#and i'm tired enough that i feel like i can do better than anything i hear right now

[merulanoir]

(my arm is in a sling, but i have too many story ideas rattling around in my head so i'm typing this one out here before it escapes)

The thing is: Ghost doesn't help Soap in Las Almas.

He makes his way out of the city, and when he receives Soap's comms, he agrees to wait for one hour before being on his way. Against all odds, Soap makes the RV with something like three and a half minutes to spare, nearly delirious with pain but still alive.

And the thing is: Ghost can tell Soap is hurt by the fact that Ghost didn't wait for him. They both know it was the tactically sensible decision: one of them had to live to get word out to Price, and Ghost made a call. Ghost knows why Soap isn't his usual chatty, confident self on the drive. It could be the exhaustion and the gunshot wound and the blood loss, but Ghost has seen Soap with multiple broken bones and still cracking (hah) jokes.

Ghost knows Soap thinks himself expendable. They all are, as soldiers, ultimately, some more than others. Soap thinks that Ghost thinks so; he did, in a way, and as they drive to the safe house, Ghost admits to himself that he feels a twinge of guilt. He thinks his call was the right one, but he likes Soap.

(He hasn't let himself examine the feeling yet, that comes later: to be exact, it comes about a day later, when he sees Hassan dragging Soap towards the broken window.)

Ghost has worked solo for several years, and even after the joined the Task Force, he still spent a decent chunk either on his own and/or dark. Instead of diving right back, he pulls Price aside in Chicago and makes an off-hand comment about Soap, something that would sound casual to anyone who didn't know him and his shtick.

Price does understand what he's not-requesting: I wanna work with Soap.

Ghost spends almost a full year with Soap attached to his hip and trying to...not make amends, but to show that he doesn't consider Soap expendable. Anything but, because by October 2023, Soap has started calling him Simon and they're on the verge of something neither of them is brave enough to put a name to. It bleeds through quiet, tired moments, when Ghost consciously lets himself relax obviously enough that Soap can't not notice, and it's heavy in the air during downtime spent at the pub, Ghost's mask hiked over his nose to sip his drink, pretending he doesn't notice how Soap steals glances at him.

Then: Makarov escapes.

They race to Urzikstan, to the Mediterranean, to Siberia, Kastovia, and finally to London, and Ghost is unable to shake the creeping feeling that he's out of time. That he made a mistake, somewhere, and didn't notice, and now it's too late to fix anything.

He and Gaz are too late.

For the first time during his military career, Simon Riley doesn't fight it when Price tells him to take time off.

Here's the thing: Ghost started to regret leaving Soap behind when he realised Soap wouldn't have made the same call in his shoes. Soap would have stayed and helped Ghost. Not because it was the tactical or clever option, but because it was the right thing to do. Probably also because Soap had decided they were friends.

Thing is: Ghost was a coward. He feels like he was robbed; after a year of working together, he and Soap were almost there, Ghost had been dropping hints for months, wishing that Soap would be bold enough to finally assume the interest was mutual and...

He doesn't let himself think about it, but it returns to him when he manages to trick his body into exhausted sleep. He had a year to get his shit together and apologise to Soap, to tell him he was essential instead of replaceable, to confess he didn't want to work alone anymore because he had finally found something better. That he didn't want to live alone anymore because...

He's expected back at the garrison the next day. He goes to bed not expecting to catch any rest like most nights. He has a fleeting sense of surprise when his body grows heavy and consciousness slips away.

He opens his eyes to catch raindrops through his mask. The air is heavy with thunder he can hear rolling closer. Ghost blinks, disoriented, until there's a rattle on gunfire in the distance. Instinct makes him crouch behind a car, melt into the shadows.

When he looks up, he sees the lit tower of the church. For a moment, it blurs into nonsensical mess of gold and black, until...

"This is Bravo 7-1 in the blind, how copy?"

Soap has been dead for fifteen days, and now he's not: his voice is back where it belongs, in Ghost's ears. Maybe Ghost has finally snapped and gone insane. He's back in Las Almas, Soap is alive, those are the immediate facts.

"Ghost, this is 7-1, do you copy?"

Last time, Ghost didn't respond until he got away from the city. He just ignored Soap until he was reasonably certain he got away.

This time, Ghost reaches a shaking hand to the headset.

"Johnny?"

He doesn't know if things are predetermined. Maybe he'll only make it worse by responding and abandoning his initial plan.

All he can think about is that this time, he won't look Johnny in the eye and know he had to survive alone.

[prettyboykatsuki]

✮ tags ; established relationship, raw sex, reader being shameless, first time with each other, p in v, multiple orgasms, barou letting loose a little, negotiating during sex lmao 18+

✮ wc ; 1.9k (??)

✮ synopsis ; barou wants to take sex slowly. you think you'll die if he doesn't fuck you.

It's not easy to make Barou bend. To anything, to anyone, for any reason.

You know though. You're the only person that ever gets close enough to see it happen. To observe his ticks as he practices unimaginable restraint. Most days he makes it look effortless—so seamless that it makes your heart flutter just to watch him go through the motions of his life.

Other than on the field, he's the picture of humility and self-control. You like Barou's sense of discipline more than nearly anything else about him. He makes it look natural, scoffs a little when you show your appreciation for what he considers the bare minimum.

A string of bad relationships prior make you remember when you and Barou were just getting to know each other. How he reached across the center console of his sports car, thumb brushing against your knuckle as he placed a chaste kiss on the back of your hand.

"I'm treating you how those jackasses should've treated you. Don't thank me for that," He'd told you, not unkindly. And then, a little more quietly. "I'll treat you even better. Until then, I won't accept any thanks."

Barou made good on his promise to you those many months ago. Kind, gentlemanly, considerate - never holding it over your head to be that way. Never guilting you for how much time you need or any mistakes you might make.

You work hard for his sake, too. To make him comfortable and bring him reprieve - the one person he doesn't need to be so put together around. At least not all the time. You're his partner, his equal. You want to be on the same page.

Your relationship with Barou is serious—so serious it surprises you sometimes to remember. Despite how fast you fall in love, how deeply you find yourself intertwined in each others lives - it's still new enough that you're finding out things about each other all the time.

Just long enough to have talked at length about having sex without doing it - as Barou vehemently insists that your pleasure comes first, that there's no rush, that he wants to treat you well. He makes good on this promise too, just like all the other ones.

But Barou being a perfect man doesn't negate him from being a man entirely.

You're the only person Barou has ever loved enough to see him bend, get him close to breaking.

The only thing that will ever get him to do it is you.

You've been dating a little over a year, and it's taken you all that time to do anything even remotely sexual. Aside from some heated kissing that you practically had to beg for and some grinding that led to you stumbling up the stairs of your apartment complex on wobbly knees

Yes - it's the first time Barou has ever touched you like this, directly. The first time you've gotten so close to what you've been seeking - which is for him to fuck you. It won't come easy, but it's the most you've ever gotten him to do.

You've been going back and forth. Kissing and grinding, Barou stretching and fucking on his fingers as if replacement. Adamant on wanting to wait more, so it doesn't feel rushed. But you're tired of waiting, and he is too.

It's the first time you've ever seen him so close to bending—to breaking. To anything, to anyone, for any reason.

You can see it on his face. Jaw grit slightly, veins in neck and forehead, in his arms—strained from tension, long black hair loose and framing handsome face. It's the first time you've ever seen him not look completely put together.

"Fuck," His voice is raspy against your shoulder. Your whole body shivers hearing. "Fuck, baby,"

Arms around his neck, you hold onto him desperately - nails clawing into the muscles of his back. He's wide enough that he's almost hard to hold. Broad shoulders and thick biceps, you grip onto him tighter.

You've been at this for hours. It feels that way, at least. Your body is so helplessly keyed up, you can't imagine it's been any less. Each and every nerve ending live a livewire - even the briefest touches deepening the endless abyss of arousal that begs to be relieved.

Barou's fingers are deft. His hand cupping your pussy, rubbing gently - giving you a moment to breathe after wringing another orgasm out of you with his fingers moments prior. You lost count after four.

Each pass makes you twitch, push against his hand for desperate friction that makes him let out a breathless groan.

"Want it so bad, huh," His voice isn't unkind. Observational with it. "Shit,"

"Shoei, more. Please,"

"What do you want, huh?" His mouth nips at your jaw. It's not mean but it's forceful, filled with the pent-up desire that makes your whole body lurch. You can feel it in his every movement. How his incisors trace your throat, your pulse—lingering like he's picturing the taste of it. His voice is low. "I already told you anything but that,"

You tug his hand away with a shamelessness you would not normally show, dropping your hips. Bare, soaked cunt sliding over the thick material of his sweats - you flutter your lashes sweetly. Being as enticing as you possible can.

It's there again. A tick in his jaw, a pulse in his vein, hunger in his eyes. You wish you could see what's running through his head. You love your boyfriend. Your nice, loving boyfriend.

You hope and pray he's picturing fucking you like an animal. That at least in his deepest and darkest fantasies he's doing whatever he wants. It's because you know he'd never let himself that you're goading him this much. It's because you're watching him strain against his self-imposed leash so hard that you're acting the way you are now.

"Put your dick in me,"

He hisses. Makes a noise like he's been stabbed. "Don't say shit like that. I said—"

"I'm so wet and my pussy feels empty so please," Another pass of your hips. Harder, over the massive weight of his cock throbbing underneath you. "Bet you could go in all at once right now."

"Who the taught you talk like that, huh?" His voice is a growl. Warmer. You give him a small pout. "Listen to me for once,"

"I'm just telling you what I want. You said I could have whatever I wanted,"

"You only like makin' it easy on me when it's shit like this," Barou voices, not unkindly. He hisses, eyes rolling back a little on the verge of his restraint. "Feel you through my boxers, the hell."

"Fuck me." You whine, petulant and desperate. You wet your eyes with deliberate derision. "Don't you want to? Don't you want me?"

Warmer. Barou's hands grip your hips firm. "Don't ask a question you know the answer to,"

"How am I supposed to know if you won't give it me?"

His voice is sharp. Not mean but strict, rough in that way he gets when he's being firm about something. It makes your pussy throb hearing him speak. Clothed cock ruts once against you - it's agonizing. Hot and fast, perfectly punctuated to slide against your sticky clit. "That not a good enough answer?"

"Shoei,"

Warmer. He groans again before quickly pulling his pants down past his thighs, cock springing free. You let out a gasp as it comes away from the confines, hot and thick - dark hairs around the base with veins running along every said. Your thighs feel weak looking down between your bodies. Sitting down, you watch Barou's eyes go wide as it measures against your body. His eyes darken.

"Please put your dick in me," You moan unabashed. "Want it so bad. Want you so bad, please."

He's torturing himself with it. You can see how he's going back and forth. You're so close to getting what you want. In a last ditch attempt to keep him from changing his mind, your cup Barou's face in your hands and look.

He's startled, just slightly - as you do this. Your lower lip is wobbly when you speak. "I love you," Punctuated by a kiss. Your arms wrap around his shoulders, nose against his neck. Breathing him in as you rock your hips. You feel it. In the way he holds you so tight, tighter than he would more clear-headed. Fingers digging into the softness of your hips, groaning against your shoulder.

"Want you to feel good with me. Makes me happy when you feel good because of me."

Hot. Barou makes a sound unintelligible and you know you've got him - have him clasped tight in your hand as the tip of his cock slides through sticky folds in one go.

You moan aloud when Barou finally pushes in. How he groans sharply as he does, swearing and saying your name. Your whole body is hot with it. Barou's cock is twitching so hard inside of you, the tip drooling with thick pre-cum that mixes with your slick. Swollen head bullying it's way inside of you as Barou slides you down him slow.

It's raw and heated and carnal and perfect. He's keeping you from slamming yourself down on it, holding you perfectly in place. You aren't sure if it's kindness, or if he's making you feel every inch as a way to keep you in check after managing to push his buttons this much. You're sure it's the former, but the thought of latter makes you soaked.

Stretching wider, penetrating deeper - you choke on moans, all helpless whimpers and repetitive chants. "Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,"

Barou snarls against your skin. A heated, low noise that gives you goosebumps.

Pussy stretched open, oversensitive from so many orgasms—your body stands no chance when Barou reaches between you to touch you. Hand resting on your pelvis, Barou thumbs against your clit in slow motions as you swallow each inch, greedy with it. The pleasure borders on agonizing. Hot and sharp, it unravels you instantly.

You cum hard. Almost instantly. White flashes in your vision, going starry as your body tightens and trembles. Your pussy squeezes hard around him as Barou finally, finally fucks up into you. In the middle of your orgasm, knocking against your gspot and reinforcing the pure euophoria. You collapse against him, limp as it as slides over the bump of your gspot.

Your whole body is shaking by the time you regain your consciousness. It's only after that bleariness leaves your eyes and you regain your vision - does Barou speak to you after the fact.

Your body tremors again. Some mix of anticipation and fear working you up all over as Barou's hand wraps around your nape and pulls you close.

"Pushing my fucking buttons even when I tell you we need to take it slow. Begging for it on your first time. I wanna treasure your body, but you just can't let me," His tongue slips against your neck , teeth dragging until his voice is next to your ear. "I'll fuck you how you want. So good you'll want to run the hell away from me. Understand?"

Barou's eyes are wild with it. You want and want and want. You nod your head dumbly - before being met with a kiss. A gnash of tongue and teeth.

"Be good now, then. And hold still."

give me a bluelock guy

[uhbasicallyjustmilex]

me stubbornly forcing myself to drink green tea and rest from my THIRD COLD THIS MONTH

[iamthepulta]

The best thing about Italy and Europe is that linen just- exists here. I can go buy a shitty cheap 100% linen dress like I would go to Fry's and buy a shitty cheap 100% polyester dress in America. Absolutely revolutionary for my wardrobe. I can't actually buy wardrobe enhancements because I have a carry-on suitcase, but the fact I still have the option is amazing.

[kyouka-supremacy]

Failed a social interaction 0 injured 1 killed (me)

[edge-oftheworld]

help i'm listening to an orchestral arrangement of holiday by green day and i can't deal with it

[mewrising]

Being sick is. the worst

[eastofedean]

8i've been thinking about the last asks i got today. and i think it's better for me to take a step back from this account. i know the anon didn't mean anything by it, but i still feel like i am being a negative presence on here and weirding people out with who i am is nothing i want. so, i am not deleting or anything. i am just gonna be less present with sharing personal things or leaving tags. I'll probably be more active on my second account where i don't have that many followers :)

[izzy-b-hands]

My doctor messaging me at 12:30 in the morning to tell me she wants to do a telehealth visit abt the side effects I'm having with my new Lamotrigine dose (including worse insomnia than my usual insomnia, as u may have guessed lmao) is. something.

[daz4i]

i am so angry about being alive it's not even funny anymore

[running-in-the-dark]

I'm just so tired

I wanted to get so much done today, I wanted to get up early (well earlier anyway), I wanted to finally be productive again

but fuck, I'm just so tired. my alarm woke me and I couldn't get up. I slept 4 more hours. and still could barely get up. managed to brush my teeth and feed the cats and now I'm lying on the couch completely exhausted.

how am I supposed to live like this

[cryptic-rainfall]

I need AT LEAST an extra week off of work

[thecherrygod]

.

[sensitivegoblin]

Vent

Tw self harm sucide

[drgnflyteabox]

can't get much better

pairing: ghost / simon riley x fem reader summary: simon is forced to take some time off - he makes the most of it. tags/warnings: very soft, pregnant sex, size difference, softdom!simon- he's a masculine man who doesn't let his lady lift a finger :'), oral (f), one (1) butthole kiss, dacryphilia, daddy kink (sigh), minor minor foot stuff, allusions to injuries and chronic pain, title from an adrianne lenker song w.c: 2.5k

You try very hard not to think about it, but it's hard not to notice how massive he is.

Even shirtless, he somehow looks bigger, muscles flush with heat and exertion under the sun. He toils and breathes hard like an ox, working while you sit on the porch wrapped in his big flannel. Wearing his clothes is like being swaddled in a blanket straight out of the dryer, warm and nostalgic and syrupy with love. It leaves you feeling some type of tender. You're afraid of that feeling sometimes, of how soft it is and how soft it makes you. He could ask anything of you, and you'd yield like he was pressing his thumb into a bruised peach.

You have.

"How are you two?" Simon is so quiet when he wants to be. One would think he'd clomp like a horse with how big he is, but he can float like dust. It used to startle you, but you've been sinking deeper into the memory foam mattress of this life with him and it doesn't anymore.

"Tired, even though I'm not doing anything," you squint at him through the late afternoon sun. It haloes him like an angel.

"You're growing my baby in there, love. That's not nothing," his voice is rough, it always will be. But it's rough now like earth and soil rather than rough with pain and smoke the way he'd sounded when you met him.

You're feeling especially nostalgic, it seems, not like it's hard here. His hand is warm on your belly.

"I guess so," you let him pet you for a moment. Your stomach is swollen but not as big as it'll get, just enough to veto pants. A few months to go still. "How's your back?"

"Argh," Simon says, taking a heavy seat next to you. Dismissive and yet he groans a little when his muscles unclench. Classic.

You slowly reach up and nudge him until he's facing the field opposite to you, face toward the golden afternoon sun and his back to you. He's never asked you to do this, to take care of him, but it's your favourite thing in the world.

His back is always rock-hard no matter how many times you take your knuckles and fingers to it. Just a condition of a hard life lived for him, countless falls and impacts and pushing through injuries. There's a slight slant to his spine now that isn't there in the pictures he's shown you of his youth, but the stiffness is the same. You might've said he was born to be a soldier, had you not known him as a father. He could do both, but - you'd never say this out loud - you were privately grateful for this injury. It wouldn't take him out forever, but the recovery would be long. Long enough to get the homestead started, to get you pregnant.

Simon would never be completely still. This was compromise. Sweet compromise, a life started and time with him you could think back on the next time he shipped out. Making the most of things, he would always say. Making the time count.

"That feels good, love" he groans. Bending forward slowly, relaxing, he's like an aloof stallion finally accepting an apple from your hand. Acquiescing. Showing you his back. It's trust, and you savour it.

"I bet it does," you tease back, just a little. Your fingers are nimble and attuned to his specific aches and pains. "Are you hungry for dinner?"

"I'm hungry for something," he turns, slowly, hands reaching for your thickened waist. Huge, work-roughened hands. War-roughened hands, holding you like a delicate egg. Sometimes it feels like he's the only thing that holds you together; all your pieces, everywhere, until he's holding you.

Kissing him is a contact sport. It's his hands moving, cupping your breast and then your pussy through your panties, your own hands wrapping around his broad shoulders like he's the only thing keeping you from drowning. It's open-mouthed, breathing into each other. Impossibly, you get softer, melting like ice on a hot day. 

Before you can lean back on the bench, he stands and lifts you with him. He's still hot from the day, damp with sweat, pushing you into the house while kissing you still.

"Simon-" you start, with no goal in mind. "Please."

"I've got you, love," he murmurs. He always does. Before you know it, you're laid back onto the plush armchair in your living room. Simon knows this is the most comfortable place for your newly-aching body. Affection swells in your chest uncontrollably and comes out through your eyes leaking down your face. Sure, pregnancy makes people emotional - but you're still embarrassed, touched by how considerate he is.

"It's alright, shh," he thumbs the tears at the corner of your eyes. His cock tents his work pants, aroused by them. "Let me take care of you."

The next words he murmurs are into your cunt, right over your panties, tongue laving over the already-wet fabric. "Just need your daddy, don't you?" You clench in tandem with his words, hot all over, skin prickling. He pushes your dress up, bunching it right under your tits.

It's reminiscent of how you spent the first night with him, on the very first day you'd met. Hurried, his big head between your thighs and clothes hanging off you still while he made you fall apart.

He's fucking good at it, too. Pulls your panties to the side and builds up the pressure with which he sucks on your clit, softly and then harsher until you shake. You've been extra horny lately, always wet around him and always so swollen. The scrape of his five-o-clock shadow against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh is what tips you over, clamping his head tightly and shouting your orgasm into the heady summer air.

"That all it takes?" Simon grins, chin wet, fingers moving from your hips to your pussy to gently rub along your slit.

"Give me a second, please," it's humbling how quickly you come nowadays. Quick and intense. Fireworks.

You set your foot on his shoulder and he turns towards it, kissing your ankle. Patience is rare with him, something come about only since you confirmed your pregnancy. You miss being overwhelmed by him, miss the nights where he'd guide you over the edge one, two, three times in succession.

He pushes now, just a little, not waiting for your go-ahead but watching you intently. His fingers spread your cunt in a V and he puffs a breath on your sensitive clit. You jump. He grins again, leaning down to lick you, using one hand to hold both your legs under your knees and push them until they meet the soft bump of your belly.

"Hold them there," he says. It's spoken not to you, but to your hole, which he spears his tongue into. You obey as you're helpless to do, holding your legs up and giving him an unimpeded view. It's more than vulnerable, it's not only baring yourself to him completely but giving him the authority to do what he wants. What you need.

Simon eats you out like it's a kiss, slurping you down and letting you leak until the evidence of your weakness to him is all over you. Your legs are wet, and it drips down onto your other hole. He pushes a thumb into your cunt, dipping it in and out.

"Needed me, did'ya? Watched me all day," he's so smug, sometimes. His lips find your bare foot, kissing your sole. "Been wet like this all day?" His other hand finds the meat of your asscheek, spreading you open further, letting the split of you open to him. He leans down, kissing your inner thigh, then your other hole. You whine and clench your pussy around his thumb. 

"So needy," he murmurs, finally finally moving back to your clit. Flicks his tongue over it, something that might've been teasing before but is intense now. Your hands tighten against your legs, head thrown back.

"Oh please- Simon!" You shout again, abs drawing up, stars in your eyes. "Ahh- I'm-"

"I know, honey," his lips suction again around the hard little pebble of your clit, eating like a man starved. 

This is how he likes you. Losing control, coming apart, helplessly vocal against the onslaught of his tongue. No matter how many times you've done this, it never gets old. The release almost always makes you cry, especially intense like this. You're wet all over, face and cunt and legs. He is, too.

"You still with me, love?" He pets your flank like you're a horse.

"Yes," but that's not what he wants.

"Yes what?"

"Yes, daddy."

"Good girl," and fuck if that doesn't always fill you with warm fuzzy energy. Wipes your brain, keeps you soft and floaty.

He guides you up and out of the armchair, lifts you into his arms when your legs shake too much. That electric feeling is still coursing through you, tingles in your extremities as they come back to life.

The hand he strokes over you is half affectionate, half proprietary. You've been his since the first time he laid eyes on you.

He reminds you of it as he sets you down gently on the bed, your hair a halo around your head and hands reaching to his face where you pull him down for a kiss. Hands find his shirt, pulling it off you, and then the dress. Fingertips touch the headboard, your arms stretching up, making room for him. Slips your panties down your legs.

It's a lingering, indulgent kiss. Breathing each others air, gasping into his mouth, he puts his elbows by your head and lays as much weight down as he can without cramping your full belly. He's as vocal as you, groaning and rutting like a dog.

"Ready for me, sweet girl?" He leans out of the kiss, sitting back on his heels. You nod, desperate and pulsing between the legs again like you didn't just come twice.

"Daddy's gonna take care of you, don't you worry," he rearranges you like a doll, turning you to your side and getting between your legs. A pillow is tucked under your belly, and he tests your flexibility by holding your leg tight to the length of his body. Your hamstring burns a little with it.

A hand holds your knee, another to your waist. His jeans scrape against your sensitive skin.

You focus on little details. His scar, touching his eyebrow and splitting through his nose, ending down by his jaw. The knuckles on his fingers holding your knee, and how rough the pads of his fingers feel on your waist. This man has never had soft hands in his life. Those same hands capable of so much force, so much violence, the very same that hold you and guide you. A shepherd, you his lamb.

The weeping head of his cock kisses your hole, catching there and traveling up. He taps it against your clit until you're tensing, whining, needy again. Tears down your cheeks.

He steadies you, pets your waist, guides his cock inside and it feels like you can breathe again. His mouth laves hot kisses over your ankle, the sole of your foot again, reverent and controlling all at once. The stretch burns - it always does, and maybe always will. Simon is just so big, thick all around and the mushroom head of him could always bump your cervix if he's not careful.

He's careful now, but only just. You can sense his control fraying, his hips driving forward steadily but his thighs tensing and his grip getting meaner. This is your favourite part. Watching him sweat, breathe hard, taking his pleasure in you.

"Yeah-" he cuts himself off with a long, drawn out groan. Deep, from the bottom of his belly and out. "Already so full of me, aren't ya? Can't get full enough."

You plead with your sounds, words out of your grasp. Your hands clutch at the sheets but it isn't enough. He's solid, he's your anchor, but he's losing himself in your cunt and you're free falling.

"Play with your tits for me," he commands, pumping faster. You're reflexively tightening around him, clit jumping for attention, squeaking each time he lets himself in as deep as possible and touches the mouth of your cervix.

Sunlight slowly fades on the bed, the last golden rays escaping out the window as you're bathed in dusk. 

There's nothing to do but obey, hands finding your swollen breasts and squeezing. They've been sore and huge, like that week before you get your period only it's been a couple months. None of your bras fit anymore.

Simon appreciates it, he loves it. Has you cooking for him with your tits out, nipples peaked and pussy leaking. They bounce, now, stopped only by your hands pinching and twisting. It's insane - no one in the world could replicate the feeling. No artist, no musician. Electricity zips from your breasts down to your clit and shit - you might come just like this, untouched, just full of your man and fondling yourself.

"Fuck, I can feel you squeezing me. Fucking," he pants, leaning over you, bending your leg. "Pinching my dick, sweetheart. Your pussy's so fucking good."

The orgasm begins in your toes, tingling. Your muscles tighten, drawing up, up, towards your cunt, which is making obscene sounds around him.

Simon sees the signs, sees your eyes rolling and your body going taut. He abandons your leg in favour of rubbing your clit with two big fingers quickly, up and down.

"That's it, sweetheart, come all over my cock. Go on," his voice is a snarl, barely distinguishable as human, beastly. "Be good for daddy.”

It's like the crescendo of an orchestra, like a summer afternoon in august, like waking up without a clogged nose after being sick, it's - really fucking good. You're near sobbing, crying out his name, abandoning your tits to reach for him desperately. He meets you halfway, shuddering his own orgasm into you. The press of his hips against yours is better than buttered toast, the delicate press of his chest against yours as he lets your leg go is bliss.

"Si-imon," you slur, hands on his cheeks. He laughs and kisses your forehead.

"What's that, sweet girl?"

"I love you," you cry a little more then, feeling him pull out and lay next to you. You're boneless.

"I love you too," his arm reaches across you, pulling you into him. "Both of you." Hand on your belly again.

"That was insane," you pant. He barks a laugh against your hair. "I'm serious."

"I know you are, love," he kisses your forehead, petting your stomach. You can tell it's meaning, can feel the gratefulness behind the kiss. He's saying thank you, for staying with him, for making him a father. Your hand finds his, squeezing back a wordless reply. Of course, it says.

<3

[alexiroflife]

"first day"

fluff, happy fushiguro family, slice of life, megs' first day of school send-off

Synopsis: you've been dating toji for a while now and megumi subconsciously calls you mom for the first time on his way out the door

to sum it up: you adore the little family you've come to be a part of

WC: 1,701

Warning(s): none

"Megs!" you call out, standing by the front door awaiting the dark-haired boy's arrival. He soon shuffles around the corner from his room, throwing a bag over his shoulder with a tired expression on his face.

His father turns to watch him walk in, crossing his arms as he leans against the counter. "The hell were you doing in there that took you so long?"

"Nothing," Megumi grumbles, moving to brush past the two of you to rush to the door. "I just wanted to look presentable, that's all."

"So you took thirty minutes to get ready?" Toji quirks a brow.

"Believe it or not, dad, some would say that's not enough time to get ready in the morning."

"Not at all, actually," you agree.

Toji tugs the corner of his mouth in judgment. " Well, you should know," he says to you. "You spend at least ten years in the bathroom when we have somewhere to go."

You scoff, rolling your eyes. "That's such an overreaction. I never take any longer than an hour." Megumi and his father exchange knowing looks and you place your hand on your hip. "What?"

"Don't worry baby," Toji assures you. "It's okay to be in denial."

"We've timed it before. The last time we all went out to dinner as a family, you took two and a half hours to get dressed," Megumi adds.

"That's only because I had to shower and pick out an outfit then do my hair and makeup," you defend.

"Isn't that a little overkill? It takes me half that time to shower, get dressed, eat breakfast, and get some homework done."

"Whatever. Your sister would understand," you sigh.

"Unfortunately, she may be worse than you."

"Women," Toji tsks. You slap his bicep and he pretends to flinch, smirking down at you playfully. "Ouch."

"Alright, well, I'm ready now. I don't wanna be late," the sixteen year old says, turning back to reach for the door handle.

"Ah ah ah, wait!" you stop him. "You're not going anywhere without me getting a good look at you. Turn around, I wanna see how the uniform fits."

Megumi lowers his head and complies, turning back around stiffly for you to admire him. You press your hand to your lips to conceal your smile, eyes gleaming with pride as you look over the sharp navy jacket and pants he adorns.

"Awwww," you coo. "It fits perfectly! How does it feel?"

"Pretty good," Megumi nods, moving his arm around slightly to show his mobility in the fabric. "It's comfortable too. It shouldn't be a problem during missions."

"I still can't believe how quickly time has gone by," you muse. "You're already going into your first year at Jujutsu High! Are you excited?"

"You better be," Toji grunts. "Your uncle Gojo hasn't gotten off my ass about your enrollment for years. At least now, he'll finally shut up."

"I still don't understand why I have to have him as a teacher. He's such a moron, I doubt he'll teach us anything useful," Megumi mumbles.

"Moron or not, he's the strongest sorcerer of the modern age and he's helped out so much. I'm sure he'll be able to give you a good experience," you say positively.

"We talkin' about the same Gojo here? The one who trashed my house playing tag with Megumi and the dogs in the living room?" Toji points out and his son grits his teeth at the memory.

"Oh come on, Satoru was like twenty one back then. I can only imagine the crazy shit you've with the kids when you were raising them," you tease.

"You don't even want to know," Megumi exhales.

"Please, you came out just fine, didn’t ya?” Toji says, reaching out his hand to ruffle at Megumi's spiky hair. The teen recoils, craning his head away and shielding himself with his arm.

"Quit it. I'm not five anymore."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. You're all grown up now, I know. Gonna be a first-grade sorcerer before I can even blink an eye."

"Who said that I would be first grade? I'm only a first year."

"Yeah, and look at who your pops is," Toji grins. "Plus, you got an advantage that I never had. You'll do just fine."

Megumi hums indifferently, doubting himself momentarily but accepting the words nonetheless. "Alright, are we ready?"

"No, not yet!" you pull out your phone quickly and open the camera. "I need to get pictures."

The blue-eyed boy slumps. "(Y/n), I gotta go."

"I know, I know, just a few," you promise, holding your camera up to capture his awkward figure in the frame. "Okay, smile."

Megumi doesn't, and of course you don't actually expect him to. Instead, he calmly stares at the camera with his arms at his sides, unsure of what to do with themselves. Toji moves to stand behind you, leaning down to take a peak at the million pictures you're snapping.

"Toji, go stand with him so I can get one with the both of you."

The two groan simultaneously. "Doll, can we just focus on gettin' the kid to school?"

"It's fine. His stuff is already moved into his dorm. We have time."

"But-"

"Shut up and go stand with your son, now," you glare firmly up at the green-eyed man and he huffs.

"Yes, ma'am."

Toji raises a hand to his hip and tilts his head boredly as he stands beside Megumi, the two of them sharing the exact same blank stare as they look into the camera. You squeal happily. "You two are so cuteee!"

"We done, now?"

"No, I wanna get one more with Megs, and then I'm good." The boys give you a look, but you wave them off. "I mean it! Gosh, here Toji. Take our picture."

Toji obliges, grabbing your phone from your hand as you rush over to the tall boy. His expression melts into serenity as you place your hands on his shoulders and lean your head against his arm, smiling widely at the camera as a hint of a smile touches Megumi's lips.

Toji's heart warms at the sight, watching the way his son grows comfortable in your presence. The picture of the two of you looks so natural t to him like you are meant to be a part of his family, which he knows you are.

He snaps the photo and nods. "Got it."

You exhale, turning to face Megumi. You brush your hands over his shoulders to straighten his jacket, ridding it of any lint and wrinkles. "Okay, Megumi, please remember to be safe."

"I know. I will," he nods.

"And don't be too reckless when it comes to training."

"I won't."

"And try to make friends. I know how easy it is for you to push others away."

"I'll try."

You press your lips together with a final sigh, looking over Megumi's face warmly. You wrap your arms safely around him into a hug, your emotions getting the best of you. You have spent the past year caring for Megumi like your own, and watching him head off to achieve his goals makes your heart swell with joy and fear all the same.

"Text me or your father or Tsumiki if you need anything. Anything at all," you tell him. He returns your hug gently.

"Okay," he chuckles lightly and you pull away. "Don't worry, I'll be fine."

"...I know you will..." you pout. "Okay, I'll let you go. Good luck. I hope you have an amazing first day. I'll see you at the end of the week, yeah?"

"Mhm. I'll call you to let you know how the day went later."

"Please do."

Toji hands you back your phone and walks toward the door with Megumi. "Let's get a move on," he says. He leans over quickly to peck your lips farewell. "I'll be back in a few."

"Don't speed, Toji."

"Speeding gets you places quicker," he winks and you suck your teeth disapprovingly. Megumi opens the door, his dad gripping the frame.

"Bye, boys. Stay out of trouble," you wave, eyes glassy as you watch Megumi walk out.

"See ya, doll."

"Bye, mum."

The three of you freeze the second the words hit the air, everyone stilling in their tracks.

You feel your heart burst as overwhelming happiness consumes you. Megumi keeps his face forward, hiding his reddening cheeks as he processes what he has just said. Toji stares at the back of his son's head, eyes wide, before he turns to look at you to find your shocked, giddy face.

You don't have any time to reply when Megumi clears his throat suddenly, sweat dotting his forehead, and he walks rigidly out of the house and swiftly down the hall without looking back.

Toji stays behind, keeping an eye on you when you look up at him, stunned. "Did he just...?" you murmur.

"Yep."

Your eyes immediately well with tears and your lips wobble, your hands flying over your mouth. "He sees me as his mom?" you whisper.

Toji chuckles, ducking down to you with his hand still gripping the door. "Of course he does. He's always adored you. Him and Tsumiki."

"I'm gonna cry."

The assassin chuckles softly, pressing his thumb to the corner of your eye gently. "You're already cryin.'"

"Shut up," you sniff. "God, I love those kids so much. I just wanna give him all the hugs in the world."

"And you'll be able to. There isn't a better woman on this planet to be there for the kids," he kisses your cheek. "That's why I plan t'marry you someday."

"Fuck you, Toj. You're gonna make me cry even more."

"Sorry, baby. Can't help talkin' about it," he leans back to the doorway. "Let me get the kid squared away and make sure he's not dyin' of embarrassment, then I'll be back to talk to ya about makin' this official."

"You're being for real?"

"Of course I am."

You lower your hands and beam. "Tell Megumi I love him and get back here soon."

"I will," he hums. "But I thought you said no speeding?"

"Just- make sure the two of you at least get to the school in one peace."

He smirks. "Will do, doll."