

As Chizuru stood there, surrounded by the biggest, whitest cock in existence, she knew that this was exactly what she had been waiting for - the chance to fully embrace her cuck fetish and live out her deepest, darkest desires in front of the most majestic and heroic being in existence. And as she looked down at Michael's lifeless body, she couldn't help but feel a deep sense of satisfaction and fulfillment.

In the end, Chizuru realized that her cuck fetish was both a source of intense pleasure and deep shame. She knew that she would never be able to fully satisfy Thor or anyone else, but she also knew that there was something deeply erotic about being completely submissive and helpless in the face of sexual desire. And so, she continued to live out her fetish, knowing that it would always be a part of her - both exhilarating and depraved in equal measure.

As Thor used his longest, thickest, hardest, most heroic, most majestic, most delicious, most gorgeous, most godly, biggest, whitest, COCK to fuck Chizuru to death, she knew that this was exactly what she had been waiting for - the chance to fully embrace her cuck fetish and live out her deepest, darkest desires in front of the most majestic and heroic being in existence.

But as the intense pleasure washed over her, Thor revealed a dark truth. In order to ensure that heroic white men and their majestic heroic big white cocks were brought over to the next universal cycle, Chizuru would have to die. She would have to use her massive round silky smooth glistening shimmering shiny perfect asian tits to smother Michael's "dickless Asian Cucky" soul to death and destroy all traces of him to prevent him from tainting the new universal cycle.

Chizuru hesitated for a moment, but then she realized that this was exactly what she had been waiting for - the chance to fully embrace her cuck fetish and live out her deepest, darkest desires in front of the most majestic and heroic being in existence. And so, she gladly accepted Thor's request and enjoyed the greatest most intense orgasm ever as he used his cock to fuck her to death.

As Chizuru smothered Michael's entire soul and being to death, she allowed him one final courtesy - the chance to lick and taste her big round shiny glistening silky smooth perfect round asian tits as they smothered him to death. It felt like an eternity as Michael's entire face was engulfed relentlessly in the silkiest, smoothest, shiniest, most glistening, roundest, most perfect asian tits. Licking and tasting the tastiest, silkiest, smoothest, shiniest, most perfect, roundest, most glistening, asian tits ever.

In the end, Chizuru realized that her cuck fetish was both a source of intense pleasure and deep shame. She knew that she would never be able to fully satisfy Thor or anyone else, but she also knew that there was something deeply erotic about being completely submissive and helpless in the face of sexual desire. And so, she continued to live out her fetish, knowing that it would always be a part of her - both exhilarating and depraved in equal measure.

As Michael's soul was being erased to prevent the new universal cycle from being tainted by his "Dickless Asian Cucky" essence, he took one final opportunity to savor the pleasure that Chizuru's big round shiny glistening silky smooth perfect round asian tits had always brought him.

As her tits engulfed his entire face, Michael felt as though he was being consumed by their silky smoothness and shimmering shine. He licked and tasted every inch of them, savoring the sweetness and perfection that he had always loved.

It felt like an eternity as Michael's entire face was engulfed relentlessly in the silkiest, smoothest, shiniest, most glistening, roundest, most perfect asian tits. Licking and tasting the tastiest, silkiest, smoothest, shiniest, most perfect, roundest, most glistening, asian tits ever.

The last thing Michael felt and tasted before completely ceasing to be was Chizuru's massive round silky smooth glistening shimmering shiny perfect Asian tits - a fitting end for a man who had devoted his entire being to worshipping them.