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screampied · 6 months

Text

FANTASIZE. — GOJO SATORU. ☆

synopsis: it's the middle of the night and your mascara's streaming down your face. man, breakups are the worst-so what do you do? go to your fwb for "comfort." he gives you comfort, alright. ★

wc: 4.7k+

warnings: fwb trope , pwp, quickie , size kink, dacryphilia, degradation, unprotected sex, mating press, breeding, overstimulation, oral [m], face-fucking, praise kink, dumbification kink, pet names, hair pulling, not yet proofread

an: my first request!! Heavily based off Ariana's "fantasize" bcos that song iz still stuck in my head :/

3:29 A.M

you: wake up. please.

typing . . .

gojo: girl.. it's like three am.

you: you know why i'm texting u this late, satoru.

typing . . .

gojo: oh yeahh, true. well? come over then ;)

seen

you were on gojo's doorstep in nothing but some two year old university hoodie and a simple skirt, despite it being around the middle of the night, you couldn’t sleep, and you needed any sorts of distraction from your previous breakup. mascara raced down both sides of your cheeks, practically sticking to your skin, you were a devastating mess—sniffling, you wipe your eyes once the door creeks open, and there he is.

“i gotta say, babe. your taste in men is pretty shitty,” he scratches his head with a simple shrug. he chuckles, spotting you shoot him a glare from his peripherals as he held his front door open for you to step inside. “…then again, you always come crawling back to me after getting dumped so-”

“i didn’t come here to talk.” you sighed, slipping off your shoes before staring directly up at him.

“oh, i know.” he smiles with reassurance in his voice, almost as if he was mocking you. “this the part where i take my pants off right? baby, even if you’re all heartbroken, you’re still so so predictable..”

“…damn, no f-foreplay?” he nervously smiles, averting his eyes towards you—gojo wore nothing but simple sweats, grey at that, his hair was slightly messy but it made him ten times more attractive. a simple tank top covered his abdomen, and you could just about make out his ripped pecs just poking through the thin cloth piece of fabric.

you didn’t wanna waste any time, he could tell by the way you just easily shoved him with ease, against his own bed. you started to feel yourself throb, just having your fingers tangled against the thin white strings of his sweatpants. “shut up.” you mumbled, starting to pull his pants down.

“ya sure you wanna go down on me, babe? that gag reflex of yours—”

“satoru.” you glared, and he just smiles, so eager to use every second to get under your skin. but god, was he annoying. he knew he was too, the both of you knew it, gojo satoru was just purely infuriating.

sometimes you wonder why you’ve been fucking him on the low. of course not during your relationships, but he was the only person there for you in the aftermath, the only one there to comfort you, so to speak. even if that particular way was to be inside you—alas, if it was anything gojo was good at, it was fucking you. making you forget about your shitty exes. it was just something he knew how to do. he knew how to do it right too. gojo was a perfectionist after all.

“gonna suck me off with cute tears streamin’ down y’er face, yeah?” he praises, bringing a hand towards your hair, giving the crown of your head a light stroke, it’s soothing. though it causes you to let off a soft whine, feeling yourself start to throb just a bit more just from his strong, loud cologne scent that scattered across the entire room. “look at me while you do, then. wanna see that pretty face while it gets ruined.”

“your dirty talk is improving.” you sulked, and it makes gojo the one glaring at you now—it's cute.

gojo doesn't reply.

instead, he wraps a hand slightly around the back of your neck, bringing your face close towards his bright white briefs. rubbing your face against his bulge and he grunts. “shame how you make me hard even with that annoying bratty mouth of yours.”

after that little snarky remark, gojo couldn’t wait anymore. he was getting impatient, and your teasing wasn’t helping. he stares at you, watching you with close intent on the way you pull down his boxers just halfway, leaning in close enough to give his shaft a nice long lick, from his base to his very reddened coloured tip.

“s-shit.” he grunts, and you keep your eyes remained on him the entire time, his grey sweats were just visibly pulled down to his ankles as he sat up near the very edge of his un-made up bed.

gojo lets off a soft sigh, and it's more of a grunt with the way his voice pitches—his legs spread just a bit, a hand rubs against his leg. your tongue softly swipes against the head of his cock and he nibbles on his lip a little to quiet himself.

he gets a bit of shivers, feeling the very tip of your tongue playfully caress the few veins that poked out on his dick. gojo was surprisingly well trimmed, just a few tiny specks of white hair covering near the lower part of his base, but he was heavy and oh was he hefty as well. gojo satoru was the epitome of a 'packer.'

“open that mouth. tired of waitin’,” he grumbles, and he’s growing so frustrated, you can tell from his facial expressions and the way he kept shifting on the cushions. your blink at him, slowly opening your mouth before he intakes a sharp breath. “stick out y’er tongue, babe.”

you do, lolling it out and gojo grunts, wrapping his fingers around his dick before slowly slapping his thickness against your tongue. “think you deserve it?”

a pout makes its way against your lips, you were eager, whines were getting pulled from you at his consistent teasing and him slapping his pretty glossed tip against your tongue. all you could do was nod, you were on your knees while he was sat upright near the very edge of the bed.

“nuh uh,” he clicks his tongue, bringing a hand towards the back of your head to give hair a light pull, moving your head just slightly in a moving rotation. “need 'ta hear you say ya want me, gorgeous.”

what an egotistical jerk.

you wondered why you put up with someone as such as gojo satoru, but then you remembered. he always knew how to fuck good.

“i- i want you, satoru. i want it..” you mewled, the mess between your legs only making you dampen more and more. your thighs squeezed shut against each other as it was hidden beneath your pretty plaid skirt, and once you voice those sweet words. gojo lets off a cheerful yet cocky hum, using a hand to open your mouth just a bit before pushing himself inside.

it’s been a while since you sucked him off, usually it’d be him to eat you out. for hours, not to mention.

“shit,” he curses, feeling you immediately waste no time, wrapping your lips around his cock. your lashes fluttered before glancing up at him. gojo stares right back down at you—his abs flex beneath his shirt and it's sexy, his posture is even attractive. gojo’s slouching a bit with one leg stretched towards his side, it doesn’t take that much long before his eyes start to seductively go back, along with his uneven pink lips opening just a bit to breathe and pant. “missed y’er slutty throat, babe. always know how ‘ta suck it good.”

you wrap a hand swiftly around his base, and your head starts to bobble up and down, he was huge and his girth only doubled that.

your tongue meets against a few of his veins and he grunts, grabbing a fistful of your hair.

“must have been hungry, yeah?” he pants, faking a pout on his lips as he pushes you down just a bit further on his length. you nod, using as much of your own spit as you can to make the experience more pleasurable for him—who were you kidding though? you just wanted to forget.

about everything, your heartbreak, the past arguments, literally everything.

“shit, with a face that pretty,” he huffs out, growing more hornier from your tongue sliding and grazing against his tip. “gotta fuck it, babe.”

you start to gag just a bit once gojo tilts his hips forward a bit and he starts to thrust in your mouth. your nails dig into his thighs, wanting for him to continue and he swipes a thumb across your cheek that was full of your ruined mascara from crying many hours ago. “good girl. you should be cryin’ like this, not wastin’ those pretty tears because of some scumbag.”

you whined, reaching down to play with yourself just a bit, still sucking him off and trying your best not to use your teeth. “eyes on me, babe,” he reminds you, tapping the side of your temple and you’re just about weak in the knees.

you started second-guessing yourself, there had to be some reasonable reason why gojo fucked better than any of your exes, boyfriends, anyone.

even if it killed you to say it, you had to admit, he knew just how to please a woman—especially if that woman was you. you knew you had to be careful though, gojo wasn’t the type of guy to settle down in a relationship, he made that known the moment you two started your little 'fling.' if you could even call it that, friends with benefits.

were you starting to … fall for him? damn, that would be bad to say the least. outside the bedroom, gojo would always tease you, he was more so playful and of course, flirty.

“think 'm getting close,” he pants, and his breathing patterns change, and your head just goes up and down—he’s got a good strong grip on some strands of your hair as he watches you with dilated pupils, the way your tongue works around his tips sends him shivers, his leg starts to bounce as he’s chasing his incoming anticipation.

the build up, it makes his mouth go dry that he’s almost speechless, which is so ironic because of how he’s literally always talking your ear off.

“fuck, doing so good f'r me,” he says, and his voice starts to get a bit whiney from how sensitive he’s growing. that feeds your ego just a little, just knowing that you’re making him like this. all just from your tongue, and maybe a little bit of stimulation.

gojo moans, feeling your tongue flick against the frenulum part of his dick and he pauses for a moment, the way his eyes roll back just a bit was so sexy—that was one way to make you throb even more, and it certainly did.

your tongue runs up and up, almost as if it was a race and he’s so close to loosing focus. he’s not thrusting his hips into your mouth anymore, instead he plops flat on his back against the bed. you giggle, standing up while your mouth was still attached to his soon-to-be flaccid dick.

“c-cumming,” he grunts, watching your own drool pour down your chin. you were so messy, you couldn’t help it. it was one of the many things gojo loved about you, actually. once he came, he shakes a bit. shuddering, and letting off a cute moan, he catches his breath as you look at him with half-open eyes. “swallow ‘n show me, baby.”

within seconds later, you swallow his load and it tastes sweet, yet bitter. your eyes squeezed shut for a moment before you stuck your tongue out again, and he brushes a thumb against your chin to remove your spit.

“cock hungry whore,” he whines, still catching his breath before leaning down towards you only to squeeze your cheeks together. “now gimme a kiss.”

you whined, sitting up to kiss gojo and he wraps a hand around your waist, tasting himself on your lips, his tongue drags against yours and you whimper before making your way onto his lap. he chuckles at your enthusiasm, sliding a hand up and down your waist slowly to make you moan even more for him.

after a few moments, gojo pulls away to breathe until both hands of his attach to your waist. his gaze was just enticing, you could tell he wanted you just as much as you wanted him.

“barely touched ya and you're nothin' but a sticky mess,” he grunts, and gojo snickers once he feels you start to grind and grind your hips against him sensually, you’re so needy and desperate for more of his touch. “walkin’ around with no panties, don’t tell me you’re just a dumb slut who just wants a crumb of dick.”

“satoru—please.” you begged, aching and itching for him to be inside already. he trails his lengthy fingers against your ass, no panties behind displayed and all you had covering you, just barely, was a plaid skirt. he grins, giving your ass a two-second squeeze before spanking it to hear you whine out. “fuck me satoru.”

“fine.” he says, stroking your chin to reach down between your legs. you moan and that single motion makes your back arch whilst your hands were thrown over his shoulders. “go slow baby, don’t want you to hurt y’erself.”

“shut t-the fuck up.” you whined, barely able to keep up your facade. gojo’s dick hovered against your achy folds. just a few inches and he’d be inside, just imagining him fucking you ruthlessly made your mouth start to water, you were hungry for it.

'desperate' was the perfect word to describe you.

“how ‘bout ya make me, hmm.” he teases, and he was so cheeky. you hated it, but then again, the way he fucks you always made up for it.

no reply.

instead of using words, you decided to let your pussy do the talking. aligning yourself against him, gojo sits upright with such a cocky grin. “go slow, babe. wouldn’t want ya to hurt yourself. been a while since i've—shit…” he pauses before nervously smiling. “…been inside this tight pussy.”

it was warm, you chewed on your bottom lip as you sank down on him, immediately leaning into him to give him… a hug?

gojo was just as surprised as you, it seemed you were acting a bit different. of course you’d be, you’d just gotten out a relationship. so you’d tend to be a bit more clingy than usual. not that he ever minded, he preferred you like this, so cute and sentimental, all in your feelings. but despite that, it was just sex and nothing more.

or was it?

“fuck,” you moaned, practically straddling him now. gojo’s hair is messy, it’s all in his face, white stands splattered all across his forehead to where it was just effortlessly attractive. he didn’t even have to do much to make you pulse between your legs. “quit looking at me.”

“but you’re so pretty when you try to take control,” he shrugs, flashing a cheesy grin and you’re just embarrassed. he was certainly enjoying this, getting underneath your skin. and you let him.

every.

single.

time.

your lips tremor as you whimper, he’s nearly all the way inside and he stretched out your cunt, you’re dizzy out of nowhere and your eyes get a bit droopy—but fuck, gojo’s amused, using one hand to rub down your back as you start to rock your hips against him, biting down hard on your bottom lip as the tip of his cock mashed and kisses against your sensitive areas.

“uh oh,” he huffs out in a short mini pant, swiping a tongue against his lips before grunting. you were sopping wet, he spanks your ass to quicken your pace and you moaned. “this what you call ridin' someone? thought i taught ya better than that, babe,” and then he sniggers at seeing your face drop once he holds your hips firmly still and in place. “if you can’t do it right, maybe we should just end this thing-”

“n-no, okay okay okay,” you stuttered, so desperate for him to fuck you, but you had to fuck him first. gojo hums to himself, and you start to ride him. a tiny mewl exits past your lips once you move against him before you’re bouncing on his lap. your head’s spinning, mind s racing miles a minute and it’s just euphoric.

gojo’s got such the cockiest grin on his lips as you maneuver yourself against him, chewing on your lip every few seconds to suppress your sweet sounds, he eyes you up and down before his voice gets a bit rapsy, turning you on ultimately.

“speed it up, baby,” he grunts, spanking your ass once more and you whimper from feeling his touch press against your skin. “touch yourself while you ride me. give me a little show. show me what i’ve been missin' since you’ve been away from me for so long.”

“o-okay.” you breathed, bringing a shaky hand towards your body, panting as you rode him. his dick reached deep—damn. his girth, it was just appetizing, you needed gojo satoru carnally, more than anything.

you and him both knew that.

gojo smiles, watching you start to fondle with your perky nipples that visibly poked beneath your tank top, rocking your hips against him back and forth to where a low grunt leaves from his mouth every few seconds.

it was strenuous on how repetitive your movements were against him. who were you kidding though, you missed this. you missed him. perhaps though, in reality you just missed his dick.

yeah…. it was probably that.

“touch yourself as in..play with your pussy, dummy.” he teases, watching you whimper once he spanks you again, you’re feeling yourself become close each time he reaches deeper.

now your mouth starts to become dry, your head’s still spinning and you’re just about at a loss of words.

“…g-gonna cum soon, 'toru,” you alerted him, slithering your fingers down towards your throbbing clit. the stimulation made your eyes nearly close shut as his thick length drags across your cunt so righteously thorough, making sure to not miss a spot to reach you deep where you can feel his pure existence.

“aw,” he hums, gripping your hips to make you bounce harder on him. you whimper from gojo taking such initiative, holding onto him as he’s drilling himself into you basically since your legs were starting to become numb, you could barely ride him but you continued to bounce against him again and again, leaning into his neck to softly nibble and suck against his skin. “mhm. i missed you too.”

you could hear such arrogance drip from his voice, causing you to become more wet for him in the process. again, a perfect word to describe the entire situation would be:

embarrassing.

before long, you came and that was one of the best orgasms you’ve had in a long time. no matter how much you denied it, no one could you please you, fuck you, hell—pleasure you as much and good as gojo did. you throbbed immensely with your legs joining from how it was just shaking and shivering, your body practically going limp.

this brings such a smile to gojo’s face, still shamefully playing with yourself.

a hand dug deep between your pried open legs, your chest heaves as you stare at gojo and he pecks a kiss on your lips, muttering something along the lines of, “my good fuckin’ sloppy girl.”

but once he had you on your back, it was an entirely different story. gojo had completely dominance and control now—vigorous mean smacks and hits against your pussy, making sure to grow quiet purposely to hear how sinful your cunt was to him.

to say the least, he was addicted. your pussy was too good for him to not constantly fuck you.

gojo wasn’t too interested in relationships, but who was he to turn down a good fuck?

exactly.

you had so many orgasms pulled out of you, you practically lost count.

you were currently now just laid flat on your back, just about being folded. your pussy sang constant harmonies by how many times gojo made it squelch and cry out for him, for some reason he always loved putting you in mating press. partially because of the eye contact.

but also, he just loves to gently press against your tummy while staring deep into your eyes, speaking to you in such a phony-mocking tone, asking you if you feel him.

it’s a rhetorical question, you weren’t supposed to answer it because of course you feel gojo. his dick was pummeling in and out of your sweet cunt to where your vision started to turn a bit hazy. this position gave him an excuse to fuck you deeper, striking his hips against you repeatedly with your cute legs just sticking up in the air. perfectly hanging over his shoulders.

“you’re such a slutty girl, babe. always lettin' me break this pussy,” he pants, his voice turns more raspy to match his ruthless thrusts and you whimper, dragging your nails against his thick calves. his balls thwacked and thwacked against you, you felt so warm and you’re just a noisy mess.

you don't even realize you’re drooling while maintaining initiate eye contact with gojo. “..cute,” he raises his brows, bringing a thumb up to your lips to wipe it. “only i can make ya drool for cock, hm?”

you eagerly nodded, tears poking in your eyes. the dried up mascara sticking to your lashes still remained. “y-yes, satoru please. ‘s really good. want more.”

“course ya do,” he cursed, deepening his hits against you and you feel him reach more once he dips and pivots his hips. you moan, your mouth opening—a dramatic gasp type moan leaves your lips and he leans in to kiss you. you’re taken by surprise, but you sink into his warm embrace, running your needy tongue against his while he’s still occupying his cock between your tight stingy walls that was never gonna let him go.

the kiss was one word, sloppy.

partially because of you. you couldn’t think straight while you were getting mercilessly pounded in his bed. gojo tasted sweet, minty and a bit honeyed flavored, his tongue softly clashed against yours and you feel his lips form into a smile once he playfully sucks on your tongue.

his breathing along with yours was warm, it was really intimate, for a second you forgot about your depressing heartbreak—and it was all because of what’s between gojo’s legs, who knew.

butterflies started to form in your stomach, and it made you cringe, you really hoped you weren’t falling for him but he made it so hard. gojo’s been fucking you for hours and hours non-stop, his name approximately lived inside your head rent-free.

it’s all you were ever moaning out anyway, or just blabbering how you were about to cum again and again and again, he’s got you in a chokehold.

“f-fuck,” he groans, feeling himself swell. reaching his very peak. he felt a sensation brew up in his thighs as he continued to drill himself into your tight pussy that kept hugging onto him tightly. he loved how clingy you were. and you couldn’t exactly help it too, it was as if your body had a mind of it’s own. gojo’s strokes were so delicious, your eyes slowly roll back now just like his were, piercing the edges of your nails into his skin as you’re being fucked limp quite again. “gonna make me dump another load, babe. overflow your sloppy heartbroken pussy with s’much of me.”

his voice was a bit shaky now, it was honestly cute. droplets of sweat beads raced down gojo’s forehead as he’s panting, his breathing patterns were staggeringly fast-paced and rapid as he stares at you and—oh shit, he’s feral. you could see from how his pretty cerulean eyes never leave yours. it’s as if his pupils dilate just slightly each moment he gets more close.

he’s hungry, gojo licks his lips at just envisioning himself pumping you fell again, watching his own sticky cum pour out of your hole just to plug it back in again.

“fill me p-please, 'toru.” you begged, and his body weight was crushing you, not literally, but he was pressed against you—you were for sure limp now, your arms were just sprawled against your sides as your head just bounces back against the cushioned mattress within each deep thrust he presents to you. “stuff me full, satoru. breed m-me.”

“would be kinda funny if i made you a mama,” he whispers, his tone was playfully yet sweet, he was purely mocking you though. he’s maintaining deep eye contact as his thrusts transmits you to such a high, you whimper for him to continue because you were coming close too. “make this perfect tummy all swollen and r-round,” he sighs, rotating his hips against you—it was sloppy, an entire mess. some of his cum from him recently spilling into you dripped down your thighs and you moaned from how messy it was. “bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you.”

“m-maybe.” you muttered out, clinging onto his wrist and he chuckles.

“maybe?” he repeats after you, leaning in to kiss the side of your mouth—gojo’s buried entirely balls deep and you’re just panting and panting, both chasing your incoming releases.

you shiver a bit, feeling him rub a hand across your tummy, mimicking his previous action of pressing down on it. “tsk, poor dumb baby. can’t even think straight. bet all you’re thinkin’ about ‘s getting filled, huh?”

you sniffled, throwing your arms around gojo and he chuckles, licking a stripe up your neck only to sink his teeth against your collarbone lightly to hear you moan.

“s’ okay, babe. cum with me,” he says in a hushed tone, his voice was so deep and seductive, just hearing gojo’s voice against your ear was just enough to make you soaked already, as pathetic as it was. “be my messy girl, don’t be shy. love when you slut yourself out for me, it’s cute.”

“s-satoru,” you squeaked, your nails were piercing into his soft skin as your right thigh started to bounce against him as you chased your incoming high. “fuck, ‘s deep, satoru. fill me please.”

gojo kisses the top of your forehead as his hips strike and rummage inside your walls, you clamp down on his so good he grunts, it’s so raspy and pitched it makes you throb. “shit, better not waste it then. come on baby, relax,” and he’s talking you through your orgasm—acknowledging your changing breathing patterns that he knew whenever you were close, he brings a thumb towards your cheek to stroke your chin before smiling. “give it to me.”

you whimpered once another orgasm got stolen from you, you’re just being pounded into the mattress with random blabbering leaving your lips, you’re so dumb, so cockdrunk, again it’s really pathetic.

gojo groans, feeling you tighten against him before it’s his turn. his hips slow but still maneuver and pivot against you, and once he came, it was a thick load, he’s the one about to drool now. he averts his eyes towards your pussy, watching his own cum spill out of you, it’s hypnotizing to him. gojo runs a thumb against your slit and you whimper once he pauses his thrusts but slowly pulls out. a pop sound was created and you whined, wanting him to keep stuffing you full.

you craved it.

gojo leans in, kissing you for a final time and it wasn’t as sloppy like last time—more passionate and sincere, which scared you a little. you hoped you weren’t catching feelings. gojo probably hoped you were though.

“satoru.” you panted, once he pulled away. “i-i think i love you.”

he’s panting and catching his breath as well as you, he sits up with his toned biceps pressed against the sides of you before speaking in a low alluring voice. “babe?”

“babe?”

you blinked twice, and realized you were being shook lightly by the shoulders. the realization hit you like a truck once you realized geto was calling your name—he had a worried, almost pale expression on his face once he sees you come back to reality.

“suguru..?” you mumbled, in the same exact bed and still feeling dizzy from your many orgasms that got pulled from you the entire night.

“did you.. just call me, satoru?”

oh.

maybe you were just fantasizing the entire thing.

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criminalamnesia · 2 months

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that 141 x reader you just did was so good! i need to know what happens next. like after reader is better, do they stay in the military? stay in 141? or do they take a discharge? I’m not the original ask but it was just so good.

love your writing btw!

thank you! here’s part two :)

ALL PARTS CAN BE FOUND HERE

you were beginning to hate the infirmary.

the white walls. the moans of pain. the smell of bleach and blood.

the reminder of why you were here. of who put you here.

your friends. your family. your team. john. johnny. kyle. simon.

you’d told the doctor to not let your teammates in, and she had tried, but there was only so much she could do. she couldn’t monitor the door all the time, and so a week after waking up from your coma, john price is sitting at your beside once again.

his hands are clasped together, knuckles white with the intensity of his grip. he’s leaning forward, elbows resting on the bed, hands under his chin. his position conveys his regret and worry. he looks like he should be in church, knelt between the pews and spewing silent prayers to a god that isn’t listening.

you haven’t spoken to him since he sat down ten minutes ago. the second you saw him step inside the infirmary, you knew he was there for you. there to try and speak to you, to apologize.

fuck him and his apologies.

you turned your head to the side, eyes staring at the white curtain separating your bed from the next. you studied the stitching while you listened to him breathe next to you. he hadn’t spoken either— just sat down and watched you.

it made your skin crawl, how he thought this was okay. how he thought this would be the way to get back into your good graces.

he clears his throat then, a sound you’ve heard a million times before. it makes you want to gag now.

“love,” his voice is soft, caring. you want to hit him in the jaw.

“can we talk? please?”

you don’t turn over, don’t even spare him a glance. you keep your gaze trained on the curtain. the only giveaway that he has your attention is the fists you clench at your sides.

he takes the silence as an invitation, that bastard.

“what happened—” he begins, then grunts. stops. takes a second, then begins again.

“what we did,” he says, and you roll your eyes. “it wasn’t right. the intel was from a trusted source. we—” he sighs then, and you can tell he’s rubbing his temple. he did that when he was stressed. when he was anxious.

“we were wrong to believe them over you, love. and im— im sorry.”

silence ensues. you don’t give him any indication that you’ve heard what he said. he sighs again, inhaling deeply.

“you’re still part of this team. johnny and gaz, they’ve been sitting outside this damn room like sentries. can barely pry ‘em away for drills.” he chuckles then, but it’s sad. pitiful. mournful.

“there’s nothing we can do to make this right,” he tells you. you’re still mulling over what he said about johnny and gaz. still hung up on the fact that he didn’t mention simon at all.

simon, who did the most damage to you, both psychologically and physically. simon, who shared your bed. simon.

simon, who is too much of a coward to face you for his crimes.

“but we want to try,” price is speaking again. “if you’ll let us.”

he stops talking. waits a beat, then two. then, you hear his chair scrape. he’s getting up, and that’s when you turn your head to face him.

he looks bad. bags under the eyes, skin pale, beard overgrown. you think he deserves this. deserves worse than this. his eyes meet yours, and they widen the tiniest bit at the attention you’re showing him.

your voice is full of venom as you speak.

“nothing,” you seethe, angry tears blurring your vision. “will ever undo what you did to me. what he did to me.”

price knows you’re talking about simon. the whole team knew you were a thing. hell, when they’d strapped you to that chair and debated who would ‘interrogate’ you, they hadn’t even thought to include simon. why would he want to torture the person he loved?

to their surprise, he had volunteered to take point.

“when i get out of this bed,” you continue. “im gone. and i never, never, want to see any of you again, or else im putting a fucking bullet between your eyes.”

the captain doesn’t speak. you can see the remorse on his face. you couldn’t care less about his feelings.

he gives a short nod, and without another word, he turns and leaves the room.

after john’s visit, no one else tries to visit you. you no longer catch glimpses of kyle or johnny outside the infirmary door. you’re glad they’re starting to get the hint.

but you’re still getting flowers. you don’t know where they’re coming from. sometimes they’re dropped off by a nurse, other times they appear in the morning after a restless sleep. there’s never a note. never anything to suggest who would be leaving them.

you know it’s one of the 141, but you don’t know exactly who. you feel certain it’s not simon.

but, unbeknownst to you, it is him. he knows you don’t want to see him— to see any of them. price had told them all about what you’d said to him during your talk.

price had also told them that he’d already started preparing your transfer papers. that had caused an uproar from soap, who’d quickly been quieted by a saddened price.

simon had expected it. expected worse, actually. he knew that if the roles had been reversed, he wouldn’t have been as merciful as you. it made him hate what they’d done to you so much more.

there had been the tiniest doubt in his mind when all the evidence pointed to you. he hadn’t believed it at first— and then things became damning. everything pointed to you. trusted sources were pointing their fingers at you, and everyone listened. he had listened.

he had volunteered to torture you because he’d been angry. rage he hadn’t felt in years bubbled to the surface of his skin, and he wanted to tear you limb from limb. how dare you come into their lives— his life— and betray them so substantially?

simon didn’t trust easily. he was battered and broken and scarred. shattered and malformed pieces hastily glued back together. he let the team in. let you in. let you see his face. let you into his bed. let you into his fucking heart.

and you turned around and drove a dagger into him. or so he thought.

he thought his anger and actions had been justified. thought he was doing the world a favor by butchering you. but he was wrong. the team was wrong.

he finds himself regretting how he hadn’t listened to your pleas, but there’s nothing he can do about it now.

he knows the chances of you forgiving him, of letting him back into your life, are slim to none. but how could he not at least try?

you’d know each other for years. been together for years. all of it thrown away because he still knew the hurt of betrayal all too well. because it was too easy to fall back into the mindset that it was him against everyone. that the only person he knew, the only one he could rely on, was himself.

so he left flowers. your favorite ones. and he did so without making you face him, without apologizing or groveling. it was the least he owed you.

a month after your coma, you were finally allowed out of the infirmary. you were still healing, skin still tender and bruised. pink, jagged scars lining your skin; eternal reminders of the pain you’d been subjected to.

you’d been given a t-shirt and a pair of jeans, which you’d pulled on with much fuss. every time you struggled or stumbled, you found yourself getting angry. angry at the men who did this to you.

the anger was going to eat you alive, at least that’s what the psychologist that had been dropping by to see you had said. she’d told you you need to let it go, and you’d laughed in her face.

how do you let something like this go?

you didn’t know. you didn’t think you were strong enough to do that. not a good enough person to forgive the men that had carved into you.

once you had dressed, you shuffled out into the hallway. you’d profusely denied an escort, and the doctor had reluctantly acquiesced. she’d let you go, with just the promise that you’d keep your iv hooked in.

so here you were, trudging down the halls of the base, iv pole rattling along behind you.

you could feel eyes on you, but no one dared to get too close. you were glad. you didn’t want more empty apologies and sympathetic words.

you still remembered the way to price’s office like the back of your hand. you doubted you’d ever forget it.

time and time again you’d found yourself here. sometimes, getting reprimanded. others, congratulated. a few times you’d shown up in tears, and price had let you in without a word.

now you were standing outside his door, trying to contain the rage in your veins.

you raised a hand. knocked once, firm and loud.

“come in!” price called from inside.

you were already twisting the door knob, pushing into the room.

your eyes found price first. he was leaning against his desk, arms crossed over his chest. his hat was absent from his head, instead resting beside him on the desk.

and then you noticed simon.

he was wearing all black. his hands were covered, bones decorating the black gloves. gloves you’d seen many times before. gloves that had been pressed to gunshots, trying to stop the bleeding.

the lower half of his face was covered, allowing you to see from his eyes up. his sandy blonde hair was ruffled.

you quickly turned your attention back to price.

“love, what are you doin’ here? you should be in bed—” he began, but you waved a hand as you stepped further into the room. you pulled your iv pole in behind you, then kicked the door shut.

“don’t talk, just listen. i still mean what i said when you came to visit. the only reason im here right now is because you haven’t put in for my fucking transfer.” you hissed.

the captain’s eyes widened, his face taking on a sheepish expression at the revelation that he’d been caught. simon stood quietly beside him, eyes trained on you. you ignored him.

“love, i didn’t want to do anything before you were ready—” he began. you cut him off.

“bullshit! you didn’t want to do anything because you don’t want me to leave. you want me to forgive you, right? hear you all out? come back and be a happy little family again?”

the room fell eerily silent as you stared at the captain. your heart was roaring in your ears.

“put in the fucking transfer, john.” you finished.

he reluctantly nodded. he inhaled, his eyes glancing at his lieutenant briefly, before he spoke again.

“of course, love. ‘m sorry.”

you didn’t say anything else. you turned to go, your back to the men, when simon’s voice cut through the air.

“you should be respectful to your captain, sergeant.”

you froze as you took in his words. was he fucking serious?

you didn’t turn around. you trained your eyes on the door as you spoke words through gritted teeth.

“you should watch your tongue, lieutenant, before I fucking cut it off.”

with that, you pulled open the door and stepped into the hallway, slamming it loudly behind you.

author’s note:

apologies for the wait! I hope everyone enjoyed! (this is being posted before proofreading, so I hope it’s okay— I’ll read through it later, it’s just late and im tired lol)

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sweet-as-an-angel · 2 months

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Ghost, Simon & You [SMUT]

Warnings: 18+, Smut, Rough Sex, Unprotected Sex, Implied Breeding Kink, Implied Forced Pregnancy, Stomach Bulging, Possessive! Ghost, Kinda Evil! Ghost, Simon and Ghost are Separate People in the Same Body, No Pronouns used for Reader except ‘You’.

Backed up! Simon who uses you as his personal cum dump whenever he returns from deployment. You know you’re in for an absolute pounding when you hear him banging on your front door, only to see him standing there, tall and dark as a shadow, looking down at you with an almost manic gaze.

He hasn't even been home to change first, still clad in his balaclava, eye paint and the under-layers of his tactical attire. He pushes his way in, kicking the door shut behind him with his boot and pressing his lips to yours. It doesn’t matter that you can’t feel his skin, that he’s almost crushing your skull as he grips your cheeks and brings you as close as physically possible, that you can taste gunpowder, dust and death on his mask. That this isn’t Simon at all, but the unholy spirit that possesses him.

Doesn’t matter, doesn’t matter.

It also doesn’t matter that he literally tears your shirt from your body, a rumble reverberating through his chest when he sees you without underwear. You were expecting him. Good.

Simon – Ghost – is never gentle when it comes to the first round. He never strips all the way down, either, always leaving his mask on, too. He just yanks his pants down as far as necessary before pressing the hard, aching, weeping tip of his cock to your entrance, pushing in with neither care, nor restraint.

He sees the way you fist the sheets, face down against the mattress but your cries still managing to reach him. He just doesn’t care. Especially when your familiar warmth encompasses him, pulls him into the here and now.

It’s at this point that Ghost sees why Simon loves being around you so much, loves being with you. In you.

His member protrudes, a bump in your stomach evident like a tombstone. Whenever you try to press it, try to flatten your hand against it to get a feel for just how big it is, he takes your wrists in his hands and presses them against the mattress. The message is clear: you don’t interfere. I’ll cum when I say so, not by your hand.

Ghost doesn’t stop until you’re raw and red and leaking with either his or your juices, a ring of white forming at the base of his shaft where you can’t fit any more of his length inside you. You feel it, pulsating and battering and alive in your middle, feeling as if it’s nudging everything else out the way so it can lie uninhibited inside your warm cavern.

He’s hard and fast, rough yet thorough. He never leaves an inch of you unmarked, unbruised, by the time he’s done. Whether he’s aware or not, you always end up finishing first, your walls tightening and pulsating around Ghost’s cock as he continues to abuse your hole, hitting your most sensitive point over and over again, prolonging your orgasm and leaving you utterly spent yet satisfied.

When Ghost cums, it’s long, hard and hot. So, so hot – as if the all fire of his anger he’s had building up these last few months is now cradled within you, an unspeakable offspring. He never immediately pulls out. No, he waits, hands about your waist, no doubt bruises from where he’s gripped you, where he’s kept you so he can make sure you don’t crawl away.

His load is thick and there’s so much of it – you feel like you’re being filled past full.

If you’re capable and fertile, he often considers not giving you birth control after the fact, rather letting you stay dormant in bed and tying you up so you have no choice but to let his seed take. The idea never fails to send a shiver down his spine, making him hard all over again as the image of you, bedbound and incapacitated by his hand is enough to make him retreat to another room just so he doesn’t act on the fantasy.

The look on Simon’s face, he often wonders, when he finds you’re marked as Ghost’s, carrying a permanent reminder that he got to you first; when he realises that the creature he entrusts his dirty work to, his militant alter ego, has utterly ravaged and claimed you from the inside out.

The horror. The futility of apology. It’s enough to satiate Ghost for now. Enough, enough.

And with that, he pulls out, taking the blazing heat of his body with him. He leaves you on the bed, ass up, face down, with his cum dripping out of you. Leaves you for Simon to clean up, to deal with.

And to your side does Simon come rushing, for once Ghost removes his mask, so does he the haze he casts over his unwilling creator, letting him return to humanity. The vague pulsing of his member, the wetness coating it and the sheen of sweat clinging to Simon’s body is enough to let him know – remind him – what’s happened.

He comes to your aid, scooping you up in his arms and tending to you in every way he knows how - in every way that’s routine. He apologises, over and over, for letting Ghost do this you, for letting him have his way with you, for not being able to protect you–

You shush him. Look at him with kind eyes. You tell him you’re happy to do it, that you’d rather it be you than anyone else, that you wouldn’t be doing it if you didn’t love Simon. Which you do. Monumentally. And Simon loves you, too. He just fears that Ghost may be growing to love you, too – in ways he shouldn’t.

He feels him now, watching you bathe, sweeping over the bruises on your wrists, your hips and waist, the pressure in the back of his head mounting as Ghost lusts for the control to do it all again.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

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lijojo · 10 months

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genshin sugar daddies

premise: you have seven sugar daddies: one for every day of the week. a bit overwhelming, right? however, you somehow find ways to make time for each and every one of them, no matter how emotionally and physically demanding they are. it's just that, now they don't seem too keen on sharing, and you don't know what to do. (modern au)

tw: nsfw, dark content - minors dni

mondays are always harder in more ways than one. mondays are diluc's days, and that means that you're spending a good portion of your nights at angel's share.

on mondays, it's happy hour. which means that you're sitting at a booth in the corner looking pretty while diluc is tending to his customers. you're more than happy to sit back and relax while you wait for him to finish with work. when the drinks are on the house, you're willing to wait as long as it'll take.

periodically, when he's not busy, however, he'll walk over to you and engage in conversation. you act as a taste-tester for new drinks so he's always asking you if you like them. you two will talk about your day, any interesting events, and so on until diluc is pulled back into work again.

then you're back to fiddling your fingers and watching him work. over time, you've learned that he preferred that you not do anything while you were supposed to be with him. that instead, you fixated your gaze on him while he moved about. sometimes you'll catch him looking at you to see if your eyes are still on him.

even while he's dealing with a certain tone-deaf bard, there's something about the way he looks at you so intently that reminds you of a predator.

when angel's share closes, you're there to keep him company while he cleans up. when he's done, he'll sweep you away back to his manor.

you'll fall onto the sheets as he grinds against you. his shallow breaths brush against your throat. the look he gives you is nothing short of intense.

"everyone at the tavern was looking at you, you know," he mutters, running his fingers down your chest, sinking into your pants. he pulls them down effortlessly along with your panties. "didn't you feel it, darling? their filthy eyes on you. they want to ruin you. everyone wants to ruin you."

he throws your legs over his shoulders, his fingers crawling up your thighs. you jump when he suddenly inserts two fingers into your cunt, scissoring you. his free arm wraps around your leg to keep you locked against him. his eyes are glued onto you as he presses a kiss against your calf.

"but your eyes were on me all night, weren't they. couldn't take your eyes off me, could you. you're mine, dear. do you hear me? you're mine."

you don't overlook how tight his grip is. tight enough to make you wonder if he'll ever let you go. in the morning, he does, but you're scared for the day he wakes up and decides that it's for the last time.

tuesdays aren't as bad. when you’re sore from the night before, childe is there to take you out to meals, shopping, and sightseeing. he's not always available to spend time with you on tuesdays, because of his equally-demanding job and whatnot, but when he is free, he never wastes a second.

or a dollar.

childe smirks smugly from his sea. his posture is lax, one hand lazily tracing circles on the chair's arm while the other comes up to rest under his chin.

"how about you twirl for me, girlie? you look so beautiful."

you giggle, observing yourself in the mirror. "why thank you."

you bask in the way the soft satin kisses your skin. the way your newly-own earrings sparkle under the dressing room's light. just a couple years ago, you could've only dreamed of being dressed so prettily.

"do your side-bitches ever treat you as well as me?"

"childe!" you chide.

he laughs, getting up from his seat. but you both know better than to believe his little chuckle is genuine.

he approaches you, sliding his hands around your waist. tucking your head under his chin, he stares at you through the mirror's reflection.

you don't say anything, and childe doesn't either. it appears he's more than happy to enjoy just standing there. his gaze is glossed over, far away.

the two of you sway side to side for what seems like forever until he decides to say something.

"do they buy you pretty things like i do?"

of course they do, you think. although you spend one-on-one time with each and every one of them, they are all aware of each other. it's only right that they did. it was the first thing you said when you brought the idea up to them, that it wasn't going to be exclusive.

but when you see the way he looks at you, you can't really tell him the truth. not when his focus is redirected from his thoughts to you.

"the things you buy me are a special kind of pretty," you reply.

it seems like that answer is enough for him, because he doesn't say anything else. instead he hums quietly, letting the vibration ripple in the back of your head. he slides his hands down your hips and before you can say anything else, he whips his head around.

"i'll buy these sets." he motions over to the closest clothes rack to an attendant you hadn't noticed. "and that one. and the dress she's wearing. how many colors does this come in, by the way?"

the attendant doesn't hesitate. "five colors, sir. they come in bla—"

"great." he shuffles through his pocket to pull out a black card. "pack them up, we won't be here any longer," he retorts.

the attendant looks ecstatic, quickly shuffling out of the dressing rooms towards the cash register with newfound glee.

"childe," you whine. "i don't think these will fit in my closet."

his hands crawl lower, his finger hovering over your clit. "then they'll fit in mine. come over any time of the week when you want to wear one of my special pretty things."

your breath hitches as he rubs slow circles on your clit. he pushes the two of you back into the dressing room and closes the curtains.

"what are you doing, she'll be back any second—"

he kisses the corner of your jaw, pressing his lips close to your ear. "no worries. if there's one thing i'm sure about, it's that no one undresses you faster than i do."

wednesday is when usually everything calms down. kazuha will typically invite you to a new park, scenic route, or gallery. together, you'll write haikus, sonnets, and limericks together. some hours you'll just sit in silence, putting pen to paper. and when the sun goes down you'll exchange poetry.

out of the seven men, kazuha probably scares you the most. he was the first person you decided to do this whole ordeal with, after all. and since he's known you the longest, he also knows about your circumstances more than others. maybe that's why he's so focused on treating you as if you were a fragile cherry blossom petal. his touches feel like ghosts, running down your forearm as he presses a kiss to the apple of your cheek.

in exchange for his protection, his money, and his care, you give him honeyed words. you act as his muse for when he's hit a creative block. you're there to listen to him read out verses when the wind can't bear the strength to carry them. you listen to his grief about his best friend, his loneliness when he was forced to leave his home country. as someone many of the locals looked to for wisdom, he too carried the emotional burdens of being someone's rock. emotional burdens that he let onto you (whether purposefully or not, you're unsure). but you listen anyway, hearing him talk about days of poverty, where sometimes he had to worry about things to eat, or how to get proper healthcare.

you can't lie and say you're always stable enough to hear some of the things he has to say, but you try.

even if you sometimes feel like you can't take it, you just smile and squeeze his hand tighter like you're supposed to. sometimes your mind will go on autopilot, and sometimes you'll stand up on the grounds of needing to go to the bathroom. but at the end of the day, this is what you signed up for. this. making men happy so that you yourself won't have to worry about your endless debt.

you peer over your notebook to see kazuha immersed in his own writing. but instead of his usual peaceful expression, he looks somber. his hands won't leave the paper, his eyes glued onto the words that he's drawn onto the pages.

"what's got you so worked up?" you ask curiously. "is it something new?"

it's like your voice snaps him out of his trance. he blinks, looking up at you. there's a smile you know all too well on his lips. "yeah, i suppose you could call it that."

"could i look at it? i want to see what's got you so focused like that."

his lips press into a straight line. "hmmm, maybe later."

his words catch you off-guard. usually he's the one who's eager to share his work, regardless of the quality. "oh? is it something you want to keep secret?"

he doesn't many any hint of an answer. instead, he puts down his pen and stares at the ground in contemplation. he's picking and choosing what words to say.

"i could protect you," he says, shuffling his papers to the side. you turn to him, curious. his expression slowly hardens. "by myself, i mean. i could take care of you."

"kazu—"

"i have the means to make a living for the both of us. i could sell more of my poetry, i know they'll sell well—"

"where is this coming from?" you move closer to him, brushing his hair aside. "kazu, are you worried about something?"

there's something that's stopping him from saying anything. his fingers intertwine with yours, his thumb caressing the back of your hand.

he purses his lips, before turning away and sighing. "no, not really."

after that, he doesn't say anything else. the two of you bask in silence once again. even though you're used to the quiet, there's something deep down in you that feels nervous. like something in the atmosphere changed. there's a sudden resolved glint in his eye as he get backs to writing so diligently on a piece of paper he won't let you read.

after all these days spent talking about himself, somehow you're scared for the day he suddenly decides to stop.

on thursdays you're usually at tighnari's greenhouse, watching him take notes of other plants while you twiddle your thumbs. once in a while, he'll begin rambling about the plants—what kind of species they are, how rare, their medicinal properties, and the like.

you're more of a companion, than anything. someone who can make his days a little less lonelier. and you appreciate it. it's much more tranquil with him. you can enjoy his sharp quips, especially when cyno comes to visit.

his sex-drive is relatively normal, if not a little below average. just like wednesday, you also expect thursday to be a typical rest day.

except when spring comes.

when spring comes, your routine get a little wonky. for one week, at least. because that's when tighnari's heat hits him like a fucking monsoon.

you can already tell when it's coming when he begins to hover closer to you. whenever you take your hand out to do anything, even the slightest gesture, he's already taking it and dragging it towards his sensitive ears.

the moment you've made your plans set to 'take the week off' and help him out, he's already on you, face pressed into your neck as if it's his oasis.

as you can tell, he takes this week very seriously.

"i bet—shit—those other fucks don't get to hold you as long as i do," he lets out as he fucks into you like there's no tomorrow. his hands hold onto your waist like he owns it, pressing sloppy kisses down your spine. "looking so pretty for me. i wonder what they'd say if you got pregnant with my babies. you'd be so much more beautiful plump with my kids. is that what you want huh? to make them angry with my cum stuffed in your gorgeous pussy?"

some days you almost can't believe how uncharacteristically aggressive he is. he dicks you down like he's trying to imprint his shape into the core of your body so that none of the others can fit inside.

and when he cums, he'll take whatever unfortunate portions slip out and smear it all over your chest. especially where your heart is.

then the process starts all over again.

when it's over, he'll spoon you. as if he didn't almost fuck you to death. his touch is tender, like a ghost's hovering over your skin.

"why won't you leave them all for me?"

you shift a little to look at him and kiss him softy, sweetly, on the line of his jaw. "oh, nari, you know i can't."

his ears droop at your words. "you can't, or you won't."

his words make you freeze a bit.

you think back to last week, and the week before, and the one before that. you think about why you started selling your services in the first place, the endless debt you used to be in, and the progression of the relationship between all seven of your...contacts. even if you wanted to, you don't think you could back out if you tried. you've dug a hole for yourself. one deep enough to cause some sort of disruption if you ever decided to stop digging.

so you just hum. "you know how much i love routine."

as some sort of apology, you give him and open-mouthed kiss, one he's almost desperate to return. he moans, hands cupping your face to bring you closer to him.

you're well unaware how much your words have an impact him.

at the end of the week, all al-haitham wants to do is unwind. it's the only logical thing to do. no late-night drinks with the colleagues, no stressful trips to some tourist trap. on fridays, al-haitham comes home to a meal made with love.

when al-haitham's at work during the day, you're usually running your actual errands. it's when you have time to make those one-in-a-blue-moon visits to your actual home, although it's getting harder to call it that.

when it gets to the late-afternoon, you'll usually head to al-haitham's place to start cooking. if you didn't know how to cook before, you do now. every ingredient is handled with care, measured meticulously just as you knew he preferred.

and when he gets home, tired and stressed out, you're there to welcome him with a chaste kiss on the cheek.

during dinner, sometimes he'll talk to you about work or the latest research he'd gotten himself immersed with. in return, you tell him about some of your childhood memories. your likes, your dislikes, what used to be your hobbies. you do your best to keep your personal matters out of the conversation, no matter how many times he tries to pry into your private life.

sometimes dinners feel like a full on investigation, the way he keeps greeding for more information about you. he watches you eat with calculating eyes. you pretend to pay no mind to it.

in the beginning, kaveh used to join you for dinners. you always liked the guy, the way he bickered with al-haitham and riled him up. but now you've begun to see less of him, as if he never comes home on fridays at all.

after dinner, there are two different outcomes depending on his mood:

outcome one is that you'll spend the rest of the night curling up on his couch, the both of you immersed in your own books. al-haitham leans on your shoulder as he flips through the pages as if they're nothing. you can't help but feel ticklish whenever his hair brushes against your jaw.

somewhere in the middle, he'll move one hand to start fidgeting with the end of your shirt, sometimes crawling underneath to caress your sides.

outcome two is less quiet. the moment he gets home with that solemn face, you know it's coming. his voice is huskier, his responses shorter. it's usually a result of an impending deadline, colleagues being more peskier than usual.

the moment you two are done with dishes, he gingerly takes your hand and leads you up to the bedroom.

his kisses tastes like green tea and dinner. his hands run up and down your torso, trying to imprint the feel of your skin into every inch of your brain. you whimper when his thumbs press softly into your nipples, rolling them around as they harden.

your hands find purchase on his collar, tugging him impossibly close. he groans at the contact.

you let out a yelp when your back suddenly falls onto the bed. your hands are pressed onto the sheets, al-haitham's fingers encircling your wrists. his knee nudges your legs further apart, rubbing at your clit.

"don't look at the ceiling, dear, look at me," he breathes out, his hands leaving your nipples to gently guide your face towards. "that's it. good girl. just me. just look at me. only me."

he smiles.

"now, let me do god's work on your divine body."

saturdays with ayato can sometimes get hectic. some saturdays you're out getting bubble tea together and enjoying the city, and other saturdays you're hurrying to some publicitiy event hosted by the kamisato clan.

on those type of days, you can expect to wear gowns layered with shiny nylon tulle fabric. it's not as revealing as what you'd try on in dressing rooms with childe. in fact, it's a bit more modest.

today you're wearing a light-blue gown to match with ayato. you turn around to get a good look at the cute bow attached at your waist, your diamond encrusted earrings swaying along with you.

it's as if you've put on another costume. another front to wear for the night.

ayato enters the room just shortly after. in his hands is a diamond necklace to match with your stunning earrings. small smile falls upon his lips when he clasps it on.

"you're beautiful," he mumbles. you giggle when he kisses you square on the lips, licking away the tinted color.

"ayato," you press in-between kisses. you place a hand on his chest to gently push him away. "you're going to ruin my lipstick."

he pulls away with a cheeky smile, taking your wrists to wrap around his neck. "you can always put on some more later."

you pout but kiss him regardless. he tightens his hold on you in reaction, moaning into your mouth.

at these kinds of events, you're there as his plus-one. just so that other officials could stop introducing girls to him when he clearly wasn't interested in them. it'd be arguable to say that you might even be there to make the events a little less intolerable.

somewhere along the lines, you'd sleep with him in addition to being his arm candy at parties. sometimes even before: you two rushing to put on your formal attires and fix your hair minutes before the event started.

but beyond that, you started to get to know him better. he'd whisper into your ear about funny stories relating to the guests as you meet them. sometimes you'd run away in the middle of the party to binge out on the food and talk about your other interests. surprisingly, he doesn't talk about the politics behind his duties as the head of the kamisato family. not as much as you expected, at least.

instead he talks about his dreams for a family. how many kids, what their names would be, how he'd raise them. and as he talked, he'd give you this heavy gaze that you're not sure what to do with. as if he was expecting something from you.

you're beginning to believe that ayato has somehow confused contractual girlfriend with actual girlfriend.

when you had met ayaka months ago, ayato introduced you as his girlfriend. you didn't attempt to correct him—that's ayato's business. not your's. but when you're expecting ayato to come clean to his dearest sister, you're sorely mistaken.

instead, while he kisses your lips so hungrily, he subtly slips a diamond ring onto your finger.

sundays are usually kaeya's days off. although the cavalry captain's duties are seemingly never endless, he takes the day off to take a breather.

in other words, he sees you.

at first, it was just candlelit dinners. he'd walk in with a bouquet of roses, complimenting your dress and staring at you as if he was undressing you with his eyes. he'd take you to somewhere fancy, pull out the chair for you and sweet-talk you all through the night.

conversations were fun with him. you didn't have to think much at all, not about how to pay the bills, the six men in your life who seemingly began to want yours to only revolve around theirs, or being someone your not.

kaeya was probably the only one who you felt you could be comfortable with. he made you laugh, he'd tell all sorts of interesting stories, and he never made the silence feel awkward.

at least, that's how you used to be.

you see, usually after these candlelit dinners you'd both go back to his place, with him ripping off your clothes the moment the door closed. but as of recently, he's been asking to come over to your place instead more often. almost too often.

and that's not the only thing that's changed.

the sex used to be rough. heated. almost as if he was consumed by all of his pent-up sexual frustration and was only focused on getting off. he'd slurp your cunt like a man starved but he'd still rail you as if that's the only thing he cared about.

but as time passed, he's been getting more and more...sensual. the sex is much more slower. personal, almost.

vulnerable.

after dinner, he slowly slips off your clothing. one article after another, until your left in your underwear. he first kisses you on the mouth, then your neck, then your chest, then your stomach. slowly, he makes a trail of them down your body, as if no skin deserved to be left untouched.

although you made a rule that no one could leave your marks on you, it doesn't mean he doesn't try. as he kisses your lower lips, sometimes he'll attempt to leave marks close to your clit. if you're not careful, diluc will find it tomorrow.

his thrusts were always deep, but now that he's much more purposeful about it. it's rhythmic, as if he's trying to reach a new spot inside you. somewhere no one's touched.

the pillow-talks are much more longer as well. he holds you tighter now, wrapping his arms around your hips as he tangles his legs with yours.

instead of ranting on about the silly incidents he witnessed on the job earlier in the week, he talks about his feelings. towards you. towards diluc. towards himself. some nights you can handle it, some nights are too much.

but you can't say anything. not when he's holding onto you like you’re his lifeline. not when he helps you pay off your debt. and so you let his raspy voice whisper in your ear as he combs his fingers through your hair. you listen to him mumble sweet-nothings.

you're not sure if you like the adoring look he gives you as you drift off to sleep.

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tojirights · 3 months

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fem!reader with a size kink and alastor just teases her about it. It starts off innocently before angel dust just teases and teases her about it until alastor decides to have fun with it.

a/n: this is prolly very ooc alastor but uhhhh this is fun sooo 🩷

word count: too many i don't even know

tags: 18+ smut nsfw, alastor has a big dick, unprotected sex, alastor cums a lot, slight cervix fucking (?), teasing

alastor first notices your inclination for pointing out he's much larger than you when you're always grabbing his hand. he easily covers your hand with his and it gives you butterflies every time. you think he doesn't notice your flushed cheeks, but alastor keeps a close eye on your emotions. he likes to make little snide comments but other than that, it's mostly harmless.

it evolves into him coming up behind you and resting his arms on the top of your head with ease, barely even straightening his back to do so. "hey!" you whine, crossing your arms over your chest. "im not an arm rest, y’know?" alastor just laughs, tugging gently on your hair to pull your head back. your eyes meet his, and your body tenses. the look he gives you is intoxicating, the way he easily peers over you makes you want to shrink into him and let him envelop you.

"yer not?" angel chirps in, breaking you from your daydream. "coulda fooled me. thought you were a coat rack, especially the way you hang onto mr tall dark 'n handsome over there like ya life depends on it." you gasp at his words, immediately trying to put distance between you and alastor but his arm hooks around your waist. "h-hey this isn't fair..." you huff, but alastor's chest is warm against your back and it's making your head fuzzy. "you like 'em big, dont'cha sweetie?" angel snickers, enjoying the way your cheeks go bright red.

all you can do is wiggle around in alastor's grasp until he lets you flip around and face him. you waste no time in burying your face in his chest, hiding the pure embarrassment written all over it. "oh come now angel, the poor girl can only take so much." he laughs when you put your fist to his chest. "i bet she can take more than you think..... alright i'm done i swear!" angel leaves the room cackling, too proud of himself. "alastor... please..." you sigh, your face still pressed against his chest.

he lets out a soft chuckle before petting your head. "just a little friendly teasing, hm?" he steps away to give you some much needed air. "i wouldn't want to break you, my dear." alastor all but pouts, making you audibly groan. you can't take it anymore, the desire burning a hole straight through you. you grab his hand and drag him from the hotel lobby into your own room of the hotel.

closing the door to your room, you're about to speak when alastor surprises you by pinning you to the door. "you want to be broken, hm?" his voice, shrouded in static makes your skin crawl and your heart rate pick up. "i-i..." all of your confidence from earlier fades from your grasp as alastor towers over you, deep red eyes seeing straight through you. "your words, darling. tell me that you just can't wait for me to take you, to push your limits."

his breath is hot on your ear, threatening to burn you. "w-what if i can't take it?" you whisper, words shaking just as much as your body with how much adrenaline is being pumped through you. alastor's mouth finds your neck as sharp teeth gently nip at your skin. "i think that's what you're hoping for, my dear." his words end in a sharp hiss, his hips pressing you into the door. and then you finally feel it, alastor's hard cock against your body.

oh fuck.

"this is long overdue, please forgive me if my patience seems short." he mutters into your skin, barely containing himself from biting your soft flesh. with ease, alastor lifts you off the floor and begins carrying you to the bed. the effortlessness sends an ache straight to your core. laying you down, you look up at him with wide eyes. it's such a head rush, you almost don't notice how he lifts your ass up just enough to remove your shorts and panties.

your breath hitches at the realization that you're mostly bare and yet he's fully clothed. "can i..." you swallow hard, hands trailing down his body. "i-i wanna touch it... wanna hold it." alastor bites back a groan, not sure he's ever heard you say something sexier. its a frenzy to remove the remaining clothing, neither of you wanting to waste any more time.

you're practically drooling by the time alastor's cock is freed, knowing damn well that this wasn’t fitting. the head of his cock alone would probably stretch you to your limit. straddling his hips, you finally wrap your fingers around his aching cock and moan aloud. "jesus christ al..." you breathe, eyes wide while you slide your hand up and down slowly, like you're engraving it to memory. alastor's body shudders, seeing just how small your hand looks wrapped around him. flicking your thumb over his leaky slit, you smear precum down his length.

"you can play later babe, fffuck, no more though." the gravelly sound you're used to hearing in his voice seems to be doubled, anticipation swirling in your gut. alastor's hands reach around to cup your ass, and flips you onto your back. everything about alastor was overwhelming, his size, his attitude, his cock. your head spins as alastor presses the head of his cock to your entrance, you can already tell it's barely going to slide in even with how soaked your cunt is.

"i-i don't-" alastor shushes you, easing into you inch by inch. your thighs shake, and you're sure there's no way you'll be able to take it all. "ngh, alastor." you whine, the ever growing stretch starting to make your stomach hurt. "ah ah, you're doing so well darling. so tight." he sighs, watching his cock disappear into your sweet wet heat.

your eyes roll into the back of your head, his cock pressing snuggly against your cervix. "thats it, good girl." he almost wants to laugh as he pulls back out, seeing there's still a few couple of inches that aren't covered in your wetness. "we're going to have to work on this, aren't we?" you reach your hand down and feel where your bodies are connected and moan. "t-there's still that much?" and alastor does laugh this time. "don't you worry about that, we'll train this pussy to take every inch."

each thrust of his cock makes your stomach ache, and the feeling of being so full keeps pushing you closer to the edge. "s-soo big, 'm gonna..." you cry out as alastor's hands find your hips. he picks a brutal pace, you're not sure how you'll be able to walk tomorrow, but the stretch and burn of his cock forcing his way deeper and deeper has that coil in your stomach about to break.

and when you do cum, it's the most explosive orgasm you've ever felt. "a-alastor !" your vision goes black, and you almost miss the feeling of alastor's release. well, you would have missed it, but the sheer amount of seed he spills deep against your cervix is immediately leaking from your abused hole. it seeps down to your ass even, covering you in such a way you'll probably never forget.

breathing heavily, you lay comfortably still under him. alastor places a gentle kiss to your forehead before removing himself from the bed. "rest, darling. i will be right back." you’re half asleep by the time he comes back with a warm towel, and even more so when he pulls the blanket over you. he waits until you're sound asleep before he goes to shower off.

"well, i suppose i owe angel a thank you..." alastor hums to himself.

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