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justbelievinginmagic · 1 day

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ariadne's thread ⎯ pt. 6: the hunter and the hunted.

pairing(s): hyunjin x fem!reader, bang chan & fem!reader, jisung & fem!reader series summary: when tempted by an intoxicating offer by hyunjin the goblin king of the underground, you fight against him to find your own sense of self once more while in his labyrinth. glimpse: the gardens hold the beauty of the labyrinth . . . as well as its horrors. creeping forward without jisung's companionship, you face the roars and growls ahead, alone. warnings/tags: inspired by the 1986' movie Labyrinth, follows majority of the movie's plot points with lore divergence, 3rd person POV, use of Y/N, bang chan is referred to as chris, mild violence, cruel punishment, injuries, blood, fear, fights, strong language, faerie lore!!, world building, hyunsung tension, let me know if there needs to be more tags! word count: 7.8k series masterlist

Roars echoed through the Labyrinth, shaking the greenery around her. Some rogue flowers curled into themselves, hiding away like sea creatures returning to their shells. Startled bird-like creatures croaked and crowed as they flew off with leathery-sounding wings. There was a rustling within the hedges like the leaves themselves were crawling away from the frightful sounds. Yet here she crept forward, holding her breath as she finally reached the entry-way, a grand hedge archway shadowing her as it opened into a courtyard.

This courtyard was different from the others. Instead of being encompassed by the hedges, the immediate space in front of her were evenly spaced porcelain columns holding up the large rotunda above them. It was only then she realized she was closer to the edge of the Gardens than she had thought – the false sunlight was still bright overhead, making sweat drip down her neck but, she could also see the rest of the Labyrinth in front of her, maze after maze crawling over large undulating hills. It looked like it was made for an ant, how far away and never-ending the maze felt from this perspective. Looming over it all was the Castle, ever present and ever far away. She swore she saw a light twinkle from the highest tower, like a winking eye. The Runner looked away and peered towards the cacophony filling the air.

There was a maze of columns now, scattered in no exact pattern she could distinguish, but providing cover as she crept forward. The floor was between cobblestone and dirt, uneven and changing in its consistency. Yes, this wasn’t the well-maintained Gardens of before – it felt like she was off the chosen path once more. Creeping forward, each pillar seemed to hide what was happening purposely, shifting to prevent her from moving forward fast enough– growls and roars only increasing but also screeches of giggles from squeaky-goblin voices. The same tones she had hear in her bedroom chanting and snickering from underneath her bed. That felt like ages ago…

In the shadow of one of the columns holding the grand rotunda up, she could see a man hung by his wrists, high above small furry goblin creatures wielding weaponry of all sorts. He was well-built, shirtless, his white linen shirt torn to shreds below him where it soaked in a puddle of his own purple blood and sweat. Injuries and bruises painted his skin like a mosaic of muddy emerald, inflamed vermillion, and bloody purple-violet. His head was thrown back in pain as he bellowed out an animalistic noise, too deep and monstrous to truly be human. It almost didn’t process that it was coming from his chest, yet she could see his human-pecs vibrate faintly with the sound. That was when Y/N noticed the ram-like horns curling out of his temple, framed by messy, sweat-plastered brown curls.

Yes, he was certainly not human. (But what here was?)

The fine muscles in his neck and shoulders strained and bulged as he swung by the iron chains looped around his hands. All his weight on just his wrists must’ve been torture. The fae-man took a deep breath, his stomach concaving and expanding, before he heaved himself upwards as he tried to adjust the weight on his wrists. He only had a moment to breath out a hiss before he slumped down, groaning from the pain of holding his weight. Shoulder bones popped and creaked inhumanely.

Even worse were the goblins surrounding him that took joy in his agony, giggling and cackling with sharpened fangs. Each one held a different sort of weapon – a spear with a sharpened tip dripping in violet, a javelin with some sort of creature tied atop with millions of fangs and blood-stained claws at the ready, a flower-esque whip with red-thorns lining the long strip of vine, the list went on. One by one, the goblin creatures dressed in miniature knight-wear would approach with giggles and chatterings, egging one another on. They poked and prodded the man, who grunt and struggled.

A particular strong bite to his ribs by the javelined-creature made him roar out in pain. Inhuman noises broke free from his gnashing teeth, bearing chipped fangs at the guards who tormented him.

It wasn’t right.

The horned man was dripping in purple blood, the violaceous rivulets staining his bared skin. His eyes squeezed shut as he groaned out a growl. The clash of a whip went against his bared back, and Y/N flinched back at the sound.

She had to help; she just wasn’t sure how. Glancing about she tried to find something to defend herself with. The goblins were small but there were five of them and only one of her. Five armed, one unarmed.

“Take this,” she heard a voice squeak out as a spear prodded the fae man’s chest and he let out a wail, head thrown forward now. As if he could somehow protect his chest. Breathing heavily, he glared at the little creatures, struggling against his bonds once more as he twisted and swung in a slow circle. Eyes wild as he spun and spun. She thought for a moment, their eyes locked. But he soon was groaning out in agony.

The Runner glanced at the jewels on her waist. Would one of these be large enough to throw or cause damage? No, not truly. Perhaps—

She felt a nudge against her shoe. Holding in a yelp, a hand over her own mouth, she looked down to see… a rock. Nothing magical about it. Not a bauble of light, a bubble she had seen the King tempt her with time and time again. Just a sandy-looking rock, large enough to be a softball size. It nudged her again slowly and intentionally. It kept a snails’ pace but it nudged and nudged and nudged. Insistently. As if called to her. It took her a moment of awe before she heard another cry of anguish, and her eyes flashed back to look at the captured fae-man.

Her heart squeezed to see tears drip down his cheeks as his teeth gritted into a scowl. This wasn’t right; she had to try something. Squatting, she grabbed the rock that inched forward slower and slower, and brushed her thumb over the rough edges; it didn’t look magical, or living, but this place had made her question things before. The Runner glanced back up to see all five of the ‘knights’ count down, preparing to rush forward the weapons ready to strike the poor trapped fae. It was now or never!

It was then she aimed and threw the rock, aiming for one of their heads. With a clank, she hit her target. The rock bounced off of one of the guard’s helmets, swinging it around almost comically until it covered their eyes. With loud squeaking words in a language she couldn’t decipher, the creature spun about with their weapon tilted before it pierced through another guard’s chainmail. Shrieks of chaos, bickering and moans of pain came from their pile of fur and claws.

“You hit me!”

“No, you did!”

“I’m reporting this to our commander!”

“No, you won’t!”

They spoke over one another in a hurried mess.

Most goblins weren’t clever; they followed their instincts and forgot things. Like their prisoner and the rock that had hit their comrade in the first place. Off they marched, babbling over one another still, until the prisoner and the Runner were alone.

Y/N let out a breath.

That was surprisingly easy. What wasn’t easy was finding out how to get the injured man down now! Rushing forward, she heard a low growl shake the ground.

She slowed, hands rising as she took in his appearance. He was huffing and puffing, his ribs expanding and decompressing rapidly. He had finally stopped swaying in the wind, but it only seemed to trap him more. His body huffed and puffed, eyes wild as they eyed her and snarled.

He looked uncanny in this moment – less human than he had been a minute ago. His mouth too large for his face as he let out a menacing growl, rows of fangs as if he were a shark were visible as he glared at her. There were far too many sharpened fangs for her to feel comfortable and yet she still tried to soothe him.

Those goblin guards had been torturing him for fun.

She wouldn’t.

(She surely hoped that would mean he wouldn’t hurt her in return.)

He growled again and she paused – doubting herself for a moment. She met his eyes and saw how they were shaking. The irises were trembling, jumping from her form to the environment around them. Maybe he was just… scared, overwhelmed.

She offered a gentle smile, hands held up in defense.

“I won’t hurt you!” she called out softly. “I promise.”

Before she continued forwards carefully. He jolted backwards and growled. His movement made him spin from his wrists once more.

He was afraid – that was the only explanation. But she could feel his pain as he spun once, twice, three times. He squirmed and tried to readjust again only to swing wildly. His chest heaved and there was a whine of pain escaping his throat.

“Oh no,” the Runner rushed forward quick, hoping he’d be facing away and not startle too badly as her hands rose to stop him from spinning. Two small hands resting on his broad back with care, sliding to settle on his ribs to avoid any of his wounds. His body was cold as stone and sturdy as rock. She felt his muscles jump as she minded his injuries the best she could. He stopped swaying and she took in his restraints from up close for the first time. Far too many chains of iron curled around his form. There was a shackle around his neck, a chain looped around his lean waist, wrapped chains around each of his biceps and finally a myriad of overlapping chains around his wrists from which he hung from. She gently turned him around, trying to keep it slow and gentle.

She met his eyes, grey and stone-cold. They were piercingly heavy and she couldn’t help but stare. His face was all masculine angles, sharp jaw, rectangular face. His nose was broad and bore a large scar, like an animal scratch starting from his right cheekbone traveling across its bridge to the other cheekbone. His teeth were snarling at her, perpetually stuck in this growl. His bottom canines were sharpened and chipped in places as if he had used them to fight before. Her eyes flickered back to his eyes that seemed to speak for him now. It was commanding but not in a way that was magical – it was a brute strength, cold-stone glare.

“Down,” he finally spoke to her, more like growled out to her; his tone still edging towards animalistic still.

She nodded agreeing. “I’m trying.” She reassured, her hands leaving his form after a moment. “Trust me.”

“Before they get back,” he rumbled.

“I know. I’m trying to find how they strung you up,” she relayed as she followed the chains high above them. Like his own bonded wrists, the chains linked and overlaid one another in a patterned mess. They stretched up across the columns, criss-crossing like a spider’s web. She could even see some bird nests in between the chains, making their home there and weighing down sections. Her gaze went one way and then another. This way and that, that way and this. Twisting around columns, decorating it in intricate weave work. Until they came to the end. Which was thankfully not too far. The last end of the chair curled around a column like ivy before hitching over a hook in the rockwork.

Rushing over to the end of the lead, she quickly released it, unwinding it and letting go as it tugged ferociously. The man crashed to the ground with a heavy thud. He hissed out but remained still on the ground for a moment. Huffing and puffing.

“Oh! I’m so sorry!” she cried out, rushing over to him and falling to her knees beside the fae-man.

She watched, cautiously, as his body heaved and huffed. His muscles finally had a break, his joints cracking loudly as he shifted this way and that. He pressed his forehead to the ground beneath him, his horns digging into the soil. Skin to raw earth, he seemed to relax. His shuddering stopped as he took in deep slow breaths.

“Are—are you okay?” The Labyrinth-Runner queried. She didn’t touch his bare back nor move from her spot beside him.

He breathed in before nodding.

“Yes,” he replied, sounding different. More whole now. His voice was no longer a rumbling growl but instead it was shifting into something far softer. He cleared it gently.

“Thank you for helping me.”

Rising up onto his knees, his hair fell over his forehead in mussy natural curls with leaves and twigs from the ground tangled in his locks and dirt clinging to his forehead, but what caught her off guard was his eyes. They were no longer stone-cold but instead a gentle grey. Sparkling and gentle as he took her in. He leaned back onto his legs, matching her kneeling position as he blinked owlishly at her.

“I’m… I’m Chris,” his voice was careful, soft. Tinged with an accent Y/N couldn’t place but felt far different from the others’ she had met so far. But what had shocked her so far was his sincerity.

Despite everything - the mussed curls plastered to his sweatied forehead, the overwhelming chains wrapping around his form, the claw marks, goblin bites, and cuts oozing violet-purple blood across his torso, the layered scars up and down his arms and shoulders, the prominent slice across the bridge of his broad nose, the dirt across his brow – his grey eyes felt soft and real. Honest. His lips twitched into a careful smile, far from the uncanny rows of fangs she had sworn she saw while he was trapped.

She would take this in stride she thought. Not everything is as it seems but… if she was honest, he seemed to be different from what meets the eye.

“It’s nice to meet you, Chris,” she greeted, a hand slowly going to pick the leaves and sticks from his chocolate hair carefully. He flinched away at her movements at first, his overcast eyes dilating before focusing back in on her like a big cat as he froze and allowed her to pick a pine needle from his hair carefully.

“I’m Y/N.”

He repeated the name with a softness. “I’ve never heard of a Y/N in the Labyrinth before.” Chris murmured.

“Is there only one person for each name here?” she queried as she continued her picking and fluffing of his curly hair. He blushed an otherworldly purple, the color high on his cheekbones.

“Names are special here. No one is ever named the same,” he informed her.

If he had been even more honest, he’d mention that names held power. (There was a reason Jisung never gave her his, nor did Hyunjin. Learning names from other sources gave them less power than someone giving it to them but it was still power. Naming a fae was entering a pact with them.)

She hummed in acknowledgement before taking the final loose leaf from his hair with a satisfied smile.

“I’m trying to beat the Labyrinth,” she told him, hands going to her knees. “I’m trying to get home. Do you know the way to the Castle?”

There’s a glance towards to the looming image of Hyunjin’s castle – it somehow was able to look so close yet so far away in one blink, as if it were an optical illusion. Chris pressed his lips together and swallowed, looking away from the centerpiece of the maze.

Despite his strength, in that moment, he looked small. Hand going to scratch at a wound on his arm as he shook his head softly. Eyes downcast, almost child-like. Frightened, she realized.

Maybe it was due to the King’s cruel guards, or maybe the King had declared this sort of punishment.

It made her blood boil – the King was frightening. A tyrant king. She had yet to meet one person with a positive view of him. It was guards long forgotten at posts deep in uncared for mazes, remains of Runners scattered in the Labyrinth like forgotten toys, trolls left to rot in oubliettes, power-lusting goblin guards torturing a man. All away from the castle and yet shadowed in Hyunjin’s power.

She glared up at the Castle she was trying to get to. What would become of her if she fails? If this is how he keeps his Labyrinth’s order? She knew he wanted her to be his – but if this was his Kingdom, was she to become nothing but another ghost in the many twisted paths of his Labyrinth?

“Okay,” she buzzed. Too much energy in the word to sound calm. But she didn’t push him, not when he winced after grazing over a wound too closely. Her gaze settled back on Chris, taking in the way the iron chains wrapped around his body. They cut into his skin harshly, his wrists dripping with deep-violet blood, and even his biceps had rivulets of blood running down his arms with every movement. That had to hurt.

“Let’s try to get these off, okay?” she changed the subject, hands moving from her lap to brush tenderly over a chained bicep before fingering the ones around his wrists. The chains were heavy and criss-crossing like snakes around his wrists. She couldn’t see where one chain started and ended.

Chris couldn’t help but let the awe in his eyes gleam as she touched his shackles with ease. (Iron is cursed to fae – remember this. Iron-metal burns with a thousand suns to weak faeries; why do you think the human realm is made up of it?) Chris had grown used to the ache and sizzle where the metal laid but every push and pull made his eyes water in agony. But she touched them easily.

“It’ll hurt.” Chris rumbled - eyes wide as he pulled back from her grasp. His hands going towards his chest protectively.

“But, doesn’t it hurt now?” Y/N asked, eying the cuts carefully.

Chris visibly gulped as he tried to shrug.

“It’ll be over in a second,” she promised. “We’ll tug them over your hands and figure out what to do next.”

The horned man shook his head, eyes wide like a pup’s. “No, no way; it’ll hurt!” he pleaded.

“Trust me?” she asked. “Like before? I helped you then and I want to help you now.”

He swallowed. “I do trust you. . .”

“Good, here let me see,” she soothed as she took his hands once more in hers.

The chains wrapped over and over around his wrists, weaving in and out. They were made slippery with his magenta-hued blood. It took time and each time she unwound it further, each time she found a new give in the chain, she’d apologize quietly. The push and pull of metal had to hurt against his irritated skin.

“I’m sorry, I know it hurts; it’ll be better once its off,” she apologized once more as she tugged and tore at the shackles from his wrists. He whimpered, the sounds escaping from his clenched fanged mouth.

As they continued to unravel, the iron digging into his skin became more and more rusted and sharpened. There were odd-crystal structures of rust piercing into his skin, like thorns, and it made her only gasp in horror as she continued to pull at the irons.

“Oh, my God,” she murmured softly as she saw how torn up his wrists were. It only made her want them off quicker. He sniveled, eyes shutting tightly. She quickly continued onwards, flinching as these crystallizations scratched her own hands up. But they were almost unraveled, more and more bare skin visible. Puffy and inflamed, deep-violet and navy spiderweb bruises bloomed where the chains had rested.

“I’ve got it I promise.” she quickly slipped the cuffs away.

His violet and her ruby blood mixed together on their skin as she dropped the cuffs to the ground.

“There,” she smiled proudly before looking over his hands. “Oh Chris, are you alright?”

Only, he was staring down at her own hands, covered in red and purple.

“I’m okay.” his voice was strained. “You’re bleeding, Y/N.”

His nostrils were flared. His chest rose and fell harshly as he smelt the blood billow into the air.

Her hands stung but she simply shook her them as if its rid them of the pain. Chris’ large hands went to grasp hers, his touch harsh at first as if he wasn’t used to his own strength. Her furrowed brow, soft gasp, and clenched teeth were cues enough and he held them gentler, tenderly. His eyes were sad, almost like a kicked puppy dog.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured.

“I’m okay,” she reassured. “Just some cuts and scrapes.”

His fingers brushed over some of her wounds with the carefulness of a parent, not wanting to cause her any more pain. She squeezed a finger gently, trying to let him know it was fine.

“Let’s get these off too,” she nodded to his arms. They looked easier to wiggle off, less wrapped and more like a singular chain that dug into his skin. With some effort and Chris flexing and twisting his arm, they too fell away to the cobblestone floor.

His biceps were ringed in irritated-inflamed violet while remnants of magic-infused blood, sparkling and shimmering like amethysts in the Gardens’ light, dripped down his tanned skin.

“Do you want us to try to remove the neck and waist chains?” she queried, wiping her hands on her pants (luckily, they were dark and wouldn’t show the blood that now painted her fingers a pinky-purple color.) Each brush of fabric made her flinch.

Chris looked down at his bound waist, long chains of iron wrapping around him and draping to the floor, tumbling around his legs.

“No, let me try; I can move my arms,” he tested the strength of the chain, gripping it by his sides. Gritting his teeth, he held the shackle’s chain in his hand and pulled. Pulled, pulled, pulled until the link shattered. The shackles fell from his waist like it was a paper chain.

Y/N’s eyes widened at the display of strength.

“Wow.” She murmured. “You’re really strong.”

Chris smiled, his eyes squinting into half-moons as his cheeks flushed.

“You're strong too," he complimented, because in his eyes, she was.

"I was a Hunter before this,” he admitted to her.

“What happened to get you caught up in this?” her chin nodded to the shattered remains of the chains and his shredded shirt on the ground beside them.

He frowned. “I failed a mission set by the King,” he replied. “He cursed me to a hundred years of imprisonment.”

“That’s horrible,” she replied. “What was the mission? Nothing is worth a hundred years of imprisonment if it was just a task he gave you.”

“I was sent off to destroy a beast – a monster in the desert sea, but when I found it—him—I realized it was just living peacefully,” he commented. “He hadn’t caused any destruction or deaths. So, I spared him.”

Her brows crinkled. “So, the King punished you for mercy?” she queried.

Her blood boiled. Hyunjin was becoming more and more unsavory to her. How dare he! How dare he punish someone for mercy!

“He wasn’t himself after—I thought maybe a courtier had planned it, made the plot to blame the destruction onto someone else – he didn’t believe me.” He murmured, fingers brushing over his no-longer aching wrists. “The Prince had tried to help me.” Chris admitted after a moment, head tilting in acknowledgement.

Prince… King… wait. Y/N’s eyes widened.

“How long have you been captured, Chris?” she asked.

“I can’t remember—maybe a few years.” He admitted. “Minutes can feel like days.”

She feared it had been much longer if there was a Prince when Chris was put into chains and now there were none. Unless Hyunjin had a son running around in the looming Castle but there were never any tales of that in her storybooks.

“I’m sorry that you’ve been stuck for so long – especially with those goblins looking over you,” she nodded in the direction the ‘guards’ had scurried off to. Her eyes flashed over his bared skin, the cuts and bites and bruises looking gnarly on him.

“I’ll heal,” he promised, smiling at her kindly. “The pain will leave soon; thanks to you.”

She smiled gently. At least she helped him in her quest. He seemed kind. There was a warmth to him and bigness that felt like he was sturdy and true in himself. Confident but quietly so. Comforting like the way mountains were comforting in their ever-presence.

“I need to keep going now,” she admitted. “I need to make it to the Castle – will you be alright?”

His grey eyes widened, soft pouty lips pursing into a frown.

“Without me?” he murmured. “Can’t I go with you?”

It didn’t feel like a ploy. It felt like he was genuinely sad you were parting.

“I mean, we will be going against the King,” she told him. “I don’t want you to get into any more trouble, Chris.”

He shook his head firmly. His lips now falling into a disapproving line rather than a pout.

“Nah, nah, nah,” he said. “I can help you – like you helped me.”

Her own eyes were soft and gentle as she looked at the hulking man before her and yet his words were gentle and kind.

“Are you sure?” she clarified.

“I can’t let you leave without me,” he insisted. “We—I’m here for you now.”

It was insistent and genuine. Not insistent and obsessive. It felt like for once… she had someone truly on her side. Not won over by prettied jewelry or by loneliness in the middle of a maze with only their lover. But for her and her actions.

Her smile made her cheeks ache with how large it was.

“Okay. We’re friends now,” she told him sincerely.

“Friends,” Chris beamed back as he took her hand in his giant one.

His hand encompassed hers easily, but he held it with care of a gentleman.

“So where to?” he asked.

The path onwards felt counterintuitive. They were led away from the Castle, their backs to it as they settled on the now-dirt path. Light from the rotunda above them still glared down but now felt more like a sunset’s rays rather than a noontime sun. Perhaps it was due to them being so close to the edge of the false sky-light.

They had walked only for a short time before Chris queried.

“Why do you want to get to the Castle?”

“I’m a Runner,” she said. “I’m in the middle of a deal with the King.”

He shivered faintly from the corner of her eye. “I’m surprised he took upon a Runner.”

Her brows crinkled. “Why?”

“His Champion-Queen fled to the human-realm a few years ago.” He hummed. “He hasn’t been the same since.”

“That’s interesting,” she mumbled, glancing around and winding around a column.

There was now just a large bank to her right and the Gardens and their large columns to her left. The gorge was dark. Misty and shadowed as the light of the garden’s rotunda failed to reach it. There were no fantastical floating lamps and no fire pits in this part of the Labyrinth. Just darkness. Trees seem to sprout into existences as they continued onwards, large piney trees that crept higher and higher, growing denser and denser. This shadowy darkness spilled over onto the path like an oil slick leak.

“Can you tell me more about the royals?” she asked after a moment.

Chris offered a bashful look. “I don’t know them that well,” he admitted scratching his neck. “I grew up in the Shadow of the Castle; I know the Royals by face not name; I doubt anyone really does. There’s the Goblin King, the Heir Prince, the Queen-Consort. We all know of the Champion-Queen but I’ve never seen her.” He shrugged a bit.

“I don’t know what else to say – they are the rulers of the Underground? The Prince loves celebrations; the King loved the Labyrinth once.” He tried to find anything else to say but it seemed to be difficult. Was it the topic or was it something more?

“Tell me about you then,” she conceded, hoping maybe she’d grasp some more information about this world.

Her eyes stayed locked on their surroundings, watching as the dark shadow-like trees of the forest beside them shifted and bent in the wind.

“I was the King’s Hunter – my father was their Hunter before me. My brood will be their Hunter after me,” he said easily, shrugging. “I’m tasked with maintaining the peace in the Kingdom when it comes to unrulier creatures.”

She nodded slowly. So, there was supposedly order here and Chris was once their enforcer, which felt like he was higher than the guards that were poking and prodding him.

“What will you do now?” she asked.

He nudged her playfully with his shoulder, having to dip to nudge her with his muscular shoulder. It made her smile.

“I’m with you now!” he chimed. “You got me, Runner, in your graces. I’ll travel with you and make sure you are safe like you have for me.”

(Blood for blood. Life for life. He was here until his debt was paid.)

“But… after I leave. . . “, she wondered. “What then?”

Chris pursed his lips, looking off into the distance. There were faint hazy orange-light over the horizon – from what she could only assume was the entrance of the Labyrinth, the way she came. It looked so far away now. She couldn’t help but feel optimistic that they were making progress even as they approached where she came while following this path.

“I could go back –”

There was a scuffle in the brush. Chris’ hand reached out to grasp her shoulder. She wished he had a weapon but his bared teeth reminded her that he always had a weapon with him.

“Y/N,” he began before there was a hissing sound and flash of color in the dim light.

He shifted her to the side, pressing her behind him as his large arm blocked an attack. There was a loud thud as the creature was tossed aside. It thudded to the ground, a pile of red. Another flash of light was to its right.

It didn’t look humanistic. The way it shivered and shuddered with technicolor light, too bright and too flashy to really grasp onto its features. It was more of a shifting, shimmering light leak.

Chris grunted as he stood fully in front of her as a screech escaped the creature on the ground. In a blink, all she could see was red dripping down the creature- with its long talons and dripping crimson rivulets down his forehead. Large antlers pierced through its skull and his eyes gleamed a burning red.

Meanwhile, the entity of light danced this way and that, around the crimson creature, around Chris, and around her. Like it was dancing in a waltz amongst a battle. Chris hissed.

She shifted this way and that as she batted off the tendril of light and color. It didn’t harm her, didn’t even touch her, but it was almost observing her as she backed into the hedges of the Gardens. It hovered beside her and she tried to maintain a distance while keeping her eyes on the fight.

A low growl rumbled from Chris and the creature shifted low on the ground. Her back pressed against the leaves of the Gardens, ivy scratching at her ears and neck as Chris’ posture shifted.

(Faeries all had glamour. Some wielded it; some didn’t. Some wielded it quite well.)

Chris seemed to have great control over his glamour as the same uncanny features appeared. Larger mouth, his form felt larger even if was the same height as before and there was a fearful aura around him as he dug a hand into the ground.

The crimson creature jumped and jittered about, long limbs cracking inhumanly as it crept forwards. Its gaze was locked on Chris before they rose to linger on her. There was a deep chuckle, humming through the threads of existence.

Chris rumbled again, a warning hiss. There was a jolt and movements too fast for her human eyes to follow. In a blink of an eye, the creature was gone from her vision. Chris turned and swiped towards her; the crimson creature far too close to her now. The entity of dancing-lights seemed to swerve in front of her, an inhuman type noise pushing out of its existence. She stumbled back as the two grappled one another. Antlers against horns, their feet slid in the dirt and mulch of the path. She shrieked as her feet fell deep into loosen soil by the bank and she yelped, trying to escape the cave-in of their path along the gorge. Nails dug into the remaining solid rock, her head only above their path now.

“Chris!”

Chris’ muscles strained, wounds dripping purple, before he grabbed both creatures and tossing them aside like they were nothing but a leaf. He turned to find her amongst the concaving dirt.

Mud and mulch kicked up into the air and a blur of color rushed towards her. Chris quickly leapt into action, pushing the creature away as the Runner was shoved to the side, out of breath. There was only a moment of calm before she was slipping off the path. The bank crumbling from her weight and becoming nothing but mulch and loose dirt beneath her shoes. She scrambled, trying to grasp onto something as the crimson creature roared from overhead. The entity of dancing technicolor light swirled and whirled as it danced in and out of existence until it was gone.

“Chris!” she screeched out. “Han!” the name left her throat in fear. “Help – please! Jisung!”

A barking noise, like a creature whining and running off, pierced the air before there was a huffing puffing Chris in her vision.

“Y/N, I’m here!” he cried out, reaching a hand out.

There was no time for relief as her shoes sunk into the dirt and she slid further down the gorge. Hands scrambling against tree roots and dead brush as she tried to climb towards her friend. But the dirt was too loose, too damp. She kept sliding down and falling. The wind was knocked out of her as a log buried in the dirt nudged her stomach painfully. It dislodged her from her clawing, making her tumble onto her back.

“Chris!” she screeched out as she fell, her feet gripping nothing as she slid fully now.

She tried to grasp onto something, a root, the dirt, but everything was so fast and the fall was so steep she was soon tumbling down faster and faster until she was far below the Gardens in the darkness of a forest.

“She’s so dumb – I can’t believe she’d- just,”

Jisung was wandering around the last of the Gardens’ hedges – huffing and puffing about the Runner and her stupidity. His clothes were clearly ruffled from maybe, possibly, probably forcibly-pushing his way through the hedges to get back onto the main path. His curls were messed with twigs and flower petals. He stomped a bit as he passed into a new part of the Labyrinth.

The cobblestone had faded back into a dirt path. There were destroyed arches of stone, large sculptures that were tumbled over, and cobwebs casting a haze of fuzz across near everything. Old trees and barren hedges of rot framed this place. A dried fountain ached for water in the nearby courtyard of an abandoned castle. The Old Castle. This was a place for ghosts and dust. Dust sprites huddled together by a barely lit fire. In the corners, abandoned shadows clung to concrete columns and broken hunks of fire-eaten wood.

There was a large sculpture of a familiar face – strong jawbone, pout familiar, and a glowering brow – half destroyed as if by a blast of magic. Jisung passed by it without a second glance.

“Running towards roars – she isn’t going to last long; why would she do that?” he grumbled and muttered, fussing with the bracelet on his wrist. “Why would she do that?”

He didn’t understand it; he didnt understand her. But he wanted to, itched to. He couldn't help but feel so so...

“Han!” he heard her cry in the distance and he froze, jeweled eyes widening. “Help, please!”

It felt like liquid ice was injected in his veins. She needed him. She was hurt or in pain or about to be in pain and he left her. Left her. He left her alone in a place that was just built to prey upon her. His only friend. . .

“I’m coming, Y/N!” he breathed, turning to race back to the Runner only to run into a sturdy chest. The smell of fire-smoke and honeyed-mead flooded his nose.

“Where are you off to, Jisung?” the King hissed.

“Hyunjin,” the goblin-fae breathed out, startled by his appearance.

Dressed in a white silken shirt that was lazily open to reveal his chest, leathered pants, and a dragon-scaled purple cloak. He wore a fine halo-like crown of kingly-gold, intricate and delicately embellished with rubies. His face was one of annoyance, his lips drawn into a line and his brows furrowed.

It was a surprise to see the King in a place like this. Even the solidarity shadows hid away from their corners and pillars of stone, far away from the King of the Underground. Hyunjin glanced aside, looking over the ruins with a curled lip.

“Jisung, what did we agree upon last time we spoke privately?” he queried, remaining ever close to Jisung even as the goblin-fae continued to back away until his back hit the statue’s remaining face.

Hyunjin’s gaze flickered over the half-desecrated face of the King of old, his eyes squinting in disdain before settling back onto Han’s pout.

“Lead the Labyrinth Runner away to the beginning – which-which I was going to go do, like you told me to. She simply, uh, escaped me. Got too eager.” Jisung replied. “I’ll go lead her back right now!” He wiggled against the press of the King’s body. Hyunjin held Jisung’s shoulder down harshly, digging him into the sharp cheekbone of the Old King’s statue.

“I see; I thought you were running off to help her,” he mocked.

Jisung snorted out, the sound forced as he let out a strained smile. His shoulder-blade ached with the way Hyunjin pinned him to the stone.

“No, no,” he smiled, pleadingly. “Not me, Hyune.”

There was almost a look of fondness in Hyunjin’s eyes at the nickname. His hand rose from the other’s shoulder to squeeze Han’s cheeks. The metal claws that Hyunjin wore pricked his skin and Han grimaced. There was a beat before Hyunjin pulled away, a glaring smile on his lips.

“Of course,” Hyunjin hummed before letting go of the goblin-fae with a rough hand. “Not after my warnings, no.”

Jisung stumbled away as he rubbed at his cheeks. His gaze flickered upwards, looking at the other through his messed curls.

“Poor, poor Jisungie,” the King condescended, sighing out. “I noticed your jewels are missing,” Hyunjin noted.

Jisung’s hand instinctively went to wear they usually weighed on his waist. They were absent; his bracelet thudding against his belt with a plastic scrape.

“Oh, oh.” He stuttered.

“Jisung!” there was a distant cry from the Runner, so far off in the distance it was barely audible. She needed him. Hyunjin was quick to speak over her and her following yells.

“How’d that happen? After all you went through to obtain them, you’d think you’d be more… careful with your treasures,” Hyunjin commented.

The goblin-fae’s hand rose to itch at the back of his neck, fiddling over the raised scales that resided there. “I—You’re right—something must’ve—I’ll have to look for them,” Jisung stumbled over his words. “But, first, I’ll go and whisk the Runner back to the beginning!”

Jisung bowed slightly as he began to back away, step after step, heading towards Y/N. Y/N needed him. He had to find her. His fingers fiddled with the charms of his bracelet, rubbing one charm back and forth as he tried to sneak away only to feel the world stop. Birds shushed; the brush ceased to shift in the air; sounds and squeaks of the world tumbling along quieted. The air chilled to a freezing temperature and he froze.

“Wait, Jisung.”

It was an odd thing – a power only the High Fae had with their pure-connection to magic, blessed by the Underground to be able to control time and reality at whim. Hyunjin didn’t do so often, and only when it benefitted him.

It had been a while since Jisung had felt the effects of his power. Time stopping was useful when you wanted to avoid something or prolong another thing. He has memories of forever parties where time refused to tick forward, air frozen cold from magic being warmed by his body pressed to Hyunjin’s and other courtiers, and paused moments around the Castle, just him and Hyunjin, locked in embraces and pleasantries beyond Time’s eye.

Jisung’s eyes shut before he turned and falsified a smile to his King.

“I have a better plan.” The King mused. “Give her this.”

Hyunjin commanded with a flare of his fingers. Suddenly, a fruit was daintily perched in between his clawed fingers before he tossed it to Jisung quickly. The goblin-fae reacted and caught it easily.

“What is it?” He hummed, holding the thing carefully.

“It’s a present,” Hyunjin’s voice was sharp as he paced a few steps forward.

He didn’t like that he had to stoop to such levels, but she was progressing far too quickly. He couldn’t help the rise of defensiveness. He had expected her to be cowering in his shadow by now – he had expected her to be at his knees, sweet and pliant.

“It won’t harm her… will it?” Jisung queried, quietly.

The peach was abnormally heavy for such a small thing. It reeked of magic like honey-suckle with a sour-undertone, like something was fermenting within it.

“Now, why would you care?” Hyunjin paused, glancing over his shoulder at the goblin-man.

Jisung’s lips pressed into a fine line. Silence struck him. He was truly a coward after all that has happened. He couldn’t say what he truly thought even now. If he did, what if it hurt him – what if it hurt Y/N, too? It was odd feeling care for someone else after all these years. It made him swallow roughly.

Hyunjin’s smile was sharpened fangs and rolled eyes.

“Don’t tell me – you like the girl?” the King mocked.

It was foolish but expected of Jisung. He always wanted what wasn’t his. And the Labyrinth-Runner was his. Not Jisung’s. His.

Jisung’s voice was a stutter as he glanced towards a nearby shimmering tree and avoiding the King’s gaze. His throat felt dry as he swallowed. His hands fiddled with the bracelet – her bracelet he was reminded cruelly by a voice in his head. Her bracelet she gave him after he promised to help her. But here he was… discussing her with the King. Betrayer, betrayer, betrayer. Coward, coward, coward. His thumb brushed over the charm he favored the most – the smoothness easing his rising anxiety as he felt a roil of bile climb in his throat. He felt like he was back to the dunes outside the Labyrinth, banished and alone, with only the sands of time as his company and the taste of dust on his lips. He licked his lips – it didn’t taste of grit or death. He wasn’t there.

The King made him anxious and ever-cowardly. A long while ago, he was believed to be the King’s favorite – but it is true that Hyunjin’s blood was cruel, and no one knew that more than Jisung.

“Do you love her?” Hyunjin pressed on, turning fully to look at Jisung.

Head tilting like a predator sizing up his prey, he took slow steps with his long legs. His deep purple coat didn’t dare touch the dusty ground – it was as if small dust sprites lifted it just enough so it wouldn’t tarnish the fabric. It made him look more unearthly, more slowly unhinging at the thought that Jisung wanted her. His Runner.

“Do you think she loves you?” he commented, voice deep and low like a tiger’s growl.

It held an air of warning but also ridicule. As if the idea was fictious – unbelievable. Hyunjin’s eyes stormed as Jisung’s gaze rose at the other’s words. At the sight of the hurricane building, Jisung glanced aside once more as he found his voice.

“She’s my friend,” Jisung finally murmured, glancing down at his feet. “I don’t want to harm her.”

His eyes focused in on the bracelet that jingled lightly. The metal didn’t burn him – despite its iron and silver appearance. He liked that. It made him feel powerful. His other hand’s thumb brushed over a different charm.

“Oh Jisung,” his true name was like a dog’s lead around his throat. His head snapped up to meet the King’s gaze. He was oh so very close now; his smell of fire-smoke and honeyed rosemary burning Jisung’s nose.

“We were friends once, too,” Hyunjin reminded the shorter man.

And he had hurt the King was unspoken but loud and clear. Betrayal bit at the lesser-goblin’s spine. There was a hum in the King’s throat, a soft tut before, with the polished specter, he tilted Jisung’s chin up.

“Jisungie, if she ever kisses you,” Hyunjin was close, the king invading the space of his once-Gentleman-In-Waiting, his estranged best friend, “I’ll make you a Prince.”

Jisung couldn’t help the glow of wonder from sparkling in his eyes. Confusion and awe. He was a greedy soul through and through. Perhaps his blood was of dragon-fae long passed considering how he exceled in green envy and the need for a hoard of pretty things.

If he was a Prince of the Underground, he’d have all the jewels and finery and wondrousness that a fae like himself deserved. Even more than when he was a Gentleman-In-Waiting. All because of a human kiss? No, no, not just a human’s kiss – it was Y/N. Brave, stupid, charming Y/N. She’d probably like him more and--

“The Prince of the Land of Eternal Stench,” Hyunjin finished with a cruel smirk. He loved to watch the awe fade from his subject’s eyes – how Jisung’s Adam’s apple stuttered with a swallow. Hyunjin’s fingers rose to pinch the fair goblin’s chin. “Don’t make me do such a thing, my pet.”

Jisung trembled as he nodded. “Yes--yes, your Majesty.”

“Good boy,” the Goblin King hummed before letting go of Jisung’s chin and stepping away with a scowl.

“Give my gift to the Runner; she’s making too much progress.”

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jasongraceenthusiast · 18 days

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“ten is a bad person” you never even tried to understand him

#hes so complex #i will never shut up about him actually #hes watched everyone around him perish and then he had to let the love of his life leave #everyone he loves he has to leave them #and if you watch his seasons after rose #you can see his decline #how he has so much on his shoulders #and honestly him and jason grace have so much in common (me when im multifandom)#his last words being ‘i dont want to go’#because in the end he was still doing everything for everyone else #the weight of the world rests on his shoulders #and yeah he should have treated martha better #but he never said he liked her like that #he didnt play her she just was in love with a man who couldnt love her back #thats why his and donnas relationship is fucking gold #because finally he doesnt have to worry about losing someone that loves him like that #finally he doesn’t have to worry about losing someone who he loves like that #losing donna (at first anyway) hurt because she was safe she was comfortable #tenth doctor #doctor who

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wastelandhell · 9 months

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#heehee #he was looking too young and well rested in my game gotta fix his face #he needs to look like he has the weight of the world on his shoulders at all times a man who is 99% worry

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icebrooding · 4 months

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I think part of why I'm getting writer's block on certain scenes in Wildflowers is because there is no real canon reference to base from. Since the earlier chapters are going to have more 'downtime' and quiet moments between Kaushue and Trahearne until things start getting Intense.

And when I think of Trahearne, I think of how you meet this guy, but then right away it's 'help Arlon & Pellam/Carys & Tegwen/Malyck', and then it's 'find out about Caladbolg and defeat Mazdak', and then he's gone until Claw Island. Then everything goes south and it leads to the rest of your time with him spent building and leading the Pact to defeat Zhaitan. You don't see him again until late Season 2, and he's just been busy focusing on Kralkatorrik, and then Mordremoth. And then it's setting up base in the Silverwastes. Then it's defending the Silverwastes. Then it's Heart of Thorns, and...

You get the idea.

Basically, you never really get any kind of 'downtime' with his character. He is always busy planning something or focusing on some task that needs doing right away, or his military work. The only time this guy ever relaxes is when the Commander straight up forces him to.

I don't really know what he is like when not focusing on some bigger picture, because we never get to see that. Which I feel is very...sad, but it speaks to his character; this guy who just never. Stops.

So it's hard to imagine what he'd be like when not only has he 'stopped', but he's had years to acclimatise to being able to rest and not have to focus on this or that constantly. What he's like when the brakes have been put in place and he has to find a way to exist in a normal capacity.

#text #i just cant remember an instance where it was just him and commander having a moment without everything else immediately looming over them #maybe KotT but then it was just. them making their peace and goodbyes........#even in the flashback and prose he's been involved in he was still preoccupied with important stuff #he really never rests does he. how does this man function when the weight of the world isn't on his shoulders

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midnightarcheress · 2 months

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stress-relief

husband!Simon helping his wife!reader with her stress <3 cw: nsfw. mdni. fem reader, masturbation, squirting, a lil overstim.

you shuffle through the bag to find the keys to your home, only to drop it the minute you raise it to unlock the door. great. it’s one of those days where everything goes wrong, and you want nothing more than to shut out the world and curl up in bed, silently praying for the next one to be better.

you pick up the keys from the doormat and swing open the door of your flat, hoping that the familiar scent flooding your lungs will help you ground yourself back to a more serene state. tossing your coat and bag aside, your gaze falls on the tall man quietly reading on the sofa, sweetly mouthing a “welcome back, love.” that you dismiss with a grunt, stomping your way to the bedroom.

‘uh-oh.’ Simon thinks, siren already buzzing and red light blinking in his brain, making him pull up to his feet at god-speed and quickly follow you to your shared room, being met with your clothes scattered around and the sound of running water coming from the bathroom. he promptly puts away your discarded attire and sits on the edge of the bed, patiently waiting for you.

you stay in the shower for some good thirty minutes, allowing the water to wash away your stress as you massage your scalp. the weight finally falls from your shoulders and flows down the drain, leaving you alone with the tiredness that’s been brewing in your tense muscles since you stepped out of the house. with a long, weary sigh, you drape the towel around your body and walk out the bathroom, tiny droplets cascading from your hair to your chest, descending on the swell of your breasts and stirring your husband’s cock in his pants.

“gonna tell me wha’ got you so cranky, dove?” he asks with the slightest of teasing, knowing he’s staggering on the thin line of your temper.

“‘m sorry, jus’ a hard day.” you mutter sheepishly, turning to get some well-deserving comfy clothes on the dresser

“c’mere,” you barely have time to react before Simon pulls you by the wrist onto the bed, positioning your body between his legs as he rests on the headboard, “talk to me, lovie.”

his hands brush your arms delicately, fingers running up and down your skin as you start addressing the misfortunes of your day. how a jerk cut you off in traffic, how a client screamed at you on the phone after you explained it wasn’t possible to fulfill his request, how your long awaited sweet treat after lunch fell straight to the floor, how your mother called just to raise hell at you for not visiting enough, how your boss scolded you for a mistake that wasn’t even your fault.

“hm, she said tha’?” he murmurs, massaging the knots on your shoulders and slowly drifting his hands downwards, opening up the lightly damp towel that’s clinging to your frame as you ramble. his rough, calloused skin finds its way to your soft tits, gently kneading the fat while his lips plant small kisses all over your neck.

“i swear that woman’s out to get me, don't know how i haven’t been fired yet.”

“she knows tha’ place would fall apart without ya, doll. you’re the only one with a brain there,” he coos sweetly in your ear, fingers traveling down your stomach and reaching your mound, making your breath hitch in your throat. Simon smirks at your reaction, feeling your head tipping back to rest on his shoulder and your still wet hair soaking his shirt, “let me help you decompress, eh?”

you, too tired to resist the offer, let him spread your legs with ease, compliant to the touch of your loving husband. his middle finger smears the hasty arousal leaking from your cunt through your slit, softly caressing your folds as you melt into his arms. “so wet f’me, love.” he chuckles, slightly rubbing your clit as you hum.

his moves are tame, gradually pooling the warmth in your belly, taking his time to shape your tension until it’s the right moment to set you free. his finger toys with your entrance before sliding in, feeling the familiar walls of your cunt clenching around it, causing you to breathe heavily at just the beginning.

“you like tha’?” he whispers, introducing another finger on your tight hole as you turn to bury your face on his neck, mewling with pleasure and pain while he stretches you, digits hitting all the right spots. by the time he speeds up the thrusting, your moans are erratic, gasped, barely leaving your throat as you grasp his forearm in a desperate attempt to ground yourself, even with your brain reaching the fucked-out point by a simple touch.

his thumb lazily strokes your swollen nub as he continues to be knuckles-deep inside of your velvety walls, curling his fingers just enough to earn a squeal out of you. the coil on your lower stomach tightens, fibers threatening to snap at any second as Simon murmurs sugary praises in your ears whilst nipping the skin where your neck meets your shoulder, the love bite’s stings only intensifying the pleasure coursing through your bloodstream.

“Simon, ’m gonna-” you don’t even have the energy to complete your sentence before your juices flood on his hand, the god’s nectar gushing from your pussy and dripping from his wrist onto the long forgotten towel, as he bullies your clit to overstimulation. you cry out his name like a prayer, begging whatever higher power out in the universe to let you keep that sensation forever.

“looks like someone really needed tha’,” he laughs and you feel the deep rumbling from his chest on your naked back, only driving you closer to the edge as your legs convulse at the overwhelming thrill of your nervous system. your frantic moans echo in the room when Simon raises his free hand to your nipple, rolling the hardened tip between his thumb and index, painting twinkling stars in the ceiling, the scintillation being too much to keep your vision clear. “think ya got another one f’me, princess?”

he doesn’t wait for your answer; he knows how to treat his precious wife and can cite by heart the prescription to get you to sleep better than any pill would. tears prickle in the corner of your eyes when he starts again, just barely giving you time to recover from the near out-of-body experience.

his new rhythm is harsh, pulling your thighs - fully covered in slick and arousal - over his to keep you spread open, and fiercely pounding two digits inside you. you squirm and press yourself harder against his broad chest, babbling incoherently as he pumps his thick and scarred fingers somehow even deeper than before.

“Si, ‘s too much, i can’t-” you choke out, streams rolling down your cheeks as he builds another orgasm out of you. half-lidded eyes meet his hazel irises in a lustful gaze, pleading in agony for another release before your body gives out.

it doesn’t take much before a jolt of electricity tingle beneath your skin and makes you cum, getting you blissfully drunk by finger-fucking only while your peak ripple through your core. your hands sternly grip on the sheets under your limp body, the frenzy running its way through every corner of your being, clouding your vision and leaving you in a divine peaceful haze.

your limbs twitch slightly as you come down from your high, Simon holding you tight in his burly arms and pressing kisses on your pretty face. “you did so good, lovie,” he praises, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on your belly, “could’ve given ya s’much more but your eyes are so droopy already,” his quiet laugh almost lull you to sleep right there and then, “feeling better?”

you nod, eyes tempting to close as the fatigue washes over you, weariness creeping up your mind after a hell of a day and a celestial end to it. “thank you, Si.” you mumble with nothing but affection in your voice, utterly elated by the sight of your devoted husband cradling you.

“anything for ya, my wife.”

just a little something i thought of while procrastinating my other works lol

#simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost x reader #ghost x you #ghost smut #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #ghost imagine #cod mw #cod mw2 #cod smut #nyx writes ☾#midnightarcheress

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nanaslutt · 5 months

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The JJK men’s fav cuddling postitions <3

incl: Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Choso, Sukuna, Toji, Megumi, Yuuji, Yuta

cont: fluff :3, suggestive on Toji’s

note: i think this is my first full fluff fic…lol

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ

Gojo:

I know Gojo absolutely loves every position he can get you both into where you are physically as close as possible. Gojo's infinity is on automatically most of the time, the only touch he receives being from his students occasionally or from you. So when the time comes around for Gojo to be cuddled up with you, he needs to make sure every part of his body is touching some part of you.

I can see him being a fan of face-to-face cuddling, your limbs intertwined with one another, either his or your face pressed into the other's chest, your soft breathing tickling the skin of the other. Maybe something like the 'attack of the sloth' sleeping position. You on your back, Gojo's arms and legs wrapped around yours, leaving you completely enabled, his weight crushing you when you sleep; but you never complain.. well.. sometimes you do, Gojo's body is like a furnace.

Sometimes though, Gojo wants you to spoon him from behind. Of course, he loves it the other way around but theres just something so comforting about your small frame wrapped around his back. He feels so safe in your arms like this. He gets the same feeling one would when they were a kid, afraid of what was lurking in the dark, but the moment they pulled the blanket over their head, they were safe. Gojo felt untouchable, even more so than when he had his infinity on.

Geto:

A classic man, a simple man, a man of taste. I can see Geto loving the pretzel position. Him lying on his back, his toned arm above his head while his other wraps around your frame resting against him. His leg closest to you is bent, enabling you to interlace your leg with his, the appendage thrown over his thigh. He relishes in the feeling of your arm wrapped around his midsection, feeling safe and secure when you tuck you curl your fingers into his t-shirt on the side of his body.

He loves this position because he loves how close to you he feels, he also likes to see the size difference between the two of you when you're scooted down, your head on his chest. Another plus is he can scratch your back gently this way. His hands always find their way under your shirt, gently tickling and scratching the skin of your back, shoulders, and waist. He adores hearing you hum softly into his chest in approval at the relaxing caress.

You love this position for a variety of reasons as well. With your head on his chest, directly placed over his heart, you have free, unlimited access to the soothing rhythm of his softly beating heart, never failing to lull you into a peaceful sleep. You yourself were also guilty of slipping your hand under his shirt to feel up his abs. Running your fingers over the strong indents, counting them carefully in your head over and over, was the same to you as counting sheep. His skin was always so soft and warm, how could you resist?

Nanami:

Nanami's go-to is having you lay fully atop him, your head on the center of his chest, your bodies resting against one another while he strokes your hair. softly running his hands along your head, raking his fingers on the back of your neck, massaging your head, the whole nine yards. Nanami doesn't stop until he hears you lightly snoring on top of him.

Another thing about Nanami--if you drool or snore in your sleep, Nanami thinks it's the cutest thing in the world. You're always so embarrassed when you wake up and see the wet patch on his shirt after you had a particularly deep sleep, but Nanami finds it endearing; it means you felt safe with him, your body fully relaxing and letting go in his presence.

Another favorite is good ol' spooning. Nanami loves to be the big spoon. With both of your jobs as Jujutsu sourcerers, comes harrowing losses and injuries one cannot prevent, no matter how hard they try. So when Nanami gets the opportunity to completely encase your body in his strong, protective arms, it eases his nerves. He is constantly worrying about you, but in this moment he knows, nothing will touch you, nothing will get past his loving embrace.

This position gives Nanami unlimited access to the back of your neck. His lips instantly connecting with the soft skin, pressing soft kisses to the skin there, peppering down your shoulders, his fingers moving your nightshirt out of the way to touch your skin directly--god he loved kissing you. Your skin was so sweet and warm, how was he not supposed to kiss it? It was right in front of him after all.

Choso:

I have said this about Choso countless times, but he is a titty man.. so of course he's going to lay his head on top of your chest. He loves to feel the softness of your breasts agaisnt his cheek--if you have bigger breasts, you better bet he will lay face down and squish your tits around his face, holding his breath while he presses the fat against him, relishing in the feeling of your soft tits on his face.

His hands are without a doubt, on your chest as well. His large, warm hands engulf your tits in his grip, unconsciously feeling you up in his slumber, making you smile and laugh to yourself. He also loves wrapping his arms fully around your body too. The curse nuzzles his head against your chest while he slides his hands under the small of your back, his hands tickling the sides of your waist and back softly with the little mobility he has like this.

He has never felt love like this before, so when he feels your hands wrap around his back like it's the most natural thing in the world, it has his face heating up, a deep crimson blush spreading across his face while you rub his back, your nails raking over his back, over or under the thin material of his shirt. No matter how often the two of you cuddle together like this, he never fails to mumble how much he loves you into your chest, occasionally raising his head to look at you with a pout, still embarrassed even after all the time you spend together.

When you lean forward to press a kiss to his forehead, your fingers caressing his cheek before he drops his head back down to your chest to welcome the embrace of your arms around his body, he swears he's the luckiest man in the world.

Sukuna:

Your wrists and ankles are bound in chains while you sleep at the feet of his throne completely naked. <3

Toji:

I can see Toji being a fan of the 'pretzel' as well, same as Suguru. He gets a little more handsy most times, the hand he has wrapped around your back will creep down to the waistline of your night shorts. His thick fingers slip underneath the waistband, sliding under the band of your underwear as well as he grips as handful of your ass, massaging the fat in his hand, squeezing and rubbing it with his fingers.

At first, he did it as a way to tease you, and it worked, you always lifted your head to give him a stern look while he continued to massage the skin. Over time though, It became a comfort thing for the both of you. Whenever you're tired but Toji isn't, he'll turn down the volume of the TV in your shared bedroom and let you get comfortable on his chest, your ear resting where his arm and torso meet. He slides his arm around your frame, smiling to himself when you nuzzle and cozy up to him, his hand sliding down your back, rubbing up and down a couple times while you get situated.

When you get yourself to your desired position, throwing your leg over his hip; which meets his hand as he grabs it and pulls you over his pelvis more, caressing the side of your thigh soothingly; he slides his fingers into your underwear and stares groping you, his warm hands bringing you instant comfort, and familiarity. He'll continue to absentmindedly feel you up while he watches his show, his eyes occasionally darting down to look at you with softness in his eyes before he leans forward to press a kiss to the top of your head, drifting off soon after, leaving the TV running all night, as usual.

Megumi:

I imagine Megumi being super touchy with his significant other in private once he gets comfortable with you, but I still see him being a little awkward and shy about cuddling with you. It's so intimate after all. The two of you probably started with you lying on his chest with your hand resting on his tummy, you would have to make the first move because Megumi would rather die than initiate something like that at first, no matter how badly his body was itching to feel your warmth against him.

His body would go completely rigid when you laid on him out of nowhere. Megumi would hold his breath, not daring to move even in inches in fear you would move off of him. The weight of your head and your hand that was softly rubbing his tummy felt so comforting, although it did make goosebumps rise all over his body in shock. You would have to tip your head down to avoid him seeing your smile from hearing his heartbeat race out of his chest, the organ taking a significant amount of time before he gets used to your embrace, the rhythm slowing.

After a while of being together and countless cuddling sessions, I can see Megumi being more confident in initiating cuddle sessions when the two of you are watching TV or getting ready to go to sleep. His favorite positions are all of you cuddling him. You spooning him, him lying on your chest while his legs intertwine with yours--any position where your hands are wrapped around him and constantly caressing him in some way he is a huge fan of.

He also loves listening to your heartbeat. He didnt understand how you were always so calm, the soft lulling rhythm never failing to take him away to dreamland. He felt like he was going to have a heart attack every time you even smiled at him, but that was one of the things he loved about you--someone had to initiate the intimacy in the relationship and it sure as hell wasn't going to be him. If you weren't so forward, it probably would've taken him a year to even hold your hand on his own, so he was grateful you were more forward and verbal with what you wanted, because internally, he wanted the same as you, it just took a little coaxing to get him there.

Yuuij:

Yuuji has no preference! He loves each and every position, he just loves to cuddle with you. If he could always be touching you in some way, he would, and he sure as hell tries. You want to lay on his chest while he rubs your back? done. You want to spoon his large frame and wrap your leg over his waist while his fingers tickle your calf? done. Yuuji is ready for each and every cuddle position you propose to him, and he is not afraid in the slightest to initiate the cuddle sessions either.

I think Yuuji would find great joy in lifting your shirt up and crawling inside as much as his body could fit. His head resting on the soft skin of your tummy while your shirt blocks out most of the light emanating from the TV. "It feels like I'm a baby again." He would say, holding your hips in his hands on the outside of your shirt, his fingers tickling unconsciously along your sides, making you giggle.

I think Yuuji would really like coming home exhausted from training to sit in your lap and lay his head on your shoulder, his back arching slightly from the height difference between the two of you. He would hum into the crook of your neck while you stroked his back, raking your nails along him. He would smile to himself and close his eyes when you lift his shirt, scratching his warm skin directly while he falls asleep on your lap for a midday nap.

He was quite heavy and you're unable to breathe very well while he sleeps, but luckily he never naps long, and you do admit his weight crushing you felt weirdly nice, along with the ticklish puffs of his breath against your neck--it makes you feel close to him.

Yuta:

Yuta is a big baby. He handles enough in the Jujutsu world, trying to keep up his tough, strong persona while fighting, all he really wants when he comes to you is to relax completely in your embrace. Another man who loves it when you cuddle him from behind. He loves feeling your leg wrap over his waist, he knows he's not small, but he loves to feel like it sometimes, it's comforting.

One of his favorite positions to cuddle with you during the day is his head on your tummy/pelvis, his hands stroking along the length of your waist while you tangle your hands in his hair, running your nails over his sensitive scalp, down the back of his neck, reaching as much of his back as you can. It lulls him right to sleep, and he loves it. I think Yuta would struggle with falling asleep/sleeping through the night from insomnia, but when you're touching him, your warm embrace engulfing his body, he almost forgets about all the sleepless nights he spent without you by his side.

I can also see him loving to cuddle while facing you. Your head in his chest while he wraps his arms around you, and you likewise. Your legs tangled together, your bodies pressed as close as possible. During the summertime, this position is not the most comfortable because of the heat and the somehow awful AC Jujutsu high has. So during the colder months, the two of you constantly find yourselves in this position. He keeps his hand pressed snugly to the back of your neck, making sure your forehead stays pressed to his neck at all times.

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honestsycrets · 11 months

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starved | [miguel o'hara x reader]

❛ pairing | new papi!miguel x new mami!reader

❛ type | oneshot: explicit content

❛ summary | peter says he's sex-starved. he isn't. he's just... adjusting to less time with his wife.

❛ tags | breastfeeding miguel, lactation kink, slight pregnancy kink, touch starved, pissy miguel, spanish is not translated, mention of violence, some cursing, f!reader.

❛ sy’s notes | written as per poll request! thank you everyone who voted.

Miguel likes to work.

Or, he thinks he likes to work.

The fate of the multiverse and all that boring ass bullshit. Peter has heard it all, twice, thrice over. What he knows is what he sees. What he sees is an overworked man running through anomaly files, sending out orders, and not spending time where it really mattered.

“Is that who I think it is?” Peter’s annoying ass house slippers flapped over the ground by Miguel’s feet. Peter’s hands rubbed together, sparking little bursts of heat between his palms. “It is! Mireya!”

Mireya, the newest addition to his small family. She was nestled comfortably in the crook of one of Miguel’s muscular arms as if it were the safest place in the entire world, suckling on what was left of a bottle of breastmilk. Miguel turned to place the empty bottle down on his desk. Peter followed, peeping over Miguel’s arm at her. Despite Miguel’s reservations, her bright brown eyes bored Peter with interest. She cooed at him. “Can I hold her? Let me hold her, it’ll be great! Aw look, she has curls.”

“My daughter isn’t your doll.”

“Look how pretty, she’s just like her mami. All sunshine and dimples and--,” Peter reached forward, easing his scrawny hands under her plush little arms and picking her up. Miguel’s hands fell onto his hips, shifting weight from one foot to the other, glancing down at his feet expectantly. “You know, for a new dad, you’re grumpier than usual.”

“Peter.”

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” he bobbed back and forth, spinning in a circle. She giggled the kind of laugh that was all sugar, making Peter grin even harder. “I mean, wasn’t Mireya your idea? Are you-- y’know?”

“Y’know?”

“Sex starved,” Peter whispered like it was a great, terrible secret. As if in this vast space of silence, someone might catch his words and convict him because of them. Miguel’s half-lidded eyes slid against one another, held for a second, then spread open in an annoyed flick. He fluttered his gloved fingers at Peter to hand Mireya over.

“I’m just saying if you need a night alo--”

“I don’t. I’m not sex-starved.”

He waved him off. His eyes fell on his daughter, boring back up at him with those beautiful eyes he had waited so long to see. He shifted his weight from one leg to another, lulling her back into her late-night slumber, cradled against his chest.

Sex starved, he said. What a shocking joke.

His room was no place for a child. It was perpetually dark, dimmed for his sensitive eyes. So, at the end of the day, Miguel had your room to return to. A real home, one with more than a ratty run-down chair and a lifetime of regrets. A home that he couldn't make alone. Miguel pressed past the bedroom door where he found you overcome by sleep. Just like Mireya in his arms.

He turned his gaze down to Mireya once more, her soft and squishy body a vision of peace. Tiny fists balled up over her belly as she slept in her soft velvet onesie. The whole world in his hands: the start of a happy little family. Only right now, it didn’t feel so happy. Those were the cycles, the push and pull of life.

Tonight would prove to be another silent night with his thoughts. His chest swelled with a rush of air, bunching up his shoulders as he moved to the adjoining room to set Mireya into her warm crib. Torn from his warmth, her palms stretched out, ready to wail. Miguel placed his hand along the wooden rail, his stomach flopping into throbbing anxiety in his stomach. She could wake you up. "Shh," he set his finger in her tiny palm. Mireya’s small hands rested listlessly around her head. The wail never came.

“Mi vida,” your sleepy voice fell over his ears, a gentle caress. He longed to hear it from your lips again. “Is she already asleep?”

“Sí--” he glanced over his shoulder, catching just a sight of one of his favourite little slips. Dusty rose with delicate lace details. He studied the edge of the gown, flowing over your thick thighs as you walked. Shock.

“You look beautiful." You looked down at your soft belly, a mincing smile pulling at your lips. He knew you were nervous, the way your hands obscured your plush belly. Mesmerized, his finger fell away from Mireya's soft grip. Peter's words echoed in his mind, a deep annoyance. It made his skin crawl, this growing annoyance in the acknowledgment that he had no sex in weeks, months. He took a step forward.

“I hope she doesn’t sleep through the night. My breasts are full,” Your fingers skimmed the taut skin. The glint of your wedding band invited him forward as if… you should be his tonight. You were his wife-- and though he didn't expect you to give him relief, he missed you. Miguel dipped his head, stroking the sore muscles of his neck.

Are you, y'know, sex-starved?

“When does she ever..." he couldn't help from saying. He grazed his fingertips over the swollen skin of your breasts, glancing from the skin to your deep, shy eyes. His breath thinned, realizing that you were disengaging, too scared to look him in the eye.

“She does, Miggy,” you breathed. His jaw worked, annoyed. “Lately. You’d know if you came home at night.”

If it was lately, he had no knowledge of it. Every lab screen he pulled up, every status report from Lyla, and every silent night in the lab, obsessing over how his little girl was doing-- he missed it. He should be coming in more often, crossing the threshold of work to family life. His hand cupped the underside of your breast. You winced, embarrassment working on your face. You pushed his hand away, likely feeling exposed by his touch on your tender skin.

“Does it hurt?” He leaned down, mingling his smoky, musky scent with your delicate one. He leaned in to place a soft, open-mouthed kiss along your neck, the warm pulse of your skin against his plump lips.

“Miggy, you’ll wake her up.”

Your fingers laced in his before you pulled him out of the room with a click of the door. He settled his hand on the middle of the door, sliding his hand up your waist, the soft fabric crinkling over the movement. He glimpsed a look at your soft panties cupping your round ass. “Miggy, I… I can’t. I’m tired.”

Of course, you were tired-- He underestimated how much work you took on in her care. He willed the wisps of his desire to snuff out. The distant flicker of hope followed promptly after. Maybe, one day, you would want him again. It wasn't today.

“Ya veo,” he suppressed his frustrated growl, wrinkling his forehead. “Another time.”

It wasn't the next day. Or the one after that. Or the one after that.

The anomaly whirled along a cobblestone street, exploding in a cloud of dust and stone. Its many black dipped hands flickered, dulling into little more than a negligible tremor of their limbs. Everyone else noticed the complacency that came with loss of consciousness. Miguel did not.

Miguel sauntered forward, dragged it by its muddy boots out from the crumbly remnants of the wall, and whirled it into another. It wasn't moving. It was done, tired, exhausted. He didn't care, his large hand encompassing its tendril hair and smashing it over the dusty floor. A violent crack, crack, crack of its head scratched his inert need to destroy something, anything, anyone. It fell from his hands with a slump. Miguel spat a bit of blood to the side, his cheek chewed raw under the tension of the moment.

“You need to take Peter up on that offer.”

Miguel stretched his neck one way. Then the other.

“We’ve been over this,” Miguel grumbled, hiking the pummeled body over his shoulder. It gushed blood, streaming into a diluted pink with the downpour of rain. A simple contusion, Miguel said. It was just a contusion. And a concussion. Maybe a gash or two. It would heal if the thing woke up. “I don’t need help.”

“You thrashed it, whatever it was,” Jess said pointedly. Miguel’s finger ran across his watch. The air was stale without an acknowledgment of Miguel’s churning temper, growing into a churning tempest by the passing minute. He stared long and hard through his mask. She drew out the silence as she waited for his response.

“It’s a contusion.”

The portal whirled to life before them in a slurry of vivid color, an unforgiving abyss. Jess slumped her bike with weight on one thigh, hand on her belly. The longer Miguel stared at her, so full and pregnant, the more he was reminded of you. He pinched the bridge of his nose. There was no use-- he saw visages of you everywhere he looked.

“Doesn’t look like any head contusion I’ve seen,” Gwen slid into the portal. His lip curled, annoyed by the obvious objection to what he was saying. If they would let it go-- he could go on about his life, wait for this obsession with his sex life to abate. Wait for you to come back to him.

“You can’t keep taking out your—“

“I am not sex-starved!”

“Convincing.” Jess sped into the portal.

Miguel soothed the stress out of his forehead, opening and closing his palm, a current of energy coursing through his palms. They picked— and they picked— and they picked at him. At some point, he was bound to explode. He only hoped you wouldn't be in his way when it happened. He whipped the anomaly through the portal and followed after.

On the other side of the portal, there was Peter— again. Cooing with his hands on his daughter— again. His dark mask faded away, his suit wicking water off his frame. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he located you beside Jess and Gwen. You nudged its crumpled body with your shoe. He didn’t often feel ashamed of his actions. Usually, they were necessary. Something was wrong, your face pinched and curled in disgust. He felt the string of your disapproval pulling through his arms, a slight, incriminating tremor flickering through his finger. He willed it away.

“What did you do to this poor thing?” you turned to Jess, a click-click-click off your tongue. He’d hardly call it poor. “It’s overkill.”

“Girl, ask your husband,” Jess folded her arms, reclining on her bike.

“Mi Miggy?” you went to him. You leaned over, pecking his cheek with a terribly insulting kiss, tickling his jawline. He swallowed. Blinked. Then frowned and brushed off your fingers, finding the care misplaced. You could care for an anomaly but didn't care to ask him how he felt. What he needed. Your voice wilted that sunshine quality, dropping almost to a whisper. “¿Qué te pasa, Miggy?”

“Nothing.”

“Miguel--"

“I said nothing!” He knelt down, grasping its ankle and dragging it down the long, drab hall that stored a variety of anomalies. A line of blood soaked the floor, swerving after his rumbling steps. You took a step forward, snatching his wrist between your fingers. He whirled around, a tremble on his lips firmed out into an unforgiving glare. You let up the pressure on his wrist, allowing him to spin his hand free. “Déjame en paz! There is nothing shocking wrong!”

Mireya cried. So did you.

The admittance that Peter was right wasn’t one that Miguel was about to make openly.

Although he showed up that night, as you informally requested, the night proceeded awkwardly. There was no talk over dinner, not as he watched you feed his little girl, swaying by the window of the enormous city below. As you gazed into the sea of twinkling lights, Miguel came up behind you. His palms encompassed your slight shoulders, moist against your exposed shoulders. His naked chest grazed your back.

"Are you going to apologize?"

Why should he have to? If anyone listened to what he was saying-- he wouldn't be in this mess. Still, Miguel steeled his face. He placed a mincing kiss on the top of your head. His voice thinned out, barely a feather on his lips.

"I snapped."

"You did a lot more than that. You scared her."

You let him sit with his regret until you fell asleep. He debated returning to the lab or his room to try again tomorrow. But he knew his wife. You were attentive to everything that he did. You might take it as a sign of his disinterest. After minutes turned to hours, he breached the door and slid into your bed when he was sure you were asleep.

When his eyes coursed over your figure, he realized all he missed. It was too long since he felt the warmth of a real kiss. Not the brief pecks on his lips as he rushed out the door to help Jess or Gwen or any other number of spiders demanding his attention. He missed the warmth in your eyes, the way they turn into crescents with a happy smile or jaunty laugh. He longed for that sensation of your fingers combing through his hair, taking your time and curling his fluffy hair behind his ear, eyes trained on his alone in a sea of spiders. That… sensation of being the only one that you wanted.

Mireya was that for you now. He longed for it every time he came into the room, seeing you sway with his child in your arms, cradled against your breast, feeding her into a restful sleep. What he thought was a mere seed of jealousy turned out to be a terrible beast, tendrils of resentment that you can’t see what he needs. He needs you. And it isn’t his beautiful Mireya’s fault, no. It’s his.

Instead, he lay there with his palm wretched around his cock, soaked in the artificial lubricant, throbbing into his hand. He remembered his words that night. A begrudging -- Mami, give me a baby-- and how well you took him. Your body seemed to know what he wanted, swelling with his child after a few weeks. He buckled into his palm, cranking around the base and swirling up to his leaking tip, bubbling with his need. He circled his finger over the head, swiping the fluid away.

“What are you thinking about?”

Miguel paused, sweat crept down his thick throat over his broad chest. He shuddered under the weight of your silken words. His hand coiled around his cock in one more jerk, somehow accepting that he had been caught.

“Are you thinking about me? Or is there someone else?”

"Someone else?" he breathed. His lips dropped into a frown, agitation simmering to a boil. It cooled when you looked at him-- but really looked at him. The bed shifted under your weight, ruffling pillows aside. You hoisted your legs over his body, pushing his cock against your soft vulva and his stomach, breasts pushing into his face. So close that Miguel inhaled the uniquely sweet smell of your milk obscured by thin lace.

“Why would I have anyone else?” he asked, his chest distantly aching. His gaze tracked from one breast to the other. He stole a glimpse at your face, stricken with shyness. The slight pout of your lips, eyes refusing contact. “Do you even want me?”

Undoubtedly yes.

“You don’t come to see me. You don't fuck me. You don't even--"

"You're always tired."

"But you could wake me.”

“Could I? To deny me again?” It hadn’t meant to come out so passive-aggressive, but with the natural inflections in his voice, he knew you could read him like a book.

“Oh, papi," not that soft voice. He might hope again. "I always want you.“

Hmpf. Debatable.

“Even when you’re jerking off in my bed. Or couch.” You slid your pink tongue along your lower lip, guiding your body against his. The wet draw of your juices over his dick drew his sharp scarlet eyes to the sight, knocking your stiff clit with his dick. For a moment, his words failed. He should have known you would watch him.

“Is that why you're so... angry? Because of me?" He made a small noise, barely a huff. You drew his hands to your full breasts, obscured by a thin layer of fabric. This time, he smothered a groan in his chest. How pathetic, he thought, to be moaning from something as simple as your firm breasts back in his hands. What was he-- twelve? "Have I been neglecting you, Miguel O’Hara?”

“Yes-- you've neglected me,” he murmured, dragging the lace underneath each breast, knocked together by the straps of the fabric. He melded your breasts again between his hands, massaging the sore skin. His thumps flickered over your nipples, stiffening them into peaks. With a small pinch to your breasts, milk dribbled over his fingertips.

"I won't do it again," he wondered if you missed his touch by the full, grateful hum of your lips, your palms disappearing into his dark hair. You coursed along his dick again, eliciting another piteous noise of longing from his throat. "I promise."

“Hm," was the only agreement. "What a mess,” he teased, not bothering to look at you. It had the desired effect, your shoulders shyly bunching up, the cute pout of your lips, warmth in your cheeks, quivering eyes. He loved it when you looked so fucking shy, so vulnerable, and all for him. "You're leaking all over my hand."

“I’m-- sorry,” you flushed, “It… happens.”

“Mhm, you're full,” Miguel flicked his pink tongue along your stiff, fat nipple, drawing it into his mouth with a suckle. Sweet milk soothed his tongue. He hungrily drank it up, shifting his other hand back to angle his cock at the entrance of your core. A hand left his thick locks and jerked to his broad shoulder, stabilizing your hips down to sink onto him. Blood welled to the surface with your claws scratching piteously along his sunkissed skin. With a bit of resistance, he slid perfectly into your body, just like he always did. A satisfied sigh escaped his lips against your breast. It was somehow different-- the tug and stretch of his cock-- as he fucked the mother of his child. Maybe it was all in his head. “Shock, you’re gorgeous on my dick.”

“Miggy--”

He shifted to the other breast, his hands nearly stapled on your hips, encouraging you to do the work. Your warm milk slid into his mouth, down his starved throat. The pleasure of knowing he was draining you of your milk was tempered with the ever-present fact that soon, you’d have his spunk in your belly again. Your hips flushed, drawing around in quick circles, flushed with his pelvis. Small waves of pleasure grew in your belly. Your stiff clit glided against his skin, again, and again with the undulations of his hips. You felt pinned between his mouth and dick, restricted in movement, but all his, devoured by his need.

“Come here, mi hermosura,” Miguel released your breast from those lush lips, sliding his tongue along his lips to catch the remnants of your sweet milk. He slid down along the pillows, flushing your chest to his, and propped his legs slightly for a better angle. His muscular arms wound around your back, cock pumping into you with renewed vigor. He knocked against your cervix in this position, holding you fast and tight in his arms. You nestled against his sweaty chest, accepting his thrusts so well.

“Miggy-- I’m not-- on anything.”

“You're breastfeeding, close enough,” he mused in your ear as though it were a joke.

You might have argued with him if you weren’t so blinded by that fantastic juddering of his hips. As it were, pleasure rocked all thoughts of birth control out of your mind. Miggy, an ever-present lover, groaned as he held out through your orgasm milking and soaking his swollen dick in your cum. Not a moment later, Miguel forced a long stroke of his dick inside your cunt, reaching his climax buried deep in your tremoring walls. You squeezed him tight, milking him dry of his orgasm until it all faded into fuzzy pleasure. You sighed as his arms loosened, warm and full of Miguel after so long. His soft dick slipped free, cum oozing onto his thighs, but he couldn’t be bothered to deal with the mess.

He set a kiss on the top of your head, then your forehead, and eventually snatched your lips in a warm kiss. You could taste the sweetness of your milk on his tongue and flushed. Your head dropped down on his chest, listening for the gentle whining of your daughter. It was silent but for the intermingling of your heaving breaths.

After all the issues: the disappointment, the fighting with Peter and Jess, Miguel couldn’t help but chuckle. All it took was jerking off in your bed. He should have known-- you never did like to be left out on his fun. You were always a jealous lover, even at the threat of his own hand.

“Hm? Why are you laughing?”

“Peter said I was sex-starved."

“Well," you glistened a smile, kissing along his jaw. He huffed. "He wasn't wrong."

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starstruckmiraclekitty · 6 months

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Simon’s body ached, his brain slowly shutting down from exhaustion as the plane finally landed, bringing him and the 141 home at last.

Gods..he couldn’t wait to get home to his family…he was sure you’d all be-

“Daddy!” A small voice brought him out of his thoughts, his eyes widening upon the sight that greeted him on the tarmac.

The rest of the 141 turned, confusion lining their faces as they watched the heartwarming scene unfold in front of them.

Simon tore off his mask, his lips lined with a proud smile as he crouched down, his arms outstretched. He watched as his little girl ran toward him as fast as her little legs could carry her.

When she made it close enough, she launched herself into her daddy’s arms, and Simon felt the weight of the world leave his shoulders. He was quick to pick her up, and spin her around, causing her to let out a fit of elated giggles.

“What’s my little princess doing up this late?” Simon asked, pressing a kiss to his daughter’s chubby little cheek. “Shouldn’t you be tucked in bed?”

“She couldn’t sleep knowing her daddy was coming home tonight.” You said, walking up to your husband. “Frankly, neither could I.”

Simon leaned down to press a loving kiss to your lips, before returning his attention to his little girl. “That true, kiddo?”

Your daughter looked up at him, before bursting into tears. Through small hiccups, she managed to get out a few words. “I missed you so much, daddy.”

Simon’s heart nearly tore in two, as he held his daughter impossibly close, rubbing soothing circles into her small back. “I’m home now sweetheart, daddy’s home.”

She pulled away, her little eyes blinking away the tears as she gave her daddy the best smile she possibly could. “I have so much to tell you!”

“I can’t wait to hear it, little one.” Simon grinned, his eyes fluttering over to you. “Why don’t we go get some ice cream, you can catch me up on all I’ve missed, yeah?”

Simon glanced back, giving a knowing look to his team- fully expecting to be questioned about his big secret later that week. But for now? Now all cared about was his beautiful partner, and his baby girl.

He was home.

#simon riley imagine #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #cod imagine #mw2 imagine #ghost x reader #ghost mw2

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anantaru · 5 months

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4 RULES TO SURVIVE A DIVORCE (GONE WRONG)

— ꒰ synopsis ꒱ — deciding to end your marriage with neuvillette might've been the hardest decision you've ever had to make in your life, although now, navigating through the divorce was becoming even more difficult, especially when you suddenly fail to stick to four simple rules you have both set between each other.

— ꒰ word count ꒱ — 7.8k

— ꒰ warnings ꒱ — [ns]fw, fem! reader, ex! husband neuvillette, divorced couple goals lmao, fluff & crack, p with plot, lovers to strangers to lovers, size kink/size difference, rough sex, unprotected sex, unresolved tension and lots of bickering, sassy comments from the both of you, it's very much giving married old couple, office sex, cumming inside

RULE NUMBER 1: KEEP YOUR DISTANCE AT ALL TIMES

by the sixth day of waking up to an empty bed— with the left side untouched and consisting of nothing but a feeble scent of vacant perfume, neuvillette has decided that he's had enough.

which wasn't to say that he's had enough of sleep, even though that's certainly a potent route to take, yet the neuvillette the people of fontaine knew was only the one they believed they knew.

in this agonizing moment in time, he wasn't sure on how long he could act out this picture-perfect facade for the sake of his people.

they thought he was brilliant, attractive, chocolate-box pretty.

a radiant, enigmatic dragon that was quite the sight to behold, his smile reminding the flowers of spring-time to blossom to their original beauty— awakening their way of life— ah well, such lovely things to ruminate on, or when they decide to appreciate his delicateness, how uniquely he viewed the world and how otherworldly soft he chose to explore it.

in a true sense, the alluring stories the people of fontaine told each other got one single piece about him right; that neuvillette was very handsome and soft to someone's eyes.

with all ones heart, the man unquestionably had enough of the irrefutable coldness wearing down on his shoulders, sitting there alone in an empty bedroom that was previously essential to his well being, with misery written all over his face and bursting at the seams of his mental health, just enough for him to stop talking all at once.

the cold bedspread was rough against his naked body, the mattress too soft to rest on and giving in beneath his weight. wholly crestfallen did neuvillette realize that sadly, the only way to return to the life he's lived a couple months ago, return to where he should be, was to somehow learn on how to travel back in time and make things right.

which from the bottom of his heart, was impossible.

it was confusing, he has to admit, because the only factor he found somewhat common now was on how empty the bedroom was— besides his own belongings, which weren't a lot in the first place, everything else was taken by you weeks ago, beloved items that were brimful of memories stacked in cold boxes and delivered to your new home.

a predictable event, he knows, and how embarrassingly predictable it had gotten that neuvillette found himself in teething trouble, precisely the issue of his sleep schedule in this bed— one you had bought together, shared together every single day, one you had made love to each other every single night.

a slump of mindless memories waft through his psyche, resembling a wicket current of catastrophes as he ultimately came to the conclusion that the reason he was unable to sleep must be because of you— his serious issues on being unable to rest, it has to be because of you.

neuvillette's thoughts and judgments were all scattered, rummaging through the vortex of problems he had endured through the weeks, a matter much more pressing than all of the other issues put together— he continuously waits and aches, hopes and dreams, and before he notices he's slowly healing, it all comes crashing down on him again.

a recollection long gone relives itself in his mind's eye, and his previous gaze gets overturned by a new, haunting stare.

this is why he had bought the bed in the first place, he remembers it vividly now, it's because you fell in love with it right away, you liked the way it felt underneath your body, heedless of how he personally never really found it comfortable.

concealed from everyone's eyes, neuvillette was deeply saddened, but he hadn't given his mental health much thought yet, because how do you even process that your wife has left you?

how do you tell anybody that you failed as a husband?

and it's raining again? what a hassle, although now he's acquired another way to fault himself on, most importantly hurt himself, because no one deserved the bad weather other than he himself did.

for the first time after gaining the position of the iudex of fontaine, neuvillette did not want to go to work. what if someone begins to ask too many invasive questions when he visits the palais mermonia today?

if that's the immediate case that was going to happen, he begins to think about it more clearly— a person asking about his private life was definitely trespassing his boundaries, right? he could immediately do something about it and put them on trial.

by that logic of his, neuvillette cannot fathom how humiliating it was, his face clouds with a mixture of desperation and disappointment in himself, because he can already imagine the hot off the press headlines on the cover of the steambird;

ATTENTION! ATTENTION!

IUDEX OF FONTAINE LEFT STRANDED BY FORMER WIFE! ARE YOU WONDERING WHY WE THINK THIS MARRIAGE WAS DOOMED TO FAIL FROM THE START? GO FIND OUT IN THE NEW ISSUE OF THE STEAMBIRD. ©this article was written and published by journalist charlotte, do not plagiarize under any circumstances

up to the minute he was able to calm himself down, until imagining the wildfire of emotions an article like that would cause in fontaine.

all the unpleasant hours of arguing with you, even attempting to understand each other without actually coming to a conclusion on how to navigate a situation like that. aside from wanting to keep it all hidden from the outside world, leave it concealed and let the people of fontaine forget about the fact that you two had been married in the first place.

who cares, right? who gives a damn if it's husband or ex husband now? what even was the difference between a wife and an ex wife, you see that it's all the same?

ugh, who was he fooling besides himself.

the whole 'ex-wife' was aggravating him to the point where it made him physically sick.

why can't he just flip a switch and everything goes back to normal like it never happened in the first place. neuvillette wanted his normal life back, the normal life he thought you both loved and would continue to live on until your dying days.

in the end, neuvillette saw no other route around it other than to quit using it all together, maybe stop talking about you entirely.

by all means, it's not like he will talk to anybody about the divorce, maybe besides you when he has to mention it. granted that he might not talk to you about it either, because he wasn't allowed to see you right now, neither were you allowed to see him.

on how it came to that point was genuinely understandable.

after the divorce was finalized, new adjustments had to be made regarding your previous living situations, shared income and the future possibility of seeing each other.

as was anticipated, before he was able to say anything or make suggestions, you had already started to list out a couple of "important rules" that you made up, you called them rules but in the iudex mind he called them pesky little regulations.

regardless of his distaste for them, he wrote them down on a piece of paper as to not aggravate you.

well, he found it a bit bizarre, but neuvillette thought it must be a serious requirement at this point. it was his first divorce so how was he supposed to know how to navigate through one? it wasn't supposed to be easy, that's what he knew, it's very heart breaking and draining his life force.

although funnily enough, his overwhelm strengthens after you waltzed over the fourth rule of the day. that's one rule too much in his opinion.

just how many were there?

"i can't think of a better solution," you state whilst leaning your body against his desk, always facing the ground, you wouldn't want to lock gazes with him during such difficult time.

"we may even be able to talk again in the future, you know,"

but did you really want to?

it's safe to say that neuvillette would want to keep in contact, but it's certain that this would not only stress you both out in the long run, possible new partners could also get weirded out by the fact that you two were still talking and they may become jealous.

neuvillette stifles a groan, scribbling down the second rule that left your mouth before absorbing the letters on the piece of paper, "it's for the best if we keep a distance,"

to say like that was a punch in the gut would be an understatement, despite the fact that you proposed the idea in the first place.

alas and without any of you knowing before setting out those four simple rules, now— weeks after, you had found yourself in a position that made it near impossible to keep a distance from each other, or at least make eye contact in a social gathering.

for you, it has become your life in a literal sense to comb through this difficulty, for neuvillette, the possibility of seeing you in the future would secure his sanity and keep him from turning as mad as a hatter.

patience. the incurable truth was patience.

this afternoon, you have to talk for at least five minutes, with a window consisting of a maximum of ten minutes if one of you talked slowly— it's not like you want to see him, but you have to visit your ex husbands office to sign a paper regarding your previously shared finances and then you're good to go for the day again, you can leisurely exit his office and leave this failed relationship behind, exactly where it belonged in the first place, deeply stored in the past.

previously during the negotiations, neuvillette was quite persistent in leaving you the house which was located a little outside of fontaine. he was in no need of it anymore and wanted you to have it, without payments required.

between us two, it's quite obvious he wanted to get rid of it.

but so did you.

you didn't want to stay there, not now, not ever, you wouldn't sign that damned paper even if the god of contracts suddenly came knocking on your door and force you to.

all the memories in that house would eventually eat you up, they'd definitely destroy you, the gnawing grief would certainly keep you awake at night.

originally after telling your ex husband that you didn't want the house, he was able to find you a flat in the city— it's small but cute, and it had everything you needed. a cozy bedroom, a kitchen that was big enough to dance in while you're preparing dinner and an area where you can set up an office for yourself.

how convenient it was that you were previously married to the person that is in charge of fontaine.

aside from that and the fact that you were practically making neuvillette handle the most difficult parts of this— you realize how a sudden guilt was stored on your shoulders, you could barely face him after that.

the parts he needed to handle included, but were not limited to, well, a problem slightly more irritating since it was about his life, turning approximately a hundred other problems he deals with on a daily a whole lot easier.

most of the legal process was handled by him, and only him for that matter, meaning that he had to spend additional hours on it and was barely able to move on with his life after losing you.

unlike you did.

well frankly, it's only been a couple of weeks, a month at best since you've last seen him— although it has been much longer since you've last felt him.

there really wasn't a lot going on in your life after breaking things off, it's always a grueling whirlwind of;

waking up, heading to work, walking home, eating, sleeping, repeat.

most significantly, your new bed felt a bit hard as well, it's uncomfortable and drove you insane.

you missed the one you had previously shared with neuvillette— wether it was because of the way it felt underneath you or because of its much better quality.

perhaps it was also that in the past, you had the chance of leaning against a warm body whenever you were freezing— the secret on why you found your new bed worse in comparison to your old one would certainly remain a secret forever.

it can never be answered, because you do not even know the answer yourself.

it's frequent and happens all the time— when you suddenly begin to wonder late in the evening if this was the right decision after all.

then again, a divorce wasn't necessarily something you would just forget from one day to the other— aside from that, there was a reason it happened, considering the countless events of arguing and the inability of you both to find a solid middle ground.

when you notice that a relationship drains the life out of you, or makes you cry your heart out late at night, a decision has to be made eventually, especially before it would turn your love into resentment or make your respect for the other person dwindle away.

was it really that surprising that you had your doubts?

when it comes down to it, neuvillette wasn't a bad man and you would never speak poorly of him. he was everything else but bad, which reminds you of the reason you had fallen in love with him.

but in earlier days, he had a reflection less of the way he was than of the way he wanted you to see him.

it was challenging for neuvillette to open up to you.

but hell, you're certain you won't be able to find someone who'd ever make you as happy as he did, bring you sweet tummy aches when he makes you laugh all night, or be there for you when you're sick and unable to take care of yourself.

you shake your head in embarrassment, your cheeks aflame as you're drawing several deep, steadying breaths— perhaps that's just how you're supposed to think right now.

it's not real, it cannot be.

right now, you feel like you should've never broken it off, but this marriage had been on death's door for months before the decision was finally formed— albeit from afar, no one had ever suspected anything and you're quite proud of that, in fact, both of you made sure no one would notice too much of what had been going on behind closed doors— like good spouses should always protect each other.

among other things, taking into consideration just how important his work and image was, the last outcome you wanted was for your ex husband to endure dreadful gossips about him.

neuvillette did not deserve a single negative word against him, this man deserved nothing but the finest life for himself— furthermore, after spending yet another night without sleep and thinking about your ex husband, you believed that the best for him just wasn't you.

it never has been.

RULE NUMBER 2: NEVER SHOW UP TO EACH OTHERS HOME OR WORK, NOT EVEN ON EMERGENCIES, ESPECIALLY NOT IF YOU MISS EACH OTHER

it's a little clumsy when you first enter his office, accompanied by an unnerving type of awkwardness outstretching across the room as neuvillette meets your eyes right away— but his head drops after around two seconds and he puffs out a wretched sigh, sounding as if he's about to cry.

neuvillette thought that this should've been way easier— but before you, he has never felt real love like yours before, and he was quite certain that this type of love only happens once in life.

the melusines were also happy to see you, and you could tell that they were equally as confused as you were— they probably did not realize what was going on and nor did you really want them to know.

given that their love and admiration for neuvillette was bottomless and you wouldn't want them to suddenly harbor a disdain for you.

nevertheless, when you listened to what they were whispering about behind your back, they were talking about how you must've been away for travel or desperately needed a vacation from fontaine, or one even mentioned that you might've been sick— considering how dead and empty your eyes looked those past weeks.

then there's the "being busy with work". ah well, the excuses were surely endless and somewhat amusing, you know you're not taking care of yourself when every second a melusine talks about how tired you looked and if you needed a glass of water.

everything but a divorce was being spoken about, at least you managed to hide that well.

your gaze lifts to meet his own again when neuvillette stands up from his desk and looks at you from the opposite side of the table.

under further examination of your facial expression, he notices the slight discomfort that buzzes underneath your skin, especially around your eyes and how you could barely look at him for more than five seconds.

beneath the familiar emotion of being in the same room as him, the sharp bite of his aftershave slips down the back of your throat when you suck in a sharp, choked breath, tensing like a tree at each step forward.

why do you look like you haven't slept for days?

it cannot be, right? but he was paying attention to certain details, either relevant or not he notices how you're looking around without focus, or shift the weight of your body from left foot to right foot.

and well, his supernatural senses were sharp, immediately picking up on your heart pounding against your ribs as if trying to fulfill a thousand beats.

his fingers twitch slightly with the document in his hand as he remains in his position, waiting for you to come closer.

"this couch doesn't seem very comfortable for sleep," you point to the sofa in his office, in an attempt to break the awkward tension, your chin forwarding to the left where a neatly put blanket and a small pillow sat on top of the furniture.

just how many nights has he spent here? did he even sleep in the first place? was he taking care of himself and should you worry?

it's safe to say that his work shouldn't be in danger, but it really is killing you that you cannot ask without coming across like a desperate ex, and you're fully aware that it would also go against your rules.

but neuvillette has always taken his important occupation very serious, sometimes even to the point where he forgot about his own marriage and his wife waiting for him at home with freshly made dinner served and his most favorite beverage awaiting him on a beautifully set up table and— yikes, that escalated quickly.

you're beginning to remember one of the reasons as to why this marriage failed.

"i hope you do not mind if i ask," neuvillette stifles a groan, "but are you mentioning this out of curiosity or are you speaking down on my new sleeping area?" the hint of sarcasm in his voice was unmistakable, the underlying scorn making you wince.

and oh, "sleeping area" was a big statement for that little excuse of a couch, you're very much aware that he can barely fit all of him on it and always had troubles finding a comfortable spot when he fucked— uh, well, when you did things to each other there.

yes, you already know how it felt on there, and who could possibly know of the plentiful times you had been intimate with each other on that couch.

wait a minute, was that the reason? was he already having a rebound this soon after your divorce?

no, it cannot be.

not your neuvillette, hold on, scrap that and reverse, he wasn't your neuvillette anymore.

it's stinging and like pins and needles on your heart when you think about neuvillette fucking someone on the exact same place he made love to you— leading to the conclusion that simply looking at the couch made you sick to your stomach, instantly setting off another unpleasant lurch of nausea yet you could still muster enough strength to fix yourself for the sake of this conversation.

he wouldn't dare, okay, this is the last time you're discussing this with yourself;

what if he wanted you to see this, tell you that:

hey, look at me! i am so happy without you stupid witch, and i already have a new partner too, isn't that nice for me? there really is no need for you to be worried about me, so please sign this document and exit my office.

because i am getting my dick sucked every single day!

your heart beat turns feverish in your chest, and you quickly snap your head towards the direction of your ex husband, "isn't it obvious that i was just trying to make conversation with you?" you retort back, swatting away the dust lingering on your clothes while simultaneously coughing out in an awkward manner.

"although i really cannot imagine that this couch is somewhat comfortable to sleep on."

"i believe you must still remember on how it felt laying there yourself,"

yikes, what a great comeback from him, and he didn't mean to say it like he's spitting venom into your mouth, it's almost like he wanted to tell you that it's your loss you cannot make yourself comfortable on here, even though he wouldn't mind bending you on all fours again like he did last— okay, that's enough.

there was a half-visible smirk on his face that aggravated you, the absolute last expression you were expecting to see from him.

you roll your eyes, "trust me, i don't want to," you reply, pinching your eyebrows together while assessing your distaste of his answer.

just when did an innocent question about a dusty, old couch turn into— whatever that conversation was about.

RULE NUMBER 3: DO NOT ASK INTIMATE QUESTIONS ABOUT EACH OTHERS PRIVATE LIFE

no, stop it, that doesn't seem right, neuvillette shouldn't treat you this way.

right now, he was experiencing his worst nightmare and the previous gears of sadness grind to a halt upon perceiving another emotion— one, that certainly scared him.

whatever the case, he wouldn't repeat his mistake, accepting any destiny the universe would bestow on him as he silently promises himself to stop any anger from slipping past the tip of his tongue.

pressing your lips together, you dig your heels into the ground, "okay, forget it, i don't have a lot of time," an unexpected force of confidence pushes you forward until you could feel the wooden desk graze across your thighs, you're so close now and the only thing keeping your bodies apart was the desk in between.

your mind was repeatedly screaming at your frame to stop moving before you actually did, "i have to be somewhere in, uh, about a couple hours, so lets finish this quickly."

what a sweet and pretty liar that you were, terribly aware that the only thing waiting for you tonight was your bed.

what a sad image, but he must not know!

"oh?" neuvillette mutters bitterly, a nervous rasp roughening his voice.

"a date, i assume?"

you would have gasped if you had any breath to spare, because you did not think this would actually work in a million years.

"ah, ah, ah," you note in a triumphant colored tone, happily waving your pointer finger from left to right.

"this, dear iudex, goes against rule number three."

content, neuvillette resumes to the document in his hand before placing it in the middle of the desk, sucking in a short, harsh breath, eyes deepening down south, just any area that wasn't you,

"of course, my apologies," his tone was thick, sickly sweet with barely cloaked amusement.

now he knows you're lying— he knows you so well it's almost embarrassing.

"this, is why you came for, right?"

you fumble a blistering retort that died with the hard press of teeth against your tongue, "mhm," you murmur in a low, rich tone, his casual unbothered spirit was dangerously convincing.

oh well, he must have gotten it right— and ah, you were remarkably stubborn too, resisting even the most innocent type of help coming from him as you take a random pen laying across the other side of the desk instead of the one in neuvillette's hand.

your eyes slowly scatter over the document, your brain struggling to put together the authoritative choice of words displayed in front of you.

"please elaborate on that," you press a finger on a significantly befuddling paragraph.

neuvillette muses agreeably before slanting against the desk to see for himself— and when he did you got a real good taste of his perfume suddenly invading your nostrils, playing devils advocate when you flinch back a little.

"do not worry yourself about this," his answer came so quickly you barely caught it, spelled out without a flutter of hesitation.

"everything is accounted for," he adds gently, you only need to put your name, there,"

your once-vulnerable eyes now squint stormily, "that smart mouth of yours surely has been busy, i can tell," as you place the pen on the desk before dropping both arms to your side— the man before you narrowed speechless, burning his eyes through your smug face.

"oh, just how many tricks did you pick up on your way here?" he replies sternly, accentuating the "here" as to remind you on where you currently were— as if that would somehow make him look threatening, you have been in his office plenty of times before, both naked and fully clothed, so neuvillette surely must search for another way to dominate this conversation.

priding himself in front of you with his position as iudex certainly wouldn't work on his ex wife.

"why?" you retort, "you like it?"

"indeed i do, or is that what you want me say, i assume?"

"no," a soft sigh above you echoes your own, "but i do find it weird that you'd want me to sign something without explaining it to me,"

"i did explain it to you multiple times, in fact, last time we saw each other i even asked you if you understood what i was referring to,"

an instinctive flutter of frustration, anger and exhaustion slips down his throat, "and if i recollect my memories," he coughs out and walks around his desk, so that nothing was in between you anymore.

"—you have said your time was limited." the radiating dominance of his body momentarily presses your back against the table, trapping you in the middle, caging between a wooden desk and your ex lover.

"that was weeks ago," you pause, "it's normal for most people to want a quick run through on a document of this importance,"

"it's normal?"

"it's normal," you reaffirm.

"how interesting indeed. i will keep that in mind,"

you lean your weight against the desk as to keep the eye contact with him in an attempt to stand your round, and the two of you have since lost the original purpose of this meeting.

"how could you possibly forget that?"

your voices flap over in an unmusical tune when neuvillette attempts to reply to you, although your tone was far louder than his.

there was an awkward moment of silence that was practically slicing the air within your bodies and it's unusual on just how strong the tension had gotten in a span of two minutes. not to mention that he was so close— you honestly preferred it when his desk was keeping you both apart.

it was hard to remember anything and keep a rational mind, neuvillette realized that and found himself deeply saddened on how quick this meeting went out of hand and turned to this.

but a whispered sentence reaches your hearing and immediately calms you into a warm, relaxing state, "i apologise," he speaks finally and it surprises you, a nervous rasp shaking his voice,

"i shouldn't have talked to you in such disrespectful manner,"

your eyes widen, "no," and your cheeks grow hot with deep embarrassment, "it's really my fault, i need to apologize to you," as you force out a shaky laugh in an attempt to lighten up the mood.

"don't," neuvillette retorts back, contemplating wether he should or not but lastly deciding to rest a hand over your shoulder before he squeezes it, a smile manifesting on his lips— and it was otherworldly radiant, illuminating his complete face with deep warmth and joy.

"i always loved that witty side of yours."

he doesn't say anything for a moment, in fact, neither of you do— and the feeling of him touching you again after weeks of spending apart from each other, and despite it being just his palm on your shoulder, was instantly turning your knees into jelly.

the minute of silence felt like twenty years as neuvillette straightens his body upright, drawing a more serious touch along your shoulder before moving his palm from your collarbone until curving his hand along your cheek, holding your gaze through bright, gemstone-like eyes.

he must be crazy, he thinks— because right now, he's going against everything he has promised himself not to do, and everything you have told him not to do as well. but fuck, he hasn't touched you like this in so long, the last time was long before your divorce, and the helpless intensity of his desire horrified him.

it's when neuvillette suddenly realizes that he has never stopped loving you— not even for a minute, nor a searing second.

it was impossible to stop loving you.

"it's just that i…" your voice grows softer and quieter the more you attempt to speak and your heart thuds feverishly in your chest that you're pretty much aware he must notice it too, "everything feels terrible," you admit hesitantly and flutter your eyes up at him, your gaze fanning over the soft pink across his facial features.

neuvillette begins to move his thumb across your cheek, "please forgive me for failing us," he whispers weakly, on the brink of tears, "for failing the only thing that made life worth living," his throat adds a slightly hoarse perception to his tone.

your eyes widen as you attempt to drop your head if not for neuvillette holding your cheek in his palm as a whirlwind of crystallines well up in your eyes, sousing your lashes.

your mind was gone, but suddenly you can think more clear— and you're not depending on the damaging daze that was originally controlling your body's autopilot feature— the grueling circle of work, sleep, repeat.

you sniffle between words, "no!" and helplessly slant into his chest as to bury your face in the fabric of his garments, "it's my fault, not yours!" continuing to cry and wail and sob your heart out.

"please don't hate me! don't resent me!"

being able to finally let go of all those stored emotions in your heart felt utterly freeing, as if an unbearable weight was lifted off your chest.

how did you two even end up in this situation? can someone, just anyone, make this agony for the both of you stop?

neuvillette shushes your cries with a soft shhh, folding his arms around your waist before smoothing one hand across your back. he decides to rest his head on top of yours, his warm breath fanning against your hair as you return his hug, pulling him deeper into you.

"i could never hate you," neuvillette sighs, "it's because i have never stopped loving you," before putting on weight around his embrace on you— perhaps as to prepare himself, because he was sure you were about to smack him due to what he just bluntly admitted to you.

while he knows it was certainly deserved as well, no excuse would make this proclamation easier even in the slightest.

but he doesn't regret it, it's over now. he just wanted to get this off his chest even if you'd most likely break off any remaining contact to him— although now he realizes that you've given him so much and he won't let you go again, not before repeatedly telling you that he loves you, loves you, loves you.

despite him believing that his efforts went to waste.

to his surprise, you did not hit him, nor did you yell at him or ask if he's hit his head somewhere— instead, you slowly move yourself from his chest, a saddened gaze meeting his own as a single tear falls from your eye.

your answer dwells a moment before you push it out, "i love you too," and whisper, "i love you so much," before you're peering at him with an expression he couldn't begin to decipher— for what's obvious, it's pure and selfless, a startled hum immediately following the last syllable that leaves your mouth when neuvillette suddenly slants his head forward to feel your lips.

RULE NUMBER 4: DO NOT FUCK UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES, PLEASE JUST DON'T DO IT, SNAP OUT OF IT, DO NOT EVEN THINK ABOUT SEX WHILE BEING IN THE SAME ROOM TOGETHER

by all means, this wasn't supposed to happen— hell, you don't even know how you got here.

but his eyes were enticing as they meet your gaze, a deep source of exuberance affecting your delirium and when he leans into you to kiss your lips, his soft lashes clash against your skin, his traces subtle enough to make you feel a faint tingle shiver downwards your heat.

against all odds, neuvillette was terrible at making this any easier for the two of you, no matter how hard you tried to pull away after the third, fourth or fifth kiss, there was no way of ending this and his tongue made sure to clash against yours at each lap— this passion, it had no resistance, it will always find a way to flourish.

nothing more, nothing less, and you've got the iudex right under a fucking spell because even when his life felt depressing after you left him, when he was living through all those weeks and tried to navigate through this divorce— now, his heart had suddenly begun to beat again, although neuvillette knew that this would go against the fourth, and most important rule you had set up.

but he cannot stop.

blood racing, nerves alight, he pushes you against the desk and helps you to get on top of it.

you wanted him to pleasure you, needed him to use his hands and devour those pretty lips of yours— whine as his mouth carvs in a smirk, so excited and sooth as silk when you wrap your arms around his neck to push his frame against your chest, so he could easily rest his entire weight on top of your own.

"you're gorgeous," he coos, "so utterly breathtaking," the thought of you craving his attention to that level was flooding him with pride, it made his skin crawl with a thousand thunderous vibrations that hit the bulge in his pants, your wet kisses and hot traces fueling the withdrawals of your soul on his skin.

the dizziest groan touches your glossed lips— and neuvillette flips over your skirt to expose your drenched panties to his hungry stare, his eyes instantly hard with lust and love, every measure of his yearning openly shown as his cock twitches uncomfortably in his clinging pants.

you moan a dreamy sigh when the freezing office air hits your most sensitive parts, the tone leaving your lips high-pitched and desperate to feel more of him. in response, you earn a rough groan from neuvillette as he discards of his belt, dopamine shaking his soul alive, manifesting ruthlessly and tempting as you hug him tight, your erected nipples crushing against his strong chest.

you kiss along his neck with tenderness and feel the intense force of redness on his flustered cheeks, your tongue swift to blend over the quivering skin as you lash fiercely at the outline of his jaw between sharp flares of teeth tickling his face— his bewitching expression being held captive by your hand gripping his jaw hard enough to pull him towards you.

unwinding with relief, neuvillette manages to pull his tight slacks off, sighing as he drew out his hard cock and aching balls— instantly taking himself in his palm before fisting it slow in front of your hole. a thrum of arousal around the slit of his tip intensifies his need to crowd you with his shaft, and he gracefully strokes himself until you wrap your fingers around his wrist as to stop him for a second.

"i want you to make love to me," you mumble impatiently, "it's been so long," and neuvillette follows your lead in a flash and a quick nod of his head, making sure that you're sitting all comfortable on the desk and that you wouldn't hurt yourself with a random utensil on the table before he urges you to wrap your legs around his waist, your thighs squeezing his hips close.

"everything you say, i do," neuvillette reassures you, "forever,"

your broken moans and bulging eyes excite him, not to mention when you refuse to let go of him. of course, who knows what will happen after desire subsides and you're both thinking rationally again, after all, you do trust him with your life, but you're still divorced and sure you would look stunning on your second wedding with him, he would very much prefer to marry you right after fucking the broad daylight out of your figure.

gently clutching at your clothes, neuvillette slowly lifts up the fabric until you're wholly exposed for him to feast on, at last working your panties down your legs as they hit the ground, a coy smile spreading across his lips— your naked body was prancing in front of him, reminding him on how gorgeous you were, especially now as your lips hang apart and your lewd whines spill from the tip of your tongue.

your pretty nipples were erected as well, laying a familiar caress up his spine when you grind your chest against his chiseled one, encircling the exposed skin until it comes to meet in front.

"just look at you," he mutters proudly, almost to himself, his cheeks flushed as he ducks his head to hide the beginnings of a pleased smile when he kisses your shoulder. the praises set your blood raising, pumping a hotness into your pussy as you moan out his name in sweet tandem, feeling the slight trace of his cock-head shadowing your hole.

you will do so well tonight, neuvillette thinks to himself, and before he helps you keep your legs parted, he teases your entrance with a half-hearted push of his cock. you want him closer and carry on to search for his entire weight on top of you as his dripping dick slides past the tight edges of your hole, your pussy throbbing as it began to hurt a little— just a bit, and it's important to note that you weren't used to this anymore, used to him, and it's because all the pheromones are currently leaving your body that it was worth having a slight pain come by.

because you knew neuvillette will do anything in his power to make it hurt as little as possible— so you could enjoy his erection painting your walls white as you moan avidly, your pussy rubbing deliciously on him, his hand continuously massaging the delicious, soft skin of your thighs and ass.

you breathe a shaky sigh of relief when he snakes himself half-way in, a gentle breeze of your whimpers scatter across the room as neuvillette continues to push inch after inch of himself into you, your body relaxing underneath his much bigger one as you welcome him, beautiful moans and whimpers spilling from the back of your throat.

oh, how much you missed sucking in his cock like your life depended on it— and whatever issues would arise after this sinful encounter, neither of you was giving an inch of mind to those future concerns.

"there you go, that's what you need," neuvillette grunts, tensing his jaw and limiting his breathing because fuck, how are you still so fucking tight— in any other case, he would never skip foreplay with you, knowing that his size tends to be too big for your pussy, sometimes offering you help in spreading your puffy cunt apart— but he is aware that you're extra wet today, he notices how much easier it was to slide himself through your walls and collect your slick.

a slightest raw edge of desperation made his groan sound almost like a plea when your pussy clamps down on his shaft, and neuvillette moans softly as he bows down to trap your lips against his own, sliding down his tongue and lapping at yours, wet and slow, wet and slow, a low hiss of pleasure accentuating his skilled ministrations.

your pussy squeezes him gently and wets him thoroughly so that his flushed cock glistens in your walls as neuvillette allows himself to nuzzle his face against your neck, humming appreciatively when he began to move his hips, drinking in the light tears that swell in the corners of your eyes as he kisses them away.

everything was so filthy, just like that, and you're back to square one again— it's lewd enough to make his cock throb heavily between your legs when he picks up on his shallow tempo, warm and viscous grinds of his thick cock pounding you in two, wild and passionate burning through your sore hole and matching the rhythm of your hips that were catching his shoves halfway.

fuck, you missed his cock filling you up, shaking at the added stimulation when one hand squeezes your tits— not to mention how heavy it felt to have him deep in your guts again, his slicked erection pawing through your walls and searching for your pleasure spots, until you're practically writhing of overstimulation, most importantly releasing the stress you endured those past weeks.

somehow, everything felt more intense tonight— ecstatic and as if you're drugged of his cock, like you broke off the connection from clear reality each moment his tip inches down the searing spots in your cunt— your screams muffled by his strong shoulder which resulted in your noises coming out in weak cries and sobs.

"i'm— i'm so close." it's the way you said it, the way you wanted him to hear you.

neuvillette glances down on you, "yeah?" he cannot hold back anymore, your walls were too hot and too tight, his thudding erection cornering your bruised pussy as his cheeks turn cherry red— the tip of his ears shading the same color, "will never let you go again..." the following sentence comes from under his breath, a strong utterance, holding graven significance as it ignites flames deep within the pits of your core.

it's so unbelievably sexy when you tell him that he's about to make you cum, and the repeated proclamations of love were aiding your orgasm in unraveling much more intense— neuvillette parts his lips before pinching your nipples in between his digits, never faltering nor losing the steady streams of thrusts on your sex, paying no mind to your minor struggle of keeping his thick member within your sloppy hole.

the moans you sob are bringing him such satisfaction as well, particularly the ones of his name made him swallow down the assembling saliva in his mouth, leaving small kisses against your face as his adams apple bobs harshly against his throat when he grinds his hips into your heat— your slick seeping out at the corners of your hole as your beautiful legs hover over his waist to get into that ideal position.

he cups your pretty face without stopping the shallow tempo on your cunt, "i.. want you to look at me," his rhythm becoming blistering and rapid— it almost pains him to hold himself back, or the desire to cum but wanting to make you climax first. it's like his shaft runs through satin, pressing back and forth the finest silk but it's your pussy instead, so soft and taking his shape, you're made for him and he'll never let you forget.

even though he could hardly breathe because of how achingly hard he was, caged within the tight embrace of your walls as tears spring to his eyes, slip down his flaming cheeks, being wild and free and finally one with you again— in addition to the exciting sounds of wet noises of skin clashing on skin providing the last bonus puzzle pieces to make you spiral out of complete control.

a static crushes as if underwater in your ears— and neuvillette rolls his hips fast and hard, purring deeply when your legs wrap and urge him to penetrate you further. the pleasure buried in you was coiling from the base of your spine and found the candid bubble in your belly before snapping into a million pieces— your gorgeous noises finding his ears as he fucks you faster, yanking his head back and clenching his jaw as you came apart together, moaning into each others mouths and welcoming your orgasm with melting, soothing moans.

you shake your head and bury yourself into his warm embrace, earning you a smile you cannot even see when your thighs shake around his waist as he continues to pump his seed into you, the warm covers of milky whites prolonging your orgasm and intensifying it to a tenfold.

just in time too, his hot gift soothes the soreness on your walls as neuvillette deafens your body with a post-orgasm sensitivity that catches you in a trance, his cock still buried inside and never leaving your tight hole as you work to somehow get a hold of your breath again, letting you ease the stress he senses from you.

the stone-hard desk underneath you was bruising and uncomfortable, but it's bearable when you nuzzle yourself into your ex lover, or, well— current lover? soon to be fiance again?

"do not worry your pretty head," his hand lovingly brushes over your head as you fuse into his trace, "i will take care of everything," as he's allowing you to indulge in the intimate atmosphere you have missed so dearly, "i could marry you right this second, wherever you want," and with that sort of enthusiasm, you hold in every passing word with love, knowing that whatever the case— neuvillette and you will figure out a way, but you'll do it together, as a team.

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ghouljams · 29 days

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Genuinely cant stop thinking about Viking!Ghost... like you know he's pining after you, you can see the softness in his eyes when he looks at you, the way his gaze follows after you. He left you his cloak, sewed the fang you gave him into his leather, and went out of his way to see you before he left for the last excursion. You tend to keep to yourself, never really thought of family or husbands until he started coming around. Now all the excitement with your friend having her baby left you wanting, left you thinking of the giant Viking that's so often darkened your doorstep. He'd make pretty babies. You don't need to see his face to know it.

But he dances around you, he steps back when you try to step forward. He leaves when you threaten to get too close. And you- you find yourself shying away from the gentleness in his voice. Find your cheeks warm and your voice unsure when he reaches a hand to brush dirt off your cheek, when he adjusts his oversized cloak around your shoulders. His eyes always hold a warmth you've never found in another person, he's careful with you despite his size and it sends your head spinning. You've never been shy a day in your life, but for him... You see the wolf's fang on his leather and look away to cover your smile. He caries you around the world, but he hardly speaks a word to you. It makes your heart flutter.

You thought it would be harder to convince him to come in, to stay for dinner. He casts an unsure glance over his shoulder, watches the setting sun before nodding. You find yourself stalling when he pulls his mask off. Blond hair and honey colored eyes, your hands slip on the edge of the table when you lean to get a closer look. No one has ever called you proper, but it makes the lines around his eyes crease. Ghost pulls you onto his lap so eagerly, doesn't shy away from the fingers that trace over his cheeks, that sweep over the scars and his carefully closed eyes. You study him with such rapt fascination, and he leans into your touch.

You've never seen such a clean shaven Viking. It cuts his features so much more clearly, the lines of his mouth the hollow of his cheeks. He needs someone to feed him properly, you think. A good reason for you to keep him as your own. You mouth along his jaw, dragging your tongue over the shadow of a beard he keeps so neatly trimmed. Ghost's fingers tighten on your hips, dragging you against his swiftly hardening cock. He tips his head back following the dominion of your shadow as you straighten your back and lean against his broad chest. There's just a ring of gold when he opens his eyes, his iris eaten away by his pupils at the barest of your attentions.

He looks at you like you've seen the Völva look at the stars, with some understanding you'd never hope to gain. Eyes that have seen the gods. His lips part and you kiss him to hide the tremor in your resolve.

You don't feel quite so much like you're taking advantage of the man's kindness when your face is buried in the blankets, moans ripped from your throat as he pins you down and fucks you. Each hard thrust of his fat cock punching a new sound from your chest, lost in the mattress and furs until his hand wraps around your throat to pull you up. His lips find your temple, the shell of your ear, his breath panting against your cheek as he fucks his come into you. He pulls you up, lifts you to sit on his thick thighs as he pushes his cock into your sensitive cunt. The hand not holding your throat, keeping your head against his shoulder, spreads wide over your stomach. He rubs his thumb over the soft skin, squeezes you like a promise. Like he could keep you wrapped up with him for the rest of your life.

You blink tears away, each thrust using your own weight against you, forcing you to take him deeper until your legs shake from the tight heat of it. His tongue drags along the fresh bite on your shoulder, the edges of it red and throbbing, perfect impressions of his teeth. You flinch at the wet slip of blood, at the groan that seems to wreck itself on Ghost's vocal cords.

"Ride my cock love," his bloodies lips mumble against your ear, "show me how bad you want it and I'll keep you nice and full."

#cod x reader #x reader #simon ghost riley #x oc #cod x oc #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost mw2 #ghost x reader #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #mw2 ghost #ghost cod #ghost x you #f!reader #oc: goose #viking au #viking!ghost

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saetoru · 9 months

Text

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ LUCKY — GOJO SATORU.

contents. baths + non sexual nudity, established relationships, tired toru :(, lots of kissies and praise for the babie :(, solid proof in the form of writing of how embarrassingly lovesick i am for this FOOL

it’s past midnight when satoru walks into your bathroom. he doesn’t even question why you’re in the bath so late—just gives you a lopsided grin tiredly as you smile.

“you’re home,” you brighten.

“look at you,” he coos, staring down at you with amused eyes, “waitin’ for me?”

satoru is tired—you can tell from the way the his shoulders are slouched and his blindfold is clutched in his hand. “i was,” you hum in agreement, “c’mere.”

it’s all it takes. he’s stripped down and waiting for you to move up so he can slide behind you in seconds, hand waving to motion you forward. but you’re stubborn—you shake your head as you hold an arm out for him.

“baby,” he whines, “c’mon i was out fighting big bad curses all day. jus’ lemme hold—”

“no. just come here, toru,” you insist.

there’s something about it—something about the way your voice is so gentle, so insistent, so knowing. it’s like you can read him more than he can, sometimes. satoru is tired, you can see it, you can feel it. you can’t carry his burdens, but you can hold him while he holds the weight of the world for a night.

maybe it’ll do for now—maybe it’ll even be enough and more.

“what? feelin’ like pampering me today?” he teases, “aren’t i a lucky guy,” he hums—but he climbs into the tub anyway, settling between your legs, leaning his back against your chest as his head falls back against your shoulder.

instantly, two gentle kisses plant themselves against his head, and his eyes flutter shut. he’s starting to feel the beginnings of a headache form—the gentle thump in his skull just barely there, but persistently present.

your thumbs rubs along the sides of his head, enough pressure to soothe the pain like you know it’s coming—he thinks you must.

“you are a lucky guy,” you giggle, “look at me. such a catch.”

he grins, chuckling that boyish chuckle of his freely in your arms as he relaxes. it’s been a while since he’s relaxed, you think—it’s half past midnight and he’ll be up with the sun in a bit to head back to the school, but it’s nice to know he’s relaxed. even just for this short, rare moment.

“oh yeah,” he nods, lips curled into a grin as he cracks an eye open and peers up at you, “s no catch like my pretty ‘lil baby. i’m living it up.”

“glad you know your privileges,” you murmur contently, shaking your head in amusement as you wrap your arms around his body. one hand rubs over his abs—he wants to tease you about feeling him up, wants to make a sly comment about missing his body more than him while he was gone. but there’s something about it, about the way it’s so slow and soothing and soft—it’s so painfully soft, satoru swallows.

finally, he lets his body go slack against yours, sliding down so his head rests against your chest and the water soaks more of his body. it’s warm. the water and your arms. it’s all so, so warm and forgiving.

“aren’t you gonna tell me how lucky you are too? i’ll listen, don’t worry. no interruptions.”

“yeah?” you chuckle, threading fingers through his hair and pulling a soft sigh from him, “wanna know how lucky i am?”

“course,” he murmurs, “well, i already know you’re lucky. it’s me after all—but i’m not opposed to hearing it.”

“how humble of you, satoru,” you snort.

he grins wider—he hasn’t had a chance to smile all day. not properly, at least.

“feel free to start any second,” he says with a wink. then his eyes flutter shut again as your thumb traces his cheek, ever so gently running along the soft angles of his face.

it’s pretty—everything about him is pretty. there are no ugly parts to satoru. just the parts painted from cruel hands. they’re beautiful too, you like to think, in their own, fragile little ways.

“okay,” you whisper, pressing a soft kiss to his head, “i’m very lucky,” you murmur into his hair.

he hums, mumbling a quiet, “knew it.”

“lucky i have such a handsome face to greet,” you pepper kisses along his forehead and find his cheek, giving it an affectionate little bite that makes him huff out an amused chuckle. “and he’s so tall too,” you add, resting your chin on his shoulder.

“that all he is?” he pouts, “just a pretty face? you’re breaking my heart, baby.”

“no,” you say quietly, grabbing his hand and brushing a thumb over his knuckles, “he’s also kind. too kind, sometimes,” you say quietly, “he comes home a bit later than usual every once in a while because he took his students out to eat. he loves them a bit too much, i think.”

“no such thing as too much love,” he hums, squeezing your hand.

you smile, admiring him as he lays against you, small in your hold even with the larger than life weight he carries.

“and he’s strong,” you add, “really strong. it’s not fair sometimes,” you whisper, “he’s got so much on his plate.”

“he handles it fine,” he assures, “he always does.”

“and then he still makes time for little old me,” you say fondly, kissing his shoulder, “never lets me feel lonely. he’s too good to me.”

“there’s no such thing as too good for you,” he gasps offendedly, pouting like you’ve insulted him, “he’s definitely not—”

“and sometimes, he comes home tired. and he tries to act like he’s not because he’s a bit of a prick who doesn’t let me help, but i’m smart and i know him well so i’ve figured it out. and if i’m extra lucky, i might get to hold him for a bit like this and help him relax.”

you squeeze him gently for emphasis, holding him closer as you press your nose into his neck and breathe in his smell. it’s like cologne that’s rudely expensive and that sweet smell only satoru has—it’s all you want to breathe in for the rest of your days.

you hope he’ll allow you that much. something tells you he will.

satoru swallows thickly at that, rubs a thumb over your bare thigh as he rests his free hand over it, the other still in your grasp.

and then, quietly, “maybe he’s fine just coming home to you,” he shrugs, “who can stay tired with such a sweet face waiting at home?”

“i don’t know,” you say thoughtfully, “he’s got a lot to take care of. wonder how he does it.”

“he’s probably the strongest,” he shoots with an easy grin, “sounds like the strongest to me.”

“he is,” you nod, “he’s a lot more than that too. i’m lucky he’s mine.”

“oh yeah?” he drawls—there’s something a little shaky about his voice though.

you choose not to mention it, pressing soft, delicate kisses along his jaw as you murmur, “yeah. he makes me feel really, really lucky. love him so much.”

“love you too,” satoru breathes, “guess we’re both really, really lucky.”

don’t talk to me i don’t want to be perceived. that’s enough softness for a lifetime so the next time i write him he’s getting hit by a bus

#teepods.writings #drabbles.#gojo x reader #gojo fluff #gojo x you #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru fluff #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen fluff

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thexsilentxwordsmith · 5 months

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Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader

Simon needing to hold you after a bad day.

The tiny apartment was completely silent as Simon unlocked the door and stepped inside, head hung low and shoulders tense. Lights were turned down, tv was off; you were most likely already asleep by now. It was late, much later than he had told you he’d be back, but he had been struggling with the weight of his thoughts again today and had barely made it in. He would have let you know that he was going to be late… it was just…he couldn’t find the will to even shoot you a quick text.

It wasn’t like him to be concerned about who knew where he was or what he was doing, choosing to distance himself from everything and everyone that could potentially catch a glimpse of him cracking behind the mask, but right now all he wanted was to get back to the place he called home before he fell apart and the world would swallow him whole.

As quietly as he could he set his things down beside the door and continued on through the flat, catching little bits of you everywhere: your shoes lying scattered by the wall, the blanket you’d just been curled up in tossed haphazardly in a bundle on the sofa, a mug on the coffee table that had the remnants of your drink stuck to the inside. Scattered bits of you everywhere across his life as little reminders of what he had that waited for him here and for the first time all day it felt a little easier to breathe to know his angel was close by.

Passing near the kitchen, Simon spotted a piece of paper with his name scribbled on the front waiting for him on the countertop, your familiar handwriting obvious to his eye. He picked it up and unfolded it.

Hey baby,

I really tried to stay up, I promise, but you know how work has been kicking my ass lately. I thought maybe I could just take a nap until you got in, but I was worried that if I laid down I wouldn’t wake up, so I thought I’d leave this here for you to find. Didn’t want you to think I forgot about you. Just wake me when you get in, alright? I don’t care what time it is, I want to see you!

Love you.

P.S. I left some dinner in the fridge if you haven’t eaten yet. We can reheat it and eat it together. XOXO

Christ, what did he do to deserve all this?

Always looking out for him, always making sure he had a place back in the real world whenever he came home. He held that piece of paper between his hardened fingers, the note more significant than it should have been after the type of day he had. You were the closest to heaven as he could get, more than he ever thought he would get to have and that’s why it was you he was trying to break down that wall to come to for comfort.

His sight flicked to the fridge where you said you’d left him something; he was definitely starving, but just the thought of the effort it would take to eat right now was too much and the knot that rested in the pit of his stomach made him too nauseous anyway. There was something that would fill him far better than food could and he knew just where to find it now.

Moving on to the living room, he set himself down heavily on the couch and began to remove his boots and the outer layers of his clothing along with his mask, stripping away all the bits of his life as the stone cold sniper now that he was safe here in his little sanctuary. Stripped bare until he was down to his boxers, Simon gently crept towards the back of the apartment hoping he would make it to the bedroom before this feeling took him.

Closer and closer he walked towards the other half of his heart.

The door stood slightly ajar to invite him inside and as he stepped up to it, he caught the hushed, rhythmic sounds of your breathing as you slumbered. It sounded so peaceful that he could have stood there in the dimly lit hallway and listen to it all night long. Just a few more steps, barely any distance left, and he would truly be home.

The room was completely dark save for the small crack in the curtains that let in just a bit of light from the streetlamp outside, helping him to find his way through the maze of darkness. As those brown eyes adjusted to the lack of light, Simon turned his attention to the bed and his heart skipped a beat. There you were: the outline of your body silhouetted under the covers, your head buried in your pillow, all cares left behind as you slept.

No sound did he make as he crept to the edge of the bed and lifted the sheets so that he could climb inside and up against your body laying in the center. One strong arm slipped up under your pillowed head while the other wrapped around your waist until you were encircled and he pulled you slowly so that your back rested up against his chest. His body molded into yours still warm from being wrapped up tight.

You stirred awake gently at the feeling of that familiar large body suddenly laying beside you. “Hey you,” you whispered sleepily, a smile on your lips as your eyes fluttered as they worked to open. “Tried to wait up, but I got so tired I had to go lay down. I’m sorry, but I’ll make it up to you.”

Only silence greeted you as a response. No chuckle at your predictability, no picking remarks about how you couldn’t even stay up to see him, just the sound of labored breaths in and out as he lay there in the darkness curled up against you.

Silence only meant one thing and you knew it well.

“You okay baby?” you asked, but again there was no answer. Only the squeeze of his arm around your waist pulling you in tighter to his chest gave you any sort of reply as Simon’s nose nuzzled into the crook of your neck, his eyelashes brushing over your skin.

It was clear just from the silence that he was far from okay, that he must have been bottling this up for God knows how many hours so that the world would not see that he was not always the tough, put together soldier he was supposed to be. But he could not hide it from you...he didn't want to hide it from you.

You heard him inhale deeply, trying to capture as much of your scent as he could until it filled his head: your natural musk mixed with the smell of the sheets and added hints of shampoo and body wash. That comforting scent that belonged to only you that he couldn't ever get enough of, the one that helped to relax his troubled mind. Instantly the tension he had been carrying like a boulder upon his shoulders all day finally released him from its stranglehold.

Gentle, exploring hands tentatively went up under your baggy shirt, one of his old worn ones you loved to wear to bed to keep him close even when he wasn’t there, as he just wanted to make contact with all that delicately soft skin. He traced over curved paths he knew by touch alone: it was soft, it was familiar, it was safe and his heartbeat slowed as the ache in his chest dissipated enough that he could finally talk.

“Bad day,” he whispered finally, warm breath against your shoulder. "Really fuckin' bad day... again."

You rolled over in his arms until you came face to face with those sad auburn eyes, moved by the shame in his tone. It broke your heart that each time he had one of these days he felt such guilt about it, as if he simply should have been over it all by now, as if he wasn't human, but you were not about to let him overthink the struggle. There was nothing to be shameful about.

“I’m sorry baby. These things just happen, you know, but its alright; we'll get through it together, ” you said quietly, fingertips gently running over the line of his eyebrow, down his cheekbone and further to his jaw in soothing circles.

Together.

Simon closed his eyes and eased into your hand as you traced patterns across his temple and through the cropped sides of his hair, letting the vile, churning thoughts rummaging around in his brain to fall away. No one else could ever see him like this save for you, no one else's touch he craved more than anything to bring him back into himself after the day had brought him down so low.

He brought his hand up and placed the tough palm over top of yours to hold it firmly against his cheek as if to make sure that all of this was real, that you were not simply a mirage cast by his broken mind.

“You’re home now, baby,” you reassured him as he took deep breaths in and out with his eyes closed, only wanting to feel you. “It’s gonna be okay, I got you.”

Home, still such a strange word for him.

Wherever you were that was home. Not a place, but a person, one who made certain that no matter how far he drifted she would always pull him back in. Simon had never had such a tether before, but fuck did he need it. He could feel it like medicine running through his blood, when you held him he could feel the chemicals rush to soothe the gaping wound in his heart.

Pulling your hand off his cheek, he brought it to his mouth and pressed his lips to the surface before leaning in to give one to your gentle lips. You embraced him back with such tenderness as if to remind him of that promise you had made to each other that neither of you would have to traverse the hell of this world alone.

“Home,” he repeated the tender word in his gravely tone, letting the emotionless second mask fall away. "I hope ya know... that you are my home, sweetheart."

You smiled. "You're mine too, Simon."

He took a deep breath, trying to swallow down the lump in his throat. "Bein' near ya is the only fuckin' thing that seems to help quiet the shit in my 'ead these days."

Pulling him back in, you gave him another kiss. "Then get nice and close," you said softly as you squirmed up under him more, setting his arm back over you.

Securing his arms around you again he moved over top of you so that his head rested against the middle of your chest, ear pressed in against your sternum to listen to your heartbeat rhythmically thump inside. With his hand still inside your shirt he drew his fingertips along your bare hips, not wanting anything more than your company tonight.

Your calming fingers ran through his short hair and over his scalp as he counted the beats of your heart until he melted into your body. Discussion could happen later if and when he was ready, for now this was all he needed. However long he wanted to cling to your torso, you’d let him.

You were his life raft, pulling him back in and no matter how far he drifted and it was because of you that for the first time in his life he didn’t feel like he was going to get lost.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #call of duty #ghost cod #ghost mw2 #cod mw2 #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simin ghost riley #ghost simon riley #simon riley fluff #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost x you #ghost #cod ghost #ghost call of duty

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