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theetherealbloom · 14 days

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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.

#joel miller x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fandom #jettsflora&faunachallenge #writing challenge #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfic #joel miller tlou #joel miller fic #joel miller x you #joel miller #ceo!joel #boss!joel #assistant!reader

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sprout-fics · 11 months

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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 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.

“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.

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leahluvr · 8 months

Text

comfy - leah williamson x reader

genre: fluff, petty argument

warnings: none

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being only a newer member of arsenals club, you and leah hadn’t taken the opportunity to get close with each other. though every attempt you made to interact with the older girl was often unsuccessful.

so, when the two of you got paired to be roomies in the hotel for a champions league match, your heart dropped.

the thought of sleeping in the same room as leah terrified you, though reassured by the assumption that you’d be sleeping in seperate, single beds.

as you and the rest of the crew stepped off the team bus and entered the hotel, there was excitement and exhaustion mixed in equal parts. the short transitions between the super and champion league matches were draining on the body and all anyone needed after a flight was a good rest. the anticipation of the tournaments kickoff was exhilarating, but a long day of travel had taken its toll.

it was a quiet walk from checking in, catching the elevator and bidding ‘goodnights’ to your other team mates. your hands trembled with anxiety, the silence around leah creating an almost panic-inducing feeling. you were worried you’d make a fool of yourself infront of the england captain.

when you arrived at your room, you both exchanged glances, realising that the room clearly was set up for a couple, not two teammates. the room had only a couch and a queen-sized bed.

leah was quick to offer a solution.

“you can take the bed, i’ll be fine on the couch,” she rushed, “it’s not big deal. you probably want to be comfortable.”

“leah, no i’ll take the couch, you need it.”

“absolutely not. your comfort comes first.”

you took surprise in her stern tone, not daring to talk back. you took her word, as much as you hated and took your respective place on the bed.

as time passed, an awkward silence hung in the air, you could tell leah was struggling to find comfort on the couch, shifting and fidgeting as she fiddled with her phone.

leah continued to shuffle in her spot making quiet grumbling noises, clearly frustrated by the discomfort of the sofa.

“i’m heading in the shower.” leah stated, walking towards the bathroom.

“oh, okay well i might go to bed now, goodnight,” you say timidly.

“night,” she gently smiles.

determined to prioritise her comfort, you made a decision. while leah showered, you moved from the bed down the couch where leah has been laying. your intention was to make sure she could sleep soundly before match day -1.

when leah returned to the room, she noticed you were no longer in the bed. you laid on the couch eyes closed, attempting to fall asleep. her brows furrowed with concern as she walked around, seeing your body curled up on the couch.

“what are you doing?” she asked, quite bluntly.

you shifted uncomfortably, feeling guilty.

"i noticed you were having trouble on the couch, i didn’t want you to be uncomfortable," you confessed, "so, i thought i'd take the couch instead to make sure you can sleep well."

"you don’t have to do that," she said, her voice gentle as her expression softened.

"leah," you insisted, "you deserve the queen bed. it's the least i can do."

"nah sweet, can't let you sleep on that couch. you're my teammate, and i want you to be well-rested for training. don’t worry about me, look after your young body while you can."

“leah, let’s be real, i’m going to be benched for the whole game, meaning i won’t really be necessary during training tomorrow.” you say quietly, voice tinging with uncertainty, “you’re like the most important player on the team.”

“yn, you’re part of the team, your presence matters,” she reassures, “whether you’re on the pitch or not, you’re important, the girls love you.”

“how can anyone like me? i don’t really have anyone i can talk to.”

“you’re new darling, you’ll get to know everyone soon enough,” she shook her head, “and you have me. you can talk to me, yn.”

she looks you with genuine eyes and gives out a lending hand to help you up from the couch. you feel flustered the way her warm skin gently comes into contact with yours. the back and forth of each of you trying to outdo the other in selflessness had ended. rather exhaustion and the realisation that you both just wanted to be comfortable, overshadowed the argument.

“let’s just sleep in the queen together, no harm done.”

you get comfortable in bed but keep a safe distance away from leah, being careful not to make her feel uncomfortable.

a long night passes as morning arrives. when your eyes crack open you notice you feel quite hot. leah is glued to you her head buried in your chest, legs intertwined with yours. her sun kissed blonde hair is splays across your arm and the bed.

in shock you flinch away, moving away in precision, trying not to wake the older girl up. but due to the feeling of movement, leah makes a quiet mumbling sound hugging you closer and nestling her face deeper into your neck.

you didn’t know how you were going to get out of this one.

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an: this is so BORING AHAHAHHA

#leah williamson x reader #leah williamson imagine #arsenal wfc #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso fanfics #leah williamson

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hotpinkboots · 6 months

Note

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

#pink's fanfic #labyrinth #labyrinth 1986 #jareth the goblin king #jareth x reader #jareth the goblin king x reader #movies #x reader #reader insert #reader insert fanfiction #jareth

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merakiui · 1 year

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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

#meraki thirsts #n/sfw #yandere scaramouche #head in my hands i need all three versions of him #i could take them. i *will* take all of them. anything for my most beloved

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ftm-radio · 26 days

Text

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! 👋🏻📻💖💙✨️

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mononijikayu · 10 days

Text

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.

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."

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itsnotzka · 1 month

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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?

#it just helps me survive #all of my silly things do #original story #original work #original fiction #original writing #women writers #female writers #my writing #original characters #creative writing #writers on tumblr #writing #writerscommunity #the higher we soar #slow burn #self discovery

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boobo13cambridge · 1 year

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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 💞😅

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sprout-fics · 11 months

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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.

So you decide to take things into your own hands.

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

Shit.

“Ohh songbird…”

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

“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.

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.”

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.

“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.

“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.

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.

“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.”

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

“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.

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-”

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.

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-

You hear Soap whimper.

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.

“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.

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masterskywalkers · 5 months

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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.

#astarion #astarion ancunin #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #this is by no means a 'ascended or spawn version is better than' discussion #i respect both options and know people have their preferences #but astarion's actions are ruled by fear? hell yes 100% i agree #he is a ball of fear and pain and resentment. and why wouldn't he be?

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aznbetaboicuck1993 · 5 months

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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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

#cuckcold #asian cuck #penectomy #race play #wmaf #bwc lover #bwc addicted #fiction #WMAF Cuck #Asian Beta Boi Cuck #Dickless Asian Cucky #cuck #cuckhubby #cucklife

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