#Both are different kinds of bastard | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bi-writes · 5 months ago

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there's trouble in paradise. but lucky for you, your other half would do anything for you. anything. (arranged-husband!simon x fem!reader)

previous part (recommended read, but not required)

cw: reader is described as plus-sized/curvier, dark!reader, dark!simon, unhealthy relationship dynamics (both of you are so fucked up inside), horror movie vibes, themes of obsession + possessiveness + psychopathic behavior, military criticism, mature language and content, graphic depictions of murder + violence, mentions of simon's canon trauma, voyeurism, smut, piv, cumplay, oral (fem!receiving), breeding kink 18+ (this piece is very dark and includes the encouraged murder of someone innocent -> read at your own discretion)

if simon is anything, it is that he's...unpredictable. except for how he spends his mornings.

you close your eyes when you feel his warm hand on your jaw. your head tilts back, and you part your lips, knowing what will come. your hear the shuffle of fabric, and then you're kissed, a sloppy kind of kiss, a harsh tongue slipping into your mouth and tracing your teeth.

it's aggressive, his kiss. he doesn't try to savor the taste, he just takes. his teeth hit yours sometimes, but he doesn't apologize. just cradles your head in a different direction and continues to shove his greedy tongue down your throat.

you chase him when he pulls away. he chuckles, the bastard, and when you open your eyes, he stands tall behind where you sit. you smile up at him, opening your mouth obediently, and you take two of his fingers and suck. the pads of his fingers press against your tongue, and you lap at the callouses. it feels good to be full of him, in any way he will give.

you like having some part of him inside of you, always. it makes you feel whole. complete. incredibly satisfied, a cup full of liquid, blood touching your tongue.

"good morning," simon murmurs, glaring down at you almost. if you didn't know him, you'd take his expression for ire, but you know it's just the intensity of whatever sits in his chest. "worried when y'weren't in bed."

you flutter your lashes, and simon palms at your throat, bending lower. you want to nibble on his scarred bottom lip, but he holds you at such a length to keep you away. you pout a little.

"don't do tha' again," he tells you. it is a warning. someone else might take this too literally, too harshly. as if he was commanding you, and he is, sort of, but they wouldn't understand. no one would understand. "y'hear?"

you nod.

"sorry," you whisper, letting his fingers go and kissing them softly. "couldn't sleep...didn't wanna wake you."

he sniffs. he doesn't like what he hears.

"and wot do i always say?" he asks. "hmm?"

you smile a little, looking away, bashful. "that...that i can have whatever i want."

"tha's right."

you giggle, standing from your seat, turning and wrapping your arms around his neck. he picks you up from the fat of your hips, hoisting you onto the kitchen table with ease. he knocks your knees apart, stepping between them, and you cup his cheeks to kiss him easily.

"tell me," he commands. "tell me wot's on y'r mind."

you sniffle, dragging your knuckles down his masked cheek. you nuzzle your nose into his, closing your eyes, and he leans into you, wanting more. he reads you well. there isn't a flicker in your eyes that he wouldn't catch. he's too perceptive, too observant, too in-tune with what you are, which is his. it relieves you, in a way. you don't have to lie because he will always catch your dishonesty.

"how come..." you bite your lip. "y-you told me i shouldn't call you. when you're away. s-so...so i send letters to base. but...you never respond."

he tilts his head to the side, cupping the back of your neck. when he finds your eyes, he keeps them, steadying you with a firm grip.

"wot letters?"

you pull back a little, blinking up at him.

"i...i send you a letter. e-every day that you're gone. i-i...i send it to you."

he shakes his head, "swee'eart, i've never gotten a letter."

you swallow, smoothing your hands down his chest. you frown a little, looking down.

"oh..." your heart eases a little. "i...i thought you were ignoring me."

"probably just some bloke tha' doesn't know m'name," simon soothes you. "would never ignore ya. and y'know the number to call in an emergency, but i suppose 'm glad tha' you've never had ta call."

you meet his eyes. dark. purposeful. focused.

"i can take care of myself."

the letters never arrive, even after you double check their address. you show it to him the next time he comes home, the back of the envelope with the address scribbled onto it, and all he does is shrug.

"tha's me, luv," he mutters, pushing the letter aside, hoisting you up against the wall as he kisses you hungrily. "now open up," he growls, shredding your panties with a tight fist as he fucks into you eagerly. "oll f'me, missed y'r cunt..."

simon is nothing if he isn't an insatiable animal. every time he comes home, he fucks you until your vision is nearly permanently blurred with tears and your brain is defiantly turned off. he fucks you dumb, in every sense, and you think he enjoys the way he swipes your drool with a big thumb and sucks it into his mouth with a groan. maybe it tastes different, when you're brainless from another orgasm and saying things that aren't coherent, hips canted up as he continues to pound into you from behind.

but you adore it. you love it. you love him.

it's visceral, what you feel inside. it tears at something delicate. whenever you look at him, you can't help the smile, even if it's small. the way he makes you feel when you look into his eyes--it nearly chokes you. neither of you ever last long. someone always breaks the moment, moving until you are near so that you can kiss feverishly.

you both scramble to be together. when he comes home, he always attacks you as soon as the front door smacks against the wall. you've fucked numerous times on the floor in the foyer, too eager to welcome him back when he goes for weeks on end to even make it to the couch. you love when he practically tackles you to the floor, throwing you down as he gets between your legs, big hand cradled into your hair so it doesn't smack against the hardwood floor. the gesture is so sweet that it makes your eyes tear, even if he's biting at your tits so hard they nearly draw blood.

simon would do anything for you. there is nothing that crosses a boundary, no request that he would not fulfill, no crime he wouldn't commit. he's disgusting, a right prick bastard that you know would enjoy skinning the backs of someone's hands just for your very own amusement. you wouldn't call him a dog--a proper dog respects authority, acts loyal and good and cowers when they have done something wrong.

simon doesn't always listen to you, not really, you don't think he really listens to anyone. but everything he does, he does knowing it is what's best for you. he takes care of you, especially when you're too cock-dumb to make any right-minded decision. he's the center of gravity, and you are his, bringing each other back into balance when you get knocked off kilter. sometimes, this balance requires a sacrifice.

simon is all too willing to give one.

you don't blame him for that. the wiring in his head, it's a little fried, a little frayed. it isn't his fault. he's seen torture. been through it. watched comrades die, tasted his own blood and that of someone else's. he's seen the insides of someone, watched it protrude from the holes in their bodies, sometimes from his own hand. he's just a little rough around the edges, just a little scarred.

no one likes to talk about the fact that servicemen like simon are glorified serial killers. you understand this fact, and you know that if you explained it to simon, he would probably agree with you. but instead of acknowledging the reality of it, you think he might smile. he is given permission by his country, by his king, to kill under the guise of international security, for the common good.

what would we not do to protect our homeland from terrorism and warfare? what necks would we not snap? what blood would we not shed? what would we not do to protect the places where our wives lay their heads and our children play their games?

that is how he would justify it to you. he'd tell you not to worry, that heaven is an idea made up by weak men who don't have the strength to do something about their foe.

you would believe him, if he said that to you. you would smile back at him, kiss him soft, and let him fuck a baby into you just to shut you up.

but this wouldn't change a thing. it wouldn't change what he is. it wouldn't make him any less a murderer, any less a man that takes what he wants. he has a heavy hand, not just in combat, but with you. he does not ask permission, but it wouldn't matter; fortunately, you have the same disgusting urge inside of you, and you practically beg him to take from you.

although, there is one thing that separates you from him. you might carry the disease--the one that makes you indifferent to his violence, his past, his trauma, his crimes. but you don't carry the execution of it. you've never killed anyone. you've never held a gun. sometimes, when someone parks a little too close to your car, you think about what it would be like to put their head behind your tire and reverse over it, but nothing you ever do leaves the horror of your mind.

you are positively boring in that sense. lieutenant simon riley's picture-perfect good girl, his lovely wife. the one that lets him voice his horrendous crimes and sleeps just as peacefully as before because of it. no one would ever know that he's murmured in great detail about how he tortured his latest target, telling you about how he screamed quite loudly when he picked his fingernails off but was rather quiet when he carved tally marks into his forearm.

"was he, baby?" you whisper, sucking soft on the stubble around his jaw. he palms your ass gently, satisfied when he feels the way his cum drips between your folds and wets his hand. he nods, shrugging.

"fuckin' muppet. deserved wot he got."

"i know he did," you agree, nodding, reaching down and starting to pump his length, still wet from your cunt. you mewl when he starts to harden immediately, the blood rushing to his cock as you fondle his balls. "now tell me how much you missed me again..."

it isn't your fault that he gets you this wet just by talking about his aggression. it can't be. it's primal...instinct. ghost is a protector, and you are his wife--you like thinking about what he might do just to keep you safe.

you like thinking about what he might do just to keep you happy.

but you're not happy. he's gone for three weeks this time, a long stretch that leaves you a little lonely and a little on edge. you send him your letters, writing every day about how quiet it is at home, about how alone you feel and how much you miss the space he takes up in your bed. you even miss the amount of food he consumes--you're so used to cooking enough to feed four proper people just for him to scarf it all down and eat your cunt to tell you how grateful he is.

you haven't really been on base since you married; you spent a few weeks there right afterwards, in and out of his bed, practically attached to simon by the hip. it's been a long while since then. he bought you a little flat in london and gave you a nice sleek credit card, and that was that. simon doesn't care for you to spend much time on base. he thinks you too pretty and complains under his breath that you're a distraction, which you are. you're always so caught up with how hot he looks working that you end up underneath him more often than not; simon prefers you at home so he doesn't lose all his fucking energy trying to keep up with you.

you roll down your window, flashing your license at the officer there. he clicks a flashlight on, looking at it, and he swallows hard when he sees the last time there.

riley.

"afternoon, ma'am," he tells you with a nervous smile. "your husband, looks like he isn't here, he's--"

"i know where he is," you interrupt. "but he'll be back soon. just some housekeeping i need to do." you tilt your head to the side. "i don't have to call the lieutenant and tell him you're refusing me, do i?"

"n-no, ma'am."

you slam the door shut after you park, eyeing the motorcycle a few parking spots away. you sigh, clenching your jaw, before swinging your purse over your shoulder and straightening out the front of your jeans. you told him not to ride that fucking thing, the big dummy.

you pass through the offices first, and when you get nearer to where captain price and your husband sit, you stop in your tracks when you see a new little desk set up there.

there's a woman sitting there.

she's got a corded phone held between her ear and her shoulder, and she's writing on a sticky note rapidly, nodding her head as she talks to someone quietly. you tilt your head to the side, watching her, and your lip twitches just enough when she hangs up the phone and stands to put a few files away in a cabinet.

she's wearing a tiny little skirt and stockings, and you run your tongue over your teeth when you get a glimpse at the garter belt she's wearing underneath. you follow the line of her long legs to her kitten heels, and then back up to the blouse and blazer she wears. she turns around, adjusting her sleeves, and you straighten your back when you can see the lace of her black bra underneath the white blouse.

cause who the fuck wears a black bra under white at work?

you adjust your purse over your shoulder and make your way down the hallway, ignoring her as you stop in front of simon's office and look for the key on your key ring.

"oh! excuse me--excuse me!"

you stop looking for the key, turning over your shoulder. the woman is getting up from her seat, hurrying over. she's a tiny little thing, bouncing over to you with an exacerbated face.

"hey--excuse me," she puts a hand on the door. "you can't go in there."

you raise a brow.

"oh, really? why's that?" you ask. she looks you up and down a little, her smile fading a little.

"well...lieutenant riley doesn't like it when people are in his private space. and there's classified material in there, so i'll need to verify if you have the right security clearance."

she twirls a soft curl around one of her fingers, and you flash her an irritated smile.

"oh, well, i'm sure he won't mind if i go inside," you tell her, turning back. you finally find the right key, fitting it into the lock.

"hey--hey! you can't go in there! i'm serious, i'll call security," she huffs. you laugh, turning to face her as you push the door open.

"oh, go ahead," you murmur, stepping closer. you're about the same height, but her eyes are no match for your own. she's alive inside, and you are not. there are places that you can go that she would never come back from, and she flinches a little when she meets your eyes intensely. "in fact, i dare you to call security."

you drop your purse on simon's desk, rounding it and taking a seat in his chair. you open one of the drawers, rummaging through it, and you roll your eyes a little when you find a pack of cigarettes that simon had said he'd thrown out. strike two already.

lying bastard.

you're still rifling through the drawer when the office door bursts open. you recognize one of simon's sergeants, kyle, huffing his chest as he looks around the room with a glare. the woman is behind him, her arms crossed over her chest and making her breasts comically pushed up towards her chin, her eyes narrowed at you. when kyle sees you, he immediately snatches his cap off his head and takes a step back. his posture changes, his back straightening up as he assumes a near soldier-stance.

"fuck, sorry, ma'am," he murmurs. "i didn't mean to barge in that way, i--"

"it's alright, kyle," you say softly, smiling a little. "something i can help you with? simon isn't here right now."

the woman steps back, confusion on her face, and she hides doorway now, out of your sight.

"no," kyle gives you a polite, nervous smile. "apologies again."

you shake your head and shrug, standing up to go close the door. you poke your head out, and she's sitting at her desk again, her expression a little wobbly as she looks up at kyle and uses her hands as she speaks, looking utterly mortified.

"--how was i supposed to know that? she didn't introduce herself--"

"look, you just better hope she doesn't tell him about this. fuckin' kiss her arse or somethin', for fuck's sake," kyle mutters, shaking his head, and you smile to yourself as you close the door completely.

it's a few hours later, while you're smoothing a hand over a report simon has written, when the door opens. you look up from the desk, smiling immediately.

there he is.

simon cocks his head to the side, and you eye the flex of his fists in his gloves. he clicks his tongue, pushing his hood off, and you giggle when he narrows his eyes at you. he's being playful, and you stand, rounding the desk as you hurry towards him.

"well wot's this 'ere?" he chuckles, and you squeal when you jump up, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing kisses to his masked mouth, over and over again. he catches you easily.

"simon--" you thumb at his cheeks, letting out a shaky breath, and you laugh when he fists both sides of your ass, squeezing your arse in the nice denim jeans you're wearing. he hums lowly, nosing at your jaw.

"wot are y'doin' 'ere?" he murmurs, reaching up to cradle the back of your head gently with one hand. you kiss him again, feeling how warm his breath is through the mask. you close your eyes, sniffling a little.

"missed you," you whisper, massaging the nape of his neck and pressing your face into the chest of his tact vest. simon rubs at your scalp gently, soothing you.

"y'know i don't like when y'r 'ere," he mutters, and you squeeze him tighter.

"i know," you sigh. "i know...i know, i just...i-i..." you pull back to look up at him. "i-i know, i just...i--"

"'s olright," he quiets you. "not mad." he presses his mouth to your forehead, kissing it gently, and you close your eyes again. "fancy a cuppa while i debrief, swee'eart?"

"...better hope she doesn't tell him about this..."

you lean up on your toes to get closer to him, fitting your thumbs under his mask and pushing it up so you can get a good kiss. he smirks before your lips meet his, and you sigh with relief when he slips his tongue into your mouth. he tastes like cigarettes, and normally you'd tell him off for it, but instead you keen when he squeezes the back of your neck, and you open your mouth wider for him. he takes full advantage, sliding his tongue over yours before sucking on it briefly. his hand palms at the plush space between your thighs, but he knows better than to touch you right away since he's still at work. if he goes any further, he'll have some explaining to do about his punctuality.

"i love you," you whisper when he pulls away. he kisses you again, just beside your mouth, and then he grins wide.

"sit, luvvie," he mutters, nodding to his desk. "won't be long."

it doesn't bother you that he never says it back. he does love you, in his own way. he never says it, but you know it's true.

you know it.

he takes your hand, guiding you over to his desk, not letting go of you until you're sitting. he winks, catching a few fingers under your chin before making his way out. you sigh, watching him from behind, your eyes raking over his broad shoulders to his waist, the thickness of his thighs and his incredible ass. you're no better than a man in that sense, but it's your husband, and you'll ogle him all you like.

it's your privilege. and your right.

but then you catch someone else's gaze, looking at the same thing. it's her--and she's got her eyes on your man.

you suck in a breath, sinking into simon's chair, and you meet her eyes once simon is gone. you smile at her, knowingly, and she swallows hard visibly, clutching the papers she's holding to her chest and making her way to the door.

"i am...so sorry about earlier," she says timidly. "i-i...had no idea that...i didn't know--"

"it's fine," you say, your voice monotone and unyielding. "glad to know this country's secrets are kept...under great care." you stand, and she comes in, holding out her hand.

"i'll get that cuppa for you, mrs. riley, no need," she laughs nervously.

"oh, so you were eavesdropping?" you ask, and she sputters.

"oh...god, n-no, i--"

"i'm just kidding," you smile again, but it doesn't reach your eyes. "tea would be nice."

she scurries off after that, and you follow her to the door, laughing to yourself as she hurries off towards the break room. you notice the cart she was sitting next to. it's stopped at her desk, and you peek over, seeing that it's the mail. she's got the envelopes on her desk, and it looks as if she was just organizing it all to hand out.

but there's a drawer open at her desk, and your eyes narrow when you see your handwriting on the envelope stashed there.

you round the desk, grabbing the stack that you see, and you let out a shaky breath when you realize these are your letters. the ones that you write to simon, all of them, bound neatly with a rubber band. your lip trembles a little, and you hold them to your chest, blinking back angry tears as you slowly make your way back to simon's office. you shut the door, dropping the stack of letters onto simon's desk, and you think.

she's very pretty. not taller than you, but she's more...conventionally attractive. she doesn't have your plush hips, your soft tummy, but that doesn't make her a villain--but you're just aware of what she looks like, what you look like.

you've never been too insecure, especially not since marrying simon. he never fails to chub up as soon as he sees you; he's hungry whenever he sets his eyes on you, and you know he likes grabbing the extra fat around your hips and holding you. he's so gross about it, but you love it. you love the way he loves you.

but is that what he imagined when he was married? did he imagine a woman with a little more? did he imagine a woman not like you, but a little smaller, a little tinier, easier to carry?

but he can carry you. on more than one occasion, he's thrown you over his shoulder, lifted you onto a surface he then fucked you on, flipped you and manhandled you into various positions he wanted to try. he loves having you on top, loves picking you up from your hips and fucking up into you. he never strains, just grunts from the pleasure and smacks your ass. he's never given you any reason to believe you aren't the most beautiful woman, his prettiest girl, so why are you thinking this way?

no. it isn't you. it's her. it's all her fault; there is nothing wrong with you. a man like simon needs a woman like you--someone not so fragile, someone that has more.

she is without. and you are not.

the insecurity wanes. it turns into something else. not jealousy. it's anger. something hungry.

you fucking hate her.

simon comes in a few minutes later, holding a cup of tea in one hand and a manila folder in the other. he shuts the door with his boot, setting down the mug and folder before leaning over and giving your cheek a little kiss through the mask.

the way he greets you, the light touch he has on you, reminds you of what you are to him. no one else in the entire world is privy to this kind of affection. to simon's affection. it's yours, and yours alone, and if you just open your mouth and tell him what you want, you know that he will give it to you.

she is without. and you are not.

"was thinkin'--" simon stops short when he looks at your face, frowning. the recognition of something amiss is almost instant. "wot's wrong?"

you look up, meeting his eyes, and you think again.

you could say nothing. you could wipe your tears, tell him that you're just lonely and needy, and make him bend you over his desk to get the thoughts out of you. you aren't the violent kind. you're not confrontational. you have already established that you aren't the kind to lash out, to show your teeth. you have the nasty tick, but you aren't the kind to let it fester.

you blink, and simon snarls. you waited too long, and now he knows there is something else on your mind.

"oi," he snaps. "'m tolkin' t'ya."

"s-simon," you whisper, and he reaches over to grip you by the throat. he doesn't choke you, but he holds you firm, dragging you closer to him. "s-simon--"

but it's too late for her, because you're angry. the sickness has already spread.

you stand, forced to walk around the desk, coming closer. he's not happy; there's something bothering his wife, and that isn't allowed. his wife is not supposed to be upset or sad, she isn't supposed to cry unless it's tears of joy, unless her eyes are stinging and wet from how nice his cock feels. a lieutenant's wife is pampered, spoiled, nothing but pleasure and soft sheets and full tummies. it's unacceptable. it's awful, it's terrible, it's not right, and he needs to fix it.

"wot is it?"

"...better hope she doesn't tell him about this..."

"the letters--" you sniffle, leaning up on your toes, pressing your face against his. "the letters i sent you, t-the ones...you said you never got--"

"i know, luvvie," he murmurs. fuck, he can be kind when he wants to be, when it's for you. "i know, 'm sorry, 'm gonna sort it out for ya--"

"i-i found them," you interrupt, looking away. he follows your gaze to where they sit on his desk. he reaches over and picks up the neat stack, and he flips through them with a huff. he's confused, noting the dates you've written on them. it isn't even all the letter's you've sent, just a stack of the most recent ones.

"i don't--"

"they were in...they were in her desk," you hiccup. "she...she's keeping them from you, she wasn't--" you rest your head on his chest, closing your eyes, and he cradles the back of your head with a big hand. "she doesn't like me."

it's quiet for a long while. simon strokes the back of your neck, easing you into his chest. his touch is light, unbothered, but he's eerily silent as the moments pass. the rise and fall of his heavy breaths lull you, calm you, but then he wraps his fingers into your hair, gripping the strands tight. you swallow a bit from the force of his hand. the gravity of what he might feel, what it might mean, the switch you've flipped.

the thing you've unleashed.

it is the first time that you realize what simon can be for you. it is the first time that you think that it's very possible for you to use simon, to whisper soft in his ear and lick the flames of his need to bite back, his need to strike.

even if what you say is a lie, he'll believe you. maybe he'll even know it is a lie, and he'll convince himself it isn't one just to make things right again. love is blinding, and it is also forgiving. he can deal with the lie later, but not with your dissatisfaction.

"doesn't matter about how she feels about ya, y'r m'wife," he murmurs in your ear. his tone has lowered, something that makes you think this might be how he speaks to his men, the privates he can't stand and the ones that have trouble following orders. "fuckin' disrespectful--" he hisses, tipping your head back with a tug on your hair. he looks into your eyes, wild, cunning, angry. "'m gonna take care of this, swee'eart. y'hear me?"

oh, yeah. that's what you want to hear, that's what you need to hear. you flutter your lashes, mouthing at his jaw.

"i don't...i don't mean to make a fuss, simon, i--" but i do, i want it--

"oi," simon picks you up from under your thighs, dropping you onto his desk. he steps between your knees, pushing his mask up, and you mewl when he licks the tears off your face, kissing you with an open mouth. "y'listen to me..." he sucks on your bottom lip, bringing his mouth back to yours. "won't accept anyone treatin' m'wife this way. disrespectin' you is disrespectin' me. won't 'ave tha'. so look me 'n the eyes 'n tell me ya understand."

you sniffle, nodding, smoothing your hands down his forearms. he narrows his eyes, and you try not to look away from him. it isn't up for discussion. even if you ask him not to make a fuss, he won't roll over on this. there is a certain decorum simon expects anyone that reports to him to have, and if they don't grant it, he doesn't take to it lightly--not from his men, and not from pretty secretaries that didn't do their homework.

"i-i understand," you whisper, and you sputter a little when you stop yourself from saying anymore. he knocks your chin back up, keeping your eyes, and you continue with a wobble in your voice. "she...she tried to kick me out earlier, too." he tilts his head to the side, and you know not to keep a secret anymore. "when i...when i was opening your office, she...s-she didn't recognize me and...she tried to get kyle to make me leave."

he laughs a little, but there's nothing funny about it.

"'n wot did he do?"

"he said he was sorry."

"good. now lie back, swee'eart. 'm hungry, 'n my wife deserves to get her cunt eaten for being such a good girl."

you smile a little, wiping your face with the back of your hand, and he grins back at you. you giggle as he unbuttons your jeans, pulling down the zipper, and you laugh a little more when he picks you up and yanks them off your legs. he puts a hand on your chest and pushes you to lie flat, tossing your legs over his shoulders and sighing.

"missed y'r lil' pussy so much," he murmurs. "m'favorite place ta be."

just like that, the anger is gone. dissolved, sugar in warm water.

you giggle, rubbing a hand over the head of his mask. you arch your back as he mouths over the fabric of your panties, hooking a finger over it and pulling it aside to slurp at your wet folds. you let out a shaky breath, tugging on his mask a little.

"i missed you, too, simon," you whisper. "i-it's too quiet without you."

"i know, baby," he suckles at your clit, coaxing a moan out of you, and he chuckles. "mmm...want ya to cum in my mouth, luv."

you whimper, "i will, simon. anything for you."

"fuckin' hell," he hisses, "don't say shit like tha', makes me fuckin' hard."

"whatever you want, baby," you whisper, and he pushes his tongue into your little hole as punishment, making you squeal and giggle with delight. he smirks from between your thighs, dragging you just that much closer before he starts to bob his head and fuck you with his tongue. you grind against his mouth, locking your ankles behind his back and staring at the ceiling as you ride his face for your pleasure. he's so good, he's so hot, everything you want and more. he loves you, so much, and he will do anything for you.

anything.

"are you going t-to teach her a lesson?" you babble, panting, and simon hums.

"yeah, swee'eart."

"how?"

"hmm..." he smiles wide as he kisses your clit. "how do ya want me to?"

"want her gone, simon," you gasp, forcing his mouth back into your pussy, slick coating his chin. he follows your direction, smoothing his hands up your stomach, thumbing at your perky tits.

"mmm..." he's so pussy-drunk, his tongue flattening between your folds and teasing you warmly. you're so wet, slick coating your folds, and he''s starting get messy, his face glistening as he concentrates on the only task that matters. "woteva y'want, luv."

"r-really?"

"i asked ya to cum in my fuckin' mouth, and y'r about to," simon snaps. "when i say it's done, it's done. when my wife asks for somethin', she gets it, do you fuckin' understand me?"

"yes! yes--" you hiccup. you're so stupid. so dumb to think that simon would refuse a request that you make. pretty, dumb girl to think that whatever you say isn't his gospel.

you want her gone. you do. and you want simon to do it for you. you want him to stuff his fingers into your cunt with one hand and hold her at the wrong end of his gun with the other--

there's something wrong with you, right? right?

"why are y'still thinkin'?" simon growls, leaning up and over you until he can kiss you nasty. his face is soaked, and you moan when he slides his tongue over yours, practically spitting in your mouth as he slips two fingers into you with ease. "my wife isn't supposed ta think."

you let out a shaky breath, nodding, cupping his cheeks and kissing him back.

"yes--o-okay, 'm sorry--"

"stop thinkin'. nothin' ta think about when y'r mine."

and he's right. you always use your brain too much, you always end up thinking when you should just be listening, responding, letting him move your body this way and that way.

simon is always right. always.

you kiss him again, soft and shaky breaths. you reach down with one hand and wrap your fingers around his wrist, sighing as you guide his fingers until he's pressing on that little spot that makes your toes curl.

"ahhh...right there, yeah?" he smirks, and you nod, your fingers touching his lips.

"not enough," you whisper, and he tsks, shaking his head.

"never is," he mutters. "my mouth or my cock, baby?"

you giggle, and he kisses you, swallowing your laughter. you breathe into the kiss as you reach down and start to undo the button of his cargos and unzip him, palming at his bulge and squeezing it lovingly.

"not even a question," you purr between kisses, and he chuckles, deep and heavy, shoving down his pants just enough to pull himself out. you arch your back just at the sight, knowing how big he'll feel and how much he'll stretch you out. it's such a familiar feeling that you adore chasing, and you love the way your brain muddles whenever he sinks deep. your toes curl just thinking about how deep he'll get today with how wet you are. not that you aren't wet always when simon is around, but there's just something so sexy about your husband wearing all his gear and promising to rid the earth of vermin just for your contentment.

"'s alright, mama, i know 'ow much ya like bein' full o' me..." simon smooths a finger over your clit, licking his lips when he sees you clench around nothing. he slaps his tip there, watching you squirm, and he growls a little when you spread your fingers in a V and show off to him how wet you are.

"stop teasing and make me a real mama," you giggle, and simon tilts his head to the side, leaning over you.

"is tha' a challenge, m'dear wife?"

you meet his eyes, lovely and lingering, and you shake your head.

"no," you whisper, because fucking isn't a challenge, not for him. "a-a request."

he smiles, so wide, and you reach down and grip his forearms tight when he slips into you. you're dripping, a soft squelch sounding as his hips meet your thighs, and you cup his face as he settles his weight over you.

"y-you've never looked at her...have you?" you ask into his ear.

"at who, baby?"

"her," you whine. "you know w-who i'm talking about, don't play stupid, simon--"

"shh--" he clamps a hand over your mouth, hissing a little. he shakes his head, annoyed, and he shifts inside of you until he's hitting your cervix and making you cry into his palm. "'m a right bastard, baby, but tha', i'd never do." he chuckles. "got a tight arse, tha' one, but she's not you. she's not my girl."

tears prick your eyes. you're not sure if it's from the hint of jealousy that sears through your chest or the way you clench around him, but it's all too much suddenly.

he leans forward, sliding his hand off, gripping you by the throat now as he kisses you wet and hazy.

"'s y'r face i think about when 'm gone," he murmurs. "y'r cunt tha' gets me fuckin' hard. y'r fat tits that make me drool, swee'eart, ain't no one else 'n the world tha' makes me feel the way y'do, yeah?"

you hold onto him, digging your nails into his back, and he forces your eyes on his as he smiles again.

"ask the boys," simon hums. "ask 'em wot it sounds like when 'm wankin' off at night, ask 'em whose name 'm sayin'--"

"you think about me?" you whimper, and he laughs, cruel, biting his lip as he drags his cock out and then punches it back in, enjoying the way you cry, the look of your slick seeping out onto the desk and wetting his reports.

"got a nasty lil' photo 'f ya," simon smirks. "keep it right here--" he pats the spot over his heart, and your mouth opens when he squeezes your throat just a little tighter. "can finish in fuckin' seconds, baby."

"y-yeah?"

"boys like t'borrow it sometimes," he murmurs, slipping a hand down and pressing down on your lower stomach before giving you a nice roll of his lips. you squeal a little, his palm meeting the tip of his cock, and he chuckles. "ya just look so pretty, luv. johnny fancies y'r cunt, the good lad, but i think price is a fan of that fat arse--"

"s-simon--"

"gaz is such a sap--" he grits his teeth, gripping your hips with both hands, starting to give it to you a little faster, a little harder. the desk rattles a little under the force of him. "says your mouth is divine, but fuck, who can look at anythin' else when y'r cunt is out, aye?"

"t-they like me?"

simon grins, eyes bright and a little crazy. "course they do, luvvie," he runs his tongue over his teeth, tilting his head to the side as he looks down at you. "y'r a bloody sight for sore eyes. 'f ya think these boys want her, y'r mistaken--" you bite your bottom lip. you should be disgusted. you should be upset that your husband touches himself to your picture and lets his men peek over his shoulder, but you're not. you smile, eyes sparkling, and you widen your thighs to try and take him deeper. "--want you, swee'eart. want wot's mine, but they'll never 'ave it. never 'ave wot belongs ta me. can look, but they can't fuckin' touch, cos it's mine."

you moan, dragging your nails down his forearms, and he curses under his breath as he picks up the pace again. he's starving--it's been weeks without you, weeks fucking his fist to the same picture of you that barely does you any justice. he drools at night, practically choking on his spit as he thinks about you in every position, how easily he can bend you and fold you, how wet you get whenever he talks into your ear about the blood, the murder, the terrible things that stain his hands.

he knows what it does to you, when he confides in you. the truth of it all, the truth of what he really is, it makes you weak. it rattles you down to your bones, it makes your eyes roll back into your head, makes your legs squeeze together and your pretty pussy flutter. he thinks maybe you like knowing that simon is dangerous, but he'd never put a hand on you. or maybe you like just knowing that he can--that he's capable of terrible, awful things, and he chooses to come home to you.

every single time.

it's a vice. you're the vice, more than cigarettes, more than the thrill of getting onto his bike, more than the adrenaline he chases when he's outnumbered twenty to one with nothing but his throwing knives.

there's a thread between you. there's a line that connects him to you, something that has always been there, pulled taut as soon as he put that ring on your finger and gave you his name. it's the thing that always makes it hard to breathe when you're around him. it's what makes it impossible to look into his eyes and not see yourself looking right back at you. it's the terrible realization that your husband is black and blue on the inside--

and so am i.

this kind of love is different. it's not fleeting, it's not gentle. it's canine teeth tearing into skin. it's claws in something soft, ripping it apart. it's the joy in doing what isn't right, the benefit of yourself in favor of the benefit of all.

simon would burn the world for you. even if it meant you were all that was left--even if it meant that everyone in it burned, too.

the world should be grateful that simon is only taking one fucking secretary instead of them all.

when simon lifts your hips just that much, your head spins. he always fucks so good, but you're spiraling into a headspace that's making it hard to focus your eyes. you're arching your back to get closer to him, but you're at his mercy, his hands pressing on your thighs just that much to get you just a little more open, just that much more spread out, and you cry when he leans over you, the hair surrounding his cock rubbing against your clit just enough.

"ahhh--fuck, y'r so fuckin' tight, baby--" simon groans, shaking his head. "y'r gonna cum--can feel it, yeah--" he leans his head back. "y'know the rules, luvvie, know the fuckin' rules--"

you have to cum before him, he won't let you have it if you don't cum first--you're so close!

"let 'er hear ya," simon chuckles, all mean, all bite. "let 'er hear 'ow good y'r husband gives it t'ya, how well a riley takes it, let 'er hear--"

fuck, it hits you fast. you're seeing spots, floating for just long enough until you feel him fuck his cum back into you. he barely stops, quickening his pace to finish just to make it that much messier. you think he likes dirtying his desk, making it reek of sweat and musk and heat so he can bask in it later. or maybe he just wants to get back between your thighs, his favorite place in the world, the only quiet from the voices that taunt him in his head.

when he pulls out, he makes you eat it off his fingers. he pulls his gloves off, stuffs his fingers into you, and then puts them back between your lips. he hums as he stares down at you, lapping between his knuckles, and he leans down to murmur in your ear.

"gonna sort this out, luv. promise ya tha'."

he doesn't see acceptance in your eyes when he tells you this. he didn't expect to see that. there is no need to accept the things that you already know, what you already understand. simon doesn't speak in metaphors. he's not interested in riddles, and he doesn't like reading between the lines.

he sees the thrill. he sees your excitement, the joy, the warm rush of approval that washes over you, and he smiles when you lean in to kiss him, all soft, all tender, whispers of affection that make his cock hard all over again.

you want to pity the girl waiting outside. she would've lived longer if she had just shut her fucking mouth.

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ms-demeanor · 9 months ago

Note

You posted about adhd and I was hoping to follow up to clarify something. I’ve explained to my partner a million times about how the borderline-hoarding mess of his space is very mentally draining to me, and he understands but we’ve both essentially accepted he won’t clean his mess because he can’t because of his adhd. You’re saying he’s actually being a shit head?

This isn't necessarily an issue of him being a shithead, but it also isn't a sustainable situation. It's not good for you and there's a level of clutter that's probably not good for him either.

Large bastard is a lot more clutter-y than I am. The solution we've come to is trying to keep our messes at least isolated from one another; he can have his messes and I can have mine, but he can have those messes in his spaces, not all over the place. Sometimes those messes migrate, and that's when it's important for him to make the effort to rein them in rather than trying and failing to make a daily effort to keep our entire shared space tidy.

I think when you say "we've both essentially accepted he won't clean his mess" what I'm hearing is resignation; you're not happy about this but you don't know what to do so you've thrown up your hands and he feels helpless and unsure of what to do to improve the situation. This is the kind of "it's fine" that isn't really fine.

I think it would be worthwhile for you to each separately think about the mess and talk about it together. Are there areas that YOU *need* to have not-messy? Both for utility and your mental health? Are there areas where you can tolerate more mess than otherwise? Are there areas that are going to be harder for him to keep the mess out of than others? Are there things he doesn't *know* about cleaning up the mess?

I'm obviously a big "communication communication communication" person so I'm going to recommend a lot of talking about stuff, which is probably going to mean a lot of thinking about and interrogating stuff. I'm going to say "talk to him about why the mess bothers you" which means you also have to really articulate to yourself why the mess bothers you (for instance I'm not actually *bothered* by a messy kitchen, but I know it's going to reflect badly on us - and me specifically b/c of presumed gender roles - if someone pops by and the kitchen is a disaster, AND a messy kitchen is going to be harder to use). Genuinely, sometimes knowing *why* something is a problem might make it easier for someone with ADHD to do something. And it's not that he doesn't care that it upsets you, it's just that "Oh if I don't wash my breakfast dishes Anon won't have clear counterspace to make lunch" might be stickier in his brain (and less hard to look at emotionally) than "this thing I forget to do upsets my partner so I should do it."

For the record, I think that people with ADHD should read up on Demand Avoidance and see if it might explain some of the issues that they have in their day-to-day life; I've seen some really unfortunate situations with friends where trying to do things that their partner needed became the subject of demand avoidance. *I* have experienced negative outcomes of demand avoidance. The solution to that, however, isn't to stop making attempts to do the thing OR to simply try harder to do as they're asked/told (which reinforces the demand), it's to work on setting up a situation where the partners' needs are not interpreted as a demand. This is fuck-off difficult and requires a lot of patience and care and many attempts to succeed and will be different for each person and relationship.

(Also for the record demand avoidance isn't *super* strongly linked to ADHD and it's not a definitive symptom; like Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria, it is something that occurs in some number of people with ADHD and can be a useful lens through which to examine various behaviors; you don't need to have DA or RSD to have ADHD, and having DA or RSD also doesn't invalidate your diagnosis; they're symptoms. For me, DA often feels like "if I don't look at it, it can't get me" - If I ignore all the messages I've got they aren't real and don't have real consequences so I'll just ignore my texts. If I don't look at the vendor email about the order, the problem with the order isn't real and it won't get added to my task list. If I don't look at the requests in my inbox I can't let people down when I don't do them. It's a self-protective coping mechanism but it's *maladaptive* and I can't just ignore the vendor email or all my texts. I need to work on a way of doing the stuff that I'm avoiding in a way that makes it less stressful and doesn't hurt the people relying on me. That takes a lot of effort, personal insight, trial and error, and )

But before I dive into specifics I want to be really really clear about one thing: sometimes people are simply incompatible. Sometimes one person has such a low tolerance for "mess" and the other person has such a high threshold for "mess" that it can't be reconciled. It sucks that this can end up being a thing that people break up over, but it is MUCH better to acknowledge incompatibility as early as possible instead of spending years and years building resentment.

There used to be a great forum called MiL's Anonymous that I spent a lot of time on. It had a lot of people in a lot of difficult situations struggling to get by and hold their relationships together. The question that was used as a litmus test to approach each situation was simple: If you knew today that everything about living with this person would be the same in five years, would you stay?

Because you can't control your partner. You can't control the future. You can only control yourself and your proximity to situations that are harmful to you. If you knew, 100%, that things wouldn't get better in five years, would you be okay with staying in this relationship? If the answer is "no," then that's that. Don't worry about questions of whether or not your boyfriend is a shithead, start the process of ending the relationship because there's a good chance the situation is going to be exactly the same in five years.

If the answer is "yes," and you'd stay in the relationship regardless of whether or not things changed, then it's time to take actions to improve your life within the context of the relationship.

(No judgement on that yes or no, btw. If you would hate living like this for another five years, and you would feel like you'd wasted your time and hadn't done the things you wanted to with your life, get out. Bail. Go. It will be better for you and better for your partner if you split instead of spending half a decade building resentments and and problems that you'll have to spend another half a decade healing from.)

Also, a note: you describe your boyfriend's mess as borderline hoarding - is the issue *mess* or is the issue *clutter*? I have friends who are very tidy, but whose homes are very cluttered. They like things, they have many things, they keep many things around, but their houses are always clean and well-dusted and orderly, just with a tremendous amount of *stuff.* I am addressing all of this as though the issue is mess, not clutter. If your boyfriend's situation is clutter (the space is busy and packed with things but it is functional and clean) and your issue isn't with *mess* (things out of place, things not having a place, things that need to be cleaned up gathering in stacks, falling behind on regular chores like laundry and dishes and taking out the trash) then you definitely need to assess whether or not you are compatible.

For instance here's a room that is messy but not cluttered compared to a room that is cluttered but not messy:

That first room is a *mess* but it would be very easy to clean up in under an hour. The second room is fairly tidy, but would take significant effort to pare down and declutter. BOTH of these can be difficult to live with but the second one is not dangerous or threatening to anyone's health. (The second one is QUITE cluttered and if every room in a house looks like this it can be overwhelming to live with; this is actually harder to deal with in a relationship than the first one in a lot of ways. I don't have a lot of advice for what to do if your partner is a high degree of tidy-but-cluttered because I don't actually think it's a problem or wrong to have thousands of books or bins full of lego or a million kitchen appliances as long as you have the space and can keep it safe and well-maintained; this is a really significant compatibility issue)

Okay, all that out of the way, here's the hard work.

Talk about this shit

Talk to your partner and define "mess." Make sure you are on the same page about what you mean when you're talking about what a messy room looks like versus what a tidy room looks like. Gather reference pictures. DRAW reference pictures.

Explain not just that the mess upsets you, but *why* and *how* it upsets you. In this context don't think of it as your boyfriend's mess, think of it as an unpleasant roommate. Discuss this using "I-statements". "When I have to pick up laundry all over the apartment, I feel like a parent more than a partner." "When there are piles of miniatures all over the table, I feel like I don't have anywhere to do things I'm interested in." "When there are dishes in the sink, I feel frustrated because I have to clean before I can feed myself."

Discuss, frankly and openly, whether he knows how to clean. I'm not trying to make excuses for him here but a lot of people with ADHD have a lot of stress and avoidance around cleaning because they spent a lot of time getting yelled at for not knowing how to clean properly.

Discuss your needs, be firm about what you require but willing to compromise. You *need* some spaces to be clean, and some spaces may be harder for him to keep clean than others. It may be MUCH harder for him to keep a bedroom tidy than it is to keep a kitchen tidy; if you need a clean and empty bedroom with everything put away and he simply cannot do that, that is a compatibility issue. But perhaps you need *your* side of the bedroom to be very orderly and can tolerate a moderate level of mess and clutter on his side. Maybe you're really really bothered by a messy kitchen, but it doesn't bug you if the dining table is covered with projects and papers. Figure out something more workable than "his mess goes everywhere and i live with it because he's incapable of cleaning" because he probably is not incapable of cleaning and you deserve to have places in your home that are comfortable for you.

Reduce friction for cleaning

Sometimes the problem isn't cleaning, the problem is the many many steps before cleaning, or not knowing where something should go when you are done cleaning. One of the absolute best things I've done for myself for cleaning my space is getting a broom holder and mounting the broom to the wall. Sweeping is now essentially thoughtless. I don't have to find the broom or pull it out from a pile of fans or go scrounging around for a dustpan it's right there on the wall, frictionless. So here are some ways to reduce the barriers to cleaning:

Make sure you and your partner both know how to use your cleaning supplies and know where those supplies are. When I switched dishwasher soap I had to re-show Large Bastard where I was storing it and how it was used, because to him what happened was the dishwasher tabs just vanished one day and he didn't know what I was putting in the machine or the process I used. He sometimes puts tools away in places that I can't see (he's more than a foot taller than me) so sometimes I can't get started on a maintenance project until he shows me where he put the battery pack for the drill.

Consider making a how-to chart to or having him make a how-to chart to keep someplace accessible so he can reference it while cleaning. Goblin.Tools Magic ToDo is great for this. Basically a lot of the time people with ADHD have trouble knowing what to do from step to step even if they've done something before, so having a step by step guide can make it easier (I have notebooks full of step-by-step guides for everything from paying for my tuition to removing licenses for my customers to weeding my yard)

Remove obstacles; don't keep cleaning chemicals in the garage in a box that's behind a stack of parts, keep them in the room you'll be cleaning. Don't keep the cleaning supplies that you use to clean the bathroom in the kitchen. Sometimes this means buying two bottles of bleach solution and two scrubbers and two sets of cleaning gloves but having fewer steps (fetch the windex, fetch the paper towels, fetch the gloves) is often the key to getting things done (open under-sink cabinet and grab windex, gloves, and paper towels that are there instead of in the kitchen).

This sort of overlaps with the next category, which is:

Create Dump Zones

One thing that I've found that seems very different between people with ADHD cleaning and neurotypical people cleaning is that neurotypical people are good at getting to a point where the cleaning is "done." They have checked off their tasks and they have finished and it is over. There are *SOME* chores that are like this (taking out the trash is a binary state, the trash has been taken out or it has not) and some chores are perpetual (horrid cursed dishes) but I think with people with ADHD, some chores that are binary for neurotypicals are actually perpetual chores. For instance "clean off the counter" is not a one and done for me. "Clean off the counter" may involve a three day reorganization project. "Clean off the counter" does not mean "wipe down the tile and put dishes away" it means assessing whether or not I need to make vegetable stock and bleaching three tea containers and reconsidering whether or not the sharps container should live somewhere else and going through the mail and figuring out what needs to be responded to and taking out the recycling and on and on and on.

We have had company at the house for the last two weeks, so I asked large bastard to clean off the dining room table, which is largely a project zone for him. Cleaning off the dining room table meant putting away his meds (and since he's a transplant patient that involves a 30 gallon rubbermade tote), throwing away some trash, and totally reorganizing his workshop. It also incidentally involved picking up a table from facebook marketplace and moving my plants, which has now involved moving my former plant rack outside (moving buckets, finding and organizing planters and gardening tools) and taking the former table to the thrift store (not done yet) and cleaning the rug that was under the former table. So "either the table is clean, or it isn't" isn't really true for us.

HOWEVER "hang on we can't eat until the table is clear so let's drive to Pico Rivera to get that console table right now" isn't a workable plan, so you create dumpzones as areas of holding between the start and the finish of the chore.

A dump zone can be a laundry basket. It can be a craft bin. It can be a back room or under your bed. It is a place to put things that you are going to deal with later because if you deal with them now it is going to derail the thing you are actually trying to do, which is set the table for dinner.

Dump zones are vital to cleaning with ADHD and I recommend them for day-to-day cleaning as well. The day-to-day dump zones might be more for you than for your boyfriend. For instance, Large Bastard works with bullets and he sheds bullets all over the house. I used to get stressed when I found bullets when I was cleaning because are these work bullets? Are these recreational bullets? Are they in testing? Do they need to be pulled? Do they go in the workshop or the office or the garage or does he need these today so they have to stay on the counter? And the answer now is "that's not my problem naughty bullets go in the jar." Which is perfectly sensible because he gets to say "mystery yarn goes in the bin" and "art supplies go in the bucket."

I feel helpless when cleaning a lot of the time. I'm frustrated and lost and I don't know where stuff goes and everything I pick up spins off into three projects in my head and every step feels like a wall to scale. Dump zones help me with that when there's pressure or a reason for cleaning beyond day to day home maintenance. People are coming over? The bedroom is a dump zone, I'll deal with that later. I'm just cleaning up because I need to? Okay I can find a permanent home for this new dish soap.

AS A VERY IMPORTANT COROLLARY TO THIS:

Active projects do not go in dump zones while you or your partner are cleaning. This may mean designating a project sanctuary area like a corner of the table or one particular chair in your main room where a project can be placed so as not to be disturbed. (if my current crochet project ends up in the yarn bin, that may mean that I don't pick the project up for another three months, it lives on the windowsill behind the couch because that's where it'll get worked on)

Do not put things away for your partner, put them in the dump zone for your partner. Your partner has to be the one to put their own stuff away in a way that works for them. I tend to find that this naturally puts a limit on the time stuff sits in the dump zone, because eventually you'll go "hey where's my thing?" and will put stuff away. If that doesn't happen, it's still generally better to have stuff in a dump zone than all over the home.

Do not decide you know what things go together from your partner's stuff and try to "put like things together." The neurotypical urge to put like things together is the mindkiller(j/k). You do not know which things are "similar" in your partner's organization schema and attempting to organize things on your own is going to end up with all of the things "organized" being functionally lost forever from your partner's perspective. Large Bastard's mom would do this and it was infuriating, she'd say "oh I put all the electronics stuff in one box" and she would mean soldering irons, transistors, ham radios, HDMI cables, and cellphone chargers. We are *still* going through boxes of stuff that she "tidied up" when he was hospitalized in 2020 and 2021.

To prevent the need for quite so many dump zones over time, you can work on setting up landing zones and "homes" for projects and tools.

Landing Zones

Landing zones are places where things go when you come inside from doing various things. Sometimes your landing zone only needs to be a tray for your wallet and keys, sometimes your landing zone needs to be a place to take off muddy boots and put a trowel and gloves down before you shower.

To make an effective landing zone, consider what behaviors you're trying to minimize and whether the people using it are ACTUALLY going to use it. For instance I was tired of the corner of my hearth getting cluttered with random junk so I hung up some hooks and put a shelf and a basket there and it became a really effective landing zone for my bag and keys and the mail, but it was VERY ineffective for Large Bastard because it's by a door that isn't the primary door he uses to enter the house. As a result I always know where my keys and bag are but he has trouble finding his keys and wallet. He tends to enter the house through our bedroom and has an overloaded valet next to the door and that's usually where his wallet ends up. Mounting a shelf to the wall above the valet and putting a basket and a hook on it will be a better place for his stuff to land. It's not that he's not using the first zone because he doesn't know that it's there, or because he doesn't care about lost time when I'm searching for my car keys after he borrows them, he's not using it because it's not by the door he uses. That's all.

I have a landing space for when I come in for gardening that's different than the one when I come in from grocery shopping. I have a landing space for when I walk into the dining room instead of the kitchen when I get home.

Landing spaces prevent stuff from piling up all over the place because they are a limited functional space that should be used frequently. Mail ONLY goes in the landing zone. If you have mystery mail or if you're not sure it's safe to toss, you put it in the landing zone. You can't let the mail get piled up too high or you won't have a space for your keys. You can't let the change in your wallet tray get too deep or your wallet is going to slide off, etc., but you also don't just put change on the coffee table or your nightstand because the landing zone is right there.

Homes for items are just what they sound like. They're the place the item goes. It lives there. My meds live on my nightstand. You would not believe how poorly I did with taking my meds on my vacation because they weren't on my nightstand. A while back large bastard lost one of his sets of sorted meds and we tore the house up looking for them because he couldn't find them in his nightstand, which is where they live. *I* found them in his nightstand because I emptied out the entire top drawer (he had only looked on the top layer) and found them underneath a radio and a hammock. Even though they were *hidden* they were in their home, so they were findable. I recently needed ink for an art class. Art supplies live in a dresser by my desk. Ink lives in the art bin or the top left drawer. The ink was not in either of these places (it was on a cabinet in the dining room behind a teacup) so it took me weeks to find it.

Sometimes the reason that ADHD spaces are so messy is because objects have been assigned homes in places that are visible and if they get moved they get lost. This is a genuinely difficult problem that requires a lot of effort to solve and can involve a lot of trial and error for creating a tidy living space. For some people, open shelving and visible storage might be a good solution. For some people, assigning a VERY clear home and inculcating that location by habit is the only way to clean up a space. For some people one very cluttered corner to at least isolate the chaos does the trick (for me and large bastard open shelving doesn't work because anything in one place for too long becomes invisible; that means that I rely on assigning things homes and large bastard relies on having contained chaos and a general idea of where to search but what that DOES NOT mean is that he is clean or tidy. His spaces look like an explosion. But he can mostly find his stuff and do what he needs to do and as long as that's limited to specific places in shared spaces I can live with it; the dining room table can be a disaster, the kitchen cannot).

People organize things differently. It often takes a while for neurotypical adults to settle into an organizational style that works for them and ADHD adults may need to settle into a new system every few months for it to continue working. The cleanup and declutter is most likely going to be a permanent project that is always going to demand some level of attention from everyone in a shared space, but "my ADHD means I can't do it" is not really going to fly. Maybe his ADHD means that he can't keep his space tidy, but it doesn't mean you can't move stuff from shared spaces into dump zones or that he can't do stuff around the house.

If he's insisting that his ADHD means that he can't clean it is possible that he's not being a shithead, he just feels helpless and doesn't know where to start and has adopted the belief that he's a useless piece of shit who can't even keep a tidy space like a grownup because he's internalized a lot of shitty attitudes (hello, my internal monologue about keeping a clean house). But it's also possible that he's just being a shithead.

It's something that's worthwhile to investigate with him. If he's unwilling to make an attempt, then he's being a shithead.

It is also not your responsibility to rehabilitate another person. If he wants to clean and it's something he feels bad about and needs some help and support with the way that someone might need help or support for learning to use a mobility aid, that is fine but you don't have to be the one who gives him that support if it's detrimental to your health, and you don't have to be the one to teach him that stuff if it's not something you're capable of. And if he is NOT interested in working on making your shared living space more accessible for you, that is not your suitcase to unpack and you just have to ask yourself the question from the start: would I stay with this person if I knew the situation was never going to change?

IDK, I'm sure a lot of this reads like "anon you must take on the emotional labor of training your partner to be an adult" but it's really meant to be more of a way of assessing yourself and your relationship. If you created landing zones do you think he'd use them? Would he get angry if you assigned a laundry basket as a dump zone for his stuff while you tidy the living room? Is living with him long-term going to be comfortable for you if nothing changes? Do you have enough of a shared definition of "mess" that you're at least in the ballpark for what counts as a clean house?

anyway good luck, and a reminder to folks that I'm compiling a bunch of adhd resources and other information on my personal website, ms-demeanor.com. It's coming along slowly but it will eventually include stuff like ADHD cleaning tips and how to tackle a hoard, so maybe keep your eye on that space.

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loganlermanstanaccount · 2 years ago

Note

Hello! Could you please write a stubborn, jealous hc for Miguel o'hara? Thank you!!

I had the brainworms, so I hope this is what you were looking for! Thanks for the ask <3

Jealous!Miguel O'Hara Headcanons

(AO3 Mirror), Main Masterlist

pairing: jealous!Miguel O'Hara x reader

summary: stubborn HCs for jealous!Miguel O'Hara.

a/n: this was meant to be a drabble and i basically wrote a full fic. i have zero self control lmfao

warnings: smut (fingering, f receiving oral, slight brat taming, etc) right at the very end, 18+ from then onwards, the rest is more pg-13

wc: 3.5k ish

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Long story short: he's a stubborn little shit.

Pig-headed as fuck and it shows up in little things.

Let's say you first met as coworkers, and you were a lab technician at Alchemax.

Think: unstoppable force meets immovable object. He likes his labs just so, with very specific equipment in a very specific configuration.

It drives you crazy, regularly having tiffs outside the labs; much to the chagrin of your coworkers.

"Jesus." Your coworker mutters, wincing at the seemingly heated argument by the water cooler.

"Ignore it, Maeve." Another coworker rolls their eyes, nudging Mave with a snort. "They're at it again . S'pose they'll tire each other out by the end of the day."

Not that they were wrong. But this time, it wasn't your fault: dealing with O'Hara's bullshit had really taken it's toll. He was insufferable, prone to nitpicking and just plain mean. You could hardly be blamed if you gave him some of your own choice words.

"My notes were basically paint-by-fucking-numbers! How could you mess up a simple distillation? When I specify precision glassware , you don't think that's fucking important?"

"Your notes ," You draw air quotes pointedly at him. "-are illegible, you fucking cretin! Maybe if you didn't write like a goddamn pre-schooler-"

"- preschooler? Oh , fuck you!"

"Get your nose out of that highschool Chem textbook, O'Hara, this is a fucking job."

"Yeah? Stop using it to wipe your ass and you might learn a thing or two."

"Oh , so that's what we're doing?" You laugh in his face, so angry your hand curls into tight fists. You get close, staring him down as you look upwards through your lashes. His own face is contorted into a grimace; bushy eyebrows furrowed into deep shadows around his eyes. You can feel his steady breathing before he speaks, low and rumbling.

"I could do this all day, princesa. "

You scoff, ignoring the way his words weaken your knees. The one time you asked for a break during a long lab and he won't stop calling you a spoilt princess. His laughter then stings in your ears now, the ghost of a smirk on his face as you storm off. Miguel O'Hara: smug bastard. He would be the death of you, you're sure.

~~~

You spend many a late night with him, unwittingly, and find out he's more than a stubborn little shit.

You find out he's funny, and shares the same anti-Alchemax tendencies you do: both preyed upon by the company immediately after graduation, young and naive.

He's kind, even though he'd never admit it, often finishing up the lab notes and doing more than his fair share of work so you can go home at a reasonable time.

You both still butt heads, but it turns into a tentative friendship - coffees in the morning hidden as blaise convenience, covering for each other at work, and defending the other when office gossip goes too far.

That's why when he comes back to work after a week-long stint away - something about a blow up with the boss, an issue described as 'miscommunication, promptly smoothed over' by anyone official - you notice… something's different about him.

You first noticed something was off when he walked in without a snide remark. You left a mug overnight at the counter, something that would usually draw a sarcastic comment at the least , but he gives you… nothing. Blank, glassy eyes as he opens up his workstation - clicking away at the keys without so much as a glance.

"O'Hara?" You call, but he doesn't even look up. You walk to his workstation and knock at the desk. He jumps. God, he looks worse for the wear. Heavy bags under his eyes and a bruise blossoming under his collar.

"You okay?"

He rubs his temples, eyes flitting up at you. "Yeah, just…. just a long week, s'all."

You put a hand on his shoulder, and you swear he leans into your touch. "We can reschedule, tonight. The calculations can wait, Miguel."

He gives you a weak smile, but a smile nevertheless. "S'okay. Need to make sure you don't fuck it up."

"Don't push your luck, O'Hara."

~~~

As you get closer, you notice just how stubborn he is to admit the growing tension between you two.

Late nights at the lab turn into takeout at your place, morning coffee turns into a pleasant 20 minutes on the rooftop away from the hustle and bustle - just you and Miguel, talking and joking with a cup of shitty coffee in hand.

Wholly, he seems more assertive at work, not as quick to roll over.

It's hot, you have to admit; watching him fight with someone else other than you.

You're at work drinks with the other technicians and engineers, nursing a watery beer when another colleague makes small talk with you at the bar.

You’ve never been that close to him, and the conversation is amicable enough, but you’re almost bowled over when you see Miguel, in the corner, staring straight at you with a stormy look.

You suppose it's a little pathetic, getting all dressed up for a casual drink. Lips shiny with gloss and gently powdered with makeup, you feel a little out of place. For all your talk at work, actually being here was another thing. Suddenly, your blouse is too tight and your skirt too short. With a manicured finger, you trace the lip of your glass filled with watery beer. You sigh. You don't want to admit it, but you were only here because of Miguel. He said he would come, and now you're sitting on a barstool counting the chips in your glass.

It was probably for the best. You sink into the absentminded chatter of your colleagues around you, until there's a tap at your shoulder.

"Is someone-" He clears his throat; a tall man dressed in a sharp suit nodding gracefully towards the empty chair. "-is this seat taken?"

You shake your head, grateful for the company. He's handsome, sharp features curving into a wry grin as he calls for a drink.

"...and something other than shitty beer for the pretty girl, too." It makes you laugh, light and lilting in the bustle of the bar.

He stretches out his hand, and you take it.

"Eddie Crouch. I work in marketing."

Eddie…. as in… head of the most profitable division of Alchemax? Your eyes widen involuntarily and you try to clamp down your immediate shock, somewhat unsuccessfully. He narrows his eyes as you tumble over your words.

"Y-Yeah, same! I mean, not same , I just work in the l-labs and I thought it was just for us guys, working behind the curtain, y'know? Not that we're not thrilled to have you here, because we a-are." You spill out, wincing. "....Is this about the performance reviews? Because I know output was down this quarter but our projections are-"

"I'm not here to talk about work." He chuckles. You squint, not convinced. As if to alleviate your concerns, he loosens his tie and undoes his top buttons with a flourish.

"Can I tell you a secret?" He leans in, and the air becomes thick with expensive perfume. He twirls the signet ring on his finger, a ring probably worth more than your monthly paycheck.

"Your boss invited me," Discreetly, he stretches a finger at your boss; a man ruddy cheeked and red-faced with alcohol. "Guess he thought it would boost morale. He's a fucking idiot if he thinks having me, the one guy that could fire your entire department without recourse, exchange empty platitudes would boost morale. But, I digress. So here I am, dragging my feet to this bar, thinking I'm gonna get in, read the lines and get out. But then, " He pauses with dramatic effect. "I see the most beautiful person I've ever had the pleasure of laying my eyes on, just sitting by the bar. Like everyone isn't already falling over themselves to talk to you."

The irony is palpable. It's sickly sweet, and a line that wouldn't usually work on you. But usually, you weren't pining over a man so prickly and stubborn, you shouldn't have feelings for. Here you were, bright cocktail in front of you and a moderately attractive man by your side. He wasn't quite Miguel, but in the words of one of the greatest thinkers of the past age: country girls make do.

And so you make lazy conversation with the man. So lost in a tipsy haze, you barely notice Miguel walk in; dark jacket on his shoulders and deliciously loose slacks. You're drawn to him, his eyes seemingly searching the room, and you sigh into your drink. Technically, he looks like shit: eyes dark-rimmed and sunken, a cut at his brow. You think he is gorgeous, eyes tracing the slope of his nose and plush lips. Like he can sense it, he glances over in your direction and you look away hastily. He's watching , you can feel its burn as you turn, pretending to listen to the man besides you. A little cruelly, you lean into him, not breaking eye contact and curling a hand around his arm to laugh at a stupid joke. Eddie laughs with you, oblivious, as you glance behind him.

Miguel stands with a drink thrust into his hands, looking straight through him, eyes low and gazing at you.

~~~

He insists on walking you home, a steady hand on the small of your back as you stumble through the streets of Nueva York.

You make light conversation, tipsy and giggly from the alcohol. Miguel seems a little more put together, but his chest still creaks with rumbling laughter.

He definitely walks on the side of the pavement nearest the street, because he thinks it keeps you safer.

He walks you up the stairs and by the door of your apartment, like a gentleman. You watch him get nervous suddenly, and he hesitates, stubbornly digging in his heels and pausing you from opening the door and coming in.

You don't want it to end, opting to take the walk up the stairs as opposed to the lift. It's one of your more questionable decisions as you stumble up the stairs, almost tripping over your own feet. Miguel is quick to catch you even though he was just as drunk. Arm around your waist, he leaves searing touches to your hip. You giggle despite yourself, and he can't help but smile at your clumsiness.

"If you break your legs I won't carry you, princesa ." A lie and you both know it. He would carry you to the ends of the earth like a blushing bride, if you asked him.

You both stagger to up the stairs and through the corridor until you reach your front door. You rummage around your bag for your keycard, it's contents click-clacking in the quiet of the hallway. Miguel watches, quieter than he was in the journey. If you looked up now, you would see something else behind his eyes - a storm of apprehension and tension.

You find your keycard, and look up to find Miguel placing a careful palm on the door. He's surprisingly still, eyes on your lips as he steps closer. You look everywhere but to meet his eyes, tracing the curve of his collarbone, the slope of his exposed forearm, and the tempting juncture of his strong jaw. You watch it tense, as he brings a gentle hand to your chin. His thumb swipes over the fat of your lip.

"Got somethin' right… there." He mumbles, before tucking his hand away. You can barely breathe. Without thinking you take his hand in yours, lacing your fingers together like a gentle hug. You bring his hand to your waist, and he squeezes, ever so gently. Your hand drops and he moves his slowly, knuckles dragging along the smooth silk of your blouse, and then sending shivers when he reaches your bare neck.

He has to bite down the plethora of things running through his head - his drunken brain threatening to spill all his thoughts. You are so beautiful and soft it makes him short-circuit, desperate to pull you close. Instead, you do: hand inching up his chest and laying to rest on his shoulders.

He kisses you, finally ; a little messy and impossibly soft. Like his lips on yours would shatter you both. You deepen the kiss and wrap his arm tighter around you, angling your chin to drink up even more of you. You both come up for air, panting in the heat of one another. Miguel's eyes are full of lust and blown out.

"Do…do you want to come in?" You whisper.

Something catches in his throat and his expression changes, like he just woke up from a dream. Do you just want to sleep with him? He's not built for one night stands, can't do just sex, especially if it's you. No matter how much he wants to, he can't, he won't, "....I shouldn't."

The disappointment on your face is palpable. You want to ask why - after he kissed you like that - why doesn't he want you? Instead you nod dejectedly. He gives you a chaste kiss on the forehead, lingering, and a shaky smile.

You open your door with a buzz, and slam it in his face.

~~~

It takes Miguel some time to properly put a name to what you two have: not knowing if the kiss was a drunken mistake, animal attraction or something more.

He's not a grand gestures kind of person, he believes in action rather than words.

Which is why it takes so long for him to admit just how in love with you he is.

He steals glances at you all the time at the office, and tries to anticipate all your needs.

When you stretch and yawn in the morning, he happens to pass by your favourite coffee place and happens to buy one too many cups of your go-to order.

So imagine his shock when he arrives from his lunch break, churros and coffee in hand, and there's one of the top brass from the night at the bar perched on your desk - 2 polystyrene cupfuls of something half drunk on the desk.

He's never been insecure, but he can't help but feel possessive, something tense and tight growing at the base of his stomach.

"What was it you wanted to talk about?" You step into the equipment cupboard, Miguel close behind you. You rub your temples, anticipating an argument. "O'Hara, if this is about my calibration tests this morning, I swear to God -"

"No, no , nothing like that." He's quick to say. "They were… okay." He strains.

You raise an eyebrow. Okay? Since when did Miguel pass up an opportunity for a mindless fight? Your mind races with his actions of the past few days. He has been different since the night at the bar, a little nicer, sure, but nothing this out of the ordinary.

"That guy you were talking to. I saw him at the bar, and now here. Who is he?"

Your eyebrows shoot up. "You do not have the right to ask me th-"

"Are you fucking him?" A pause, and you study his expression, deducing that he is completely fucking serious .

"Are you insane? You definitely don't have the right to ask me that." You make for the door, and he steps in front of it, blocking it with his body.

"I need to know. Tell me and then I'll leave you alone, I promise." His voice is low and thick with something.

You step closer and he wraps his hands around your waist absentmindedly. The pressure feels good, and makes your brain fog up.

He repeats himself, softer. "Are you fucking him?"

You look at him for a moment, before shaking your head. His facial expression is steady, just as unreadable.

"Do you want to?"

You hesitate, wanting to be cruel and say yes, just to see his reaction. Perceptive, he sees your hesitance and says something that almost knocks you over.

"I could fuck you better than he ever could," He kneads your thigh now, lips close to the shell of your ear in the tight space of the cupboard. " Princesa , look at me."

You look at him, almost whimpering and putty in his hands. He's like a siren and you are lost in the pull of his gaze. It may be the proximity, but you swear you see a tinge of red in his eyes, like deep pools of lust.

"Will you let me fuck you?" He pulls you closer so the meat of his thigh presses against your clothed cunt. Your stretchy pencil skirt rides up suggestively, and you rock your clit against him, searching for sweet pressure. You nod.

Miguel titters softly, a hand on your chin pulling your lips to his. You moan into his kiss, body aching. It's hot and heavy like the kiss outside your door, but he swirls his tongue around yours and expertly nips at your lower lip. He guides your hips to rock against his thigh, tensing to make sure it's corded muscle hits the right places. He wants to break you apart, leave you so cock-drunk, you wouldn't think of even glancing at another man.

You separate and he dips a hand under your skirt. He pulls it up and places a big palm at your pussy, with a well timed slap. You bite into his neck with the pressure. You definitely don't expect it when he rips open your stockings like they were paper.

"Fuck, Miguel."

"It's okay, baby, I'll get you new ones." Your eyes roll back as he slips aside the gusset to run a finger through your lower lips. Shamelessly, he slips a finger in, then two, basking in the wet squelch of your heat. You claw at his forearm, as he curls them into that sweet spot.

You press your forehead to his shoulder, chasing his fingers with your hips. His sharp eyes watch every movement, every stutter and start that his fingers pull from you. He's practical, a man of action, and he is desperate to show you how much he cares.

"I've thought about you… about this." He hisses as you cover your mouth to dampen your moans.

"Wanted you for so long, princesa. Want to know how you taste, what this beautiful pussy feels like. What you look like when you cum."

His wrist aches with the back and forth motion but his pace barely faulters.

" M-Miguel …"

He applies pressure to your clit, and watches in awe as you spasm, nails digging into his forearm.

" Oh, there it is. Right there, hmm? Does that feel good?"

You nod frantically with a stifled sob.

"Not quite, baby. Need to hear you say it. Or I won't let you cum."

"...fuuck you."

" Oh, you'd like that. Still not what I want to hear. Tell me how much you like it when I fuck you with my fingers."

"F-Feels good." You stutter. He stops, wrenching his hand out of your pussy to leave you clenching around nothing.You almost scream.

"You're being a brat, not my princesa , hmm? Only good girls get to cum."

" Miguel , please. I'll do anything." He guides you along his thigh, still lodged between your legs, and licks up your wetness on his other hand. "You m-make me feel so good. So good. And I want you so much it hurts, sometimes. I just want to cum, don't even need your cock. Fuck me with something , please."

"Miguel? Not asshole? Or fucking idiot, this time?"

"Please, Miguel ." Your pleas go straight to his cock. He throbs with need, cock rock hard under his slacks.

He relents, not able to bear your dopey puppy-dog eyes for much longer. He slips three fingers in, without bothering to prep you. He hisses at the tightness of your heat, pounding into you and knuckle deep with his fingers. Shamelessly, you fuck yourself back on them, hips rolling over his thigh. He can't tear himself away from the sight, palming himself through tented trousers.

You kiss and nip at his neck, as he whispers obscenities at you under his breath.

"Can you cum for me, princesa? Cum f'me, and I'll take care of you, I promise."

You clamp down on his fingers and moan into a kiss as you ride out your orgasm. It's intense: leg-shaking and leaves you shuddering in the aftermath. You were rusty, sure, hadn't had sex with someone in a while. But Miguel made you cum so hard you saw stars, with only his fingers. Your chest heaves with the thought.

You thought he would leave you, torn stockings and all, in the little cupboard. But he stays, to sink down to his knees and lap at your folds. You rest a hand on a shelf for purchase, head back in bliss. You cunt is still sensitive, throbbing at the orgasm he's just given you, as you licks you clean. He's taking care of you. You card your hands into his hair, tugging gently as he moans into your pussy.

He gives your clit a gentle kiss, and swipes up a trailing tear that rolls down your inner thigh. You watch as he pops his fingers into your mouth, cleaning off the cum. Your cum.

Miguel gives you a lazy grin in the bare bulb of the equipment closet. He seems completely unfazed by the fact his fingers were in you not a moment ago.

"Are you free after work?" He asks, and it takes a moment for you to process.

"Uhhh… s-sure. Probably?"

"Let me take you for dinner, somewhere nice."

All you can do is nod, dumbly, ripped stockings still around your ankles.

"And then I can fuck you properly, princesa."

#across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara #spiderman 2099 #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara smut #smut #spiderman 2099 x reader #light angst #kat_writes😼#miguel o hara x reader #headcanon #miguel o'hara headcanons #jealousy

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sourcherryandsprinkles · 6 months ago

Note

How about Aegon or Aemond corrupting jace's twin? Maybe Aegon does the corrupting and Aemond is into her?

The list of morally wrong things in this one is astronomical, but it’s House of the Dragon so it’s okay. Also, this is part 1 (let me know what should happen in the next part!). I wanted to wait until it was fully finished to post, but this is 6k already so I'm splitting it

Warnings: 18+, smut, uncle/niece incest, corruption, fingering, oral (m receiving), non-consensual touch (not by Aegon or Aemond), protective!Aegon,

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

It all began when a letter from your grandsire arrived at Dragonstone, inviting you to spend summer in King’s Landing. You hadn't seen your grandsire since his fiftieth namedays, which was about two years ago, so you were more than pleased to accept his invitation. The gardens were beautiful in the summer…and you hadn’t seen Haelena in a while.

It was absolutely not in the hopes to see your uncles again.

‘’Are you out of your mind? You’re going straight to the dragons’ den! Have you forgotten how they treated us all these tears we lived there?’’ Jacaerys said, walking into your bedchamber like it was his own.

The news of your summer plans must have reached his ears after his lesson with the Maester.

‘’They’re not horrible people, you just never got along with them,’’ you fired back at your twin brother as you continued packing your bags for tomorrow.

Growing up, your brothers had a few differences with Aegon and Aemond — many stupid fights and a lot of bullying on both ends —, but you never had the same treatment. Mayhaps it was because you were spending more time with Haelena than the boys. Or mayhaps they just took their teasing too seriously.

Jacaerys was not letting it go. ‘’They called you a bastard in your back, like they did Luke and I.’’

The first time you heard the word from Aegon’s mouth, it hurt you. Being a bastard was badly seen. Especially for the children of the heir of the Iron throne. His slur branded your mother as a whore.

Having heard, Jacaerys had come forward, the two pushing and shoving until Ser Criston and Ser Harwin separated them. When informed that a fight had occured in the courtyard between Aegon and Jace, your mother was mad at Jacaerys but also flattered that he had defended her honor.

‘’We both know the truth about our father, Jace,’’ you reminded him, refusing to be blind.

Although you and your brothers were conceived from an infidelity, you didn’t feel shame in being your father’s child. You remembered Ser Harwin being around in King’s Landing and making your mother happy. He was a kind and honorable man. Leanor was rarely ever present.

‘’If the court finds out about our father, I won’t be recognized as heir. They’ll never allow a bastard to sit on the Iron Throne.’’

‘’We’re Targaryens, and that’s all that matters, all you need to sit on the throne,’’ you insisted. ‘’Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to finish packing.’’

⁂

At your return from King’s Landing, you’ll be meeting suitors — which you dreaded. That meant that this summer was going to be the last summer before becoming a wife. The thought of getting married made your stomach churn. Marriage was not something that interested you — at all. Like your mother, you would much rather ride your dragon and travel than live in a Lord’s castle and start a family.

Your arrival was announced to the King, who summoned you in the throne room.

He stood from the throne as you approached, a smile spreading across his face. ‘’Ah, there you are,’’ Viserys said warmly, stepping down to meet you. ‘’It's good to see you back in King's Landing.’’

You returned the smile. ‘’Thank you for the invitation, Your Grace,’’ you replied respectfully.

‘’You’ve grown,’’ Viserys remarked, his gaze appraising you. ‘’And you inherited your grandmother's beauty.’’

Though you never had the chance to meet Queen Aemma, you knew it was a compliment. The King always spoke fondly of his late wife.

‘’I’ll be ten and eight soon,’’ you informed him.

‘’Already?’’ The King raised an eyebrow and you nodded. ‘’Time flies, doesn’t it? We’ll have a tourney in your and Jacaerys’ honor. My first grand-children turning ten and eight, it deserves to be celebrated.’’

⁂

You changed out of your traveling dress, then went looking for your aunt and uncles.

First, you spotted Aegon soaring overhead on Sunfyre, the golden dragon gleaming in the sunlight. He had gotten so large and beautiful. You’ll have to ask Aegon to ride together next time he goes.

Next, you made your way to the training yard, where you knew Aemond often spent his time. As expected, you found him there, sparring with Ser Criston, his movements swift and precise. He was much better than your brothers at sparring, you mentally noted.

You called his name excitedly as you stepped down the stairs, which you realized was a mistake when he almost got taken down by Ser Criston. You apologized, but Aemond shook his head.

‘’No harm done,’’ he assured you, putting away his sword and walking over to you.

The last time you were in this training yard, you kicked Aemond’s ass. You were only kids, but it was still one of your greatest victories. Sword-fighting was in your blood. With a little bit of training, you would be as great as the boys in this yard.

‘’Can you still hold a sword, Princess?’’

⁂

You and Aemond cleaned up just in time for dinner, where you greeted the Queen and Helaena. They had the same hairstyle, which reminded of you and your mother, Rhaenyra. Children look up to their parents.

After dinner, you, Helaena, Aemond and Aegon retired to the latter’s chamber and spent the evening talking, laughing and eating small cakes and other sweet treats that you had requested from the kitchens.

‘’These pastries are divine,’’ you said, loving the bitter raspberry mixed with the sweetness of the tart. ‘’We don’t have anything like this on Dragonstone.’’ You took another bite, humming at the taste.

Just as you finished your third tart, Aegon stood and excused himself. ‘’It's been wonderful having you here, dear niece, but duty calls.’’

You glanced out the window, noticing the silver glow of the moon and the twinkling stars against the dark sky. ‘’At late hour?’’

Aegon paused for a moment, a confident smirk spreading across his face. ‘’Some duties can only be fulfilled at night,’’ he declared cryptically, his gaze flickering mischievously towards Aemond, who could only shake his head in response.

‘’I wouldn't exactly call it duty,’’ Aemond remarked, trailing off as Aegon interjected with a mischievous grin.

‘’A treat, then,’’ the older prince continued, redirecting his attention to you with a knowing look. ‘’You enjoy pastries. I, however, have a preference for women.’’

Confusion clouded your expression. ‘’What do you mean?’’

‘’Sex,’’ Aegon declared boldly, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

Your gaze fell to your feet, color rising in your cheeks. ‘’Oh.’’

Aegon's lips twitched with amusement at your reaction. ‘’Ever had sex, dear niece?’’

‘’Aegon,’’ Aemond interjected, his voice a warning.

You shook your head.

It was a good thing that Helaena had fallen asleep or she would have covered her ears. Sex always made her uncomfortable.

‘’Not even with yourself?’’ Aegon continued.

Confusion struck your face. ‘’Eh, no.’’

‘’You’re missing out.’’

⁂

Every night, you watched from your window as Aegon sneaked out through the secret passageway of the Red Keep. You had discovered these passageways when you were playing hide and seek as kids. Aemond always complained that hiding there was cheating, but you and Aegon did it anyway.

You couldn't help but wonder what was so great about sex that made him go out every night.

One night, you decided to follow him. The curiosity was too much to resist.

You snuck early through the secret passageways and waited for any sign of Aegon's approach. The damp, narrow corridors brought back memories of your childhood games.

Finally, you heard his familiar footsteps echoing down the passage. As he rounded the corner, you stepped out of the shadows.

‘’What is my favorite niece doing here?’’ Aegon asked, raising an eyebrow. He had a dark cloak over his shoulders, covering any signs that could give his identity away in the city.

You took a deep breath, your heart pounding in your chest. ‘’I want to come to the pleasure house with you.’’

Aegon stared at you for a moment, then laughed.

‘’I'm serious, Aegon. I…I want to know about sex.’’ You tried to make your voice confident, knowing Aegon would send you to your chamber if he sensed a sliver of uncertainness.

Taking your hand in his, Aegon led you through the maze of streets and alleys. It was bustling with people. Merchants and artisanal liquor sellers were pushing their beverages at you, almost forcing you to have a taste. Some people were drunk and stumbling about, while some were playing instruments with surprising skill, their melodies blending with the occasional fights breaking out nearby. You could hear obscene sounds from darkened alleys, adding to the chaotic symphony of the night.

It was your first time coming to the city, and the overwhelming sights and sounds made you clung to Aegon, not wishing to get lost.

He came to a stop when you reached a dark wooden door. Aegon pushed it open and pulled you inside.

The stuffy air hit you immediately, making you wrinkle your nose. Aegon took off his hood, but didn’t let go of you. You were under his responsibility tonight. Around you, people lounged around in various states of undress, some lost in laughter, others in more intimate activities that brought a pink tint to your cheeks.

Aegon made a stop to the bar, ordering two cups of wine. One for him, and one for you.

‘’Drink,’’ he said. ‘’It’s nothing like what we have at the Keep, but it'll help you relax.’’

You took the glass and sipped tentatively, the sour taste of the wine making you grimace. He was right about this wine being disgusting. You had to force it down your throat.

‘’What do you do when you come here?’’ you asked, looking around with a mix of curiosity and unease.

Aegon leaned against the bar as he downed the rest of his drink. ‘’I get my cock sucked. Or I fuck some whore. Depends how I’m feeling that night.’’

His bluntness caught you off guard, and you felt your cheeks flush. ‘’What of me? How do I…’’ You bit your lip, the words shy on your tongue. ‘’I don’t have a cock.’’

‘’You don’t need a cock for pleasure.’’ Aegon set his empty cup on the bar. ‘’Come with me.’’

You followed him through the mass of people, avoiding touching or being touched by anyone. Some of these people were very handsy and pushy, asking for things you didn’t quite understand.

One the way, a woman approached Aegon, her dress barely clinging to her body. She smiled seductively at him, her eyes flicking to you briefly before returning to him. ‘’Care for some company tonight, my prince?’’ she purred, hoping to make some good money tonight.

Aegon glanced at you, as if gauging your reaction, then back at the woman. ‘’Not tonight.’’

The whore looked at you behind Aegon, giving you a full stare down, and glared. Did she take you for another whore? In your silk dress and jewelry around your neck?

You followed your uncle to a room, gasping in shock when you saw a woman being penetrated by two men. One was standing at her head, her mouth wrapped around him. Spit was dribbling from her mouth, but she didn’t seem to care. And the other was thrusting into her from behind, loud moans leaving their mouths. To your right, a woman with saggy breasts was bouncing on a bearded man’s cock. She craned her head back to kiss her partner, sweat covering both their bodies.

It was not at all what you had expected. No one seemed shy or embarrassed of exposing themself in front of so many people. In fact, they didn’t seem to care at all. They were just there to take what they needed.

‘’Don’t listen to what your Septa told you. Sex is not just for baby-making, sex is for pleasure. For the woman as it is for the man,’’ Aegon purred into your ear as you watched the people around you. ‘’Men find pleasure from their cock.’’ He pointed to a man getting his male part sucked, his head thrown back and moaning. ‘’And women from their cunny.’’ He pointed to two women in a corner, one with her hand between her partner’s legs. She seemed to be feeling great pleasure, you noticed. ‘’Although most people here indulge in penetrative sex, penetration is not necessary for pleasure. You can find that same pleasure — at least similar to — by yourself.’’

‘’I want to try,’’ you stated, wanting to feel the same pleasure as her.

Aegon shook his head. ‘’We’re only here to watch. I’m not letting any of these men get their hands on you.’’

You frowned. ‘’How am I supposed to learn?’’

Aegon motioned for one of the unoccupied whores to come up to him. Her hair was brown and very long. He gave her body a few caresses, then pointed at you as he explained something to her. She nodded in understanding and took your hand, leading you to a corner where a ‘bed’ was not being used.

‘’Larissa is gonna teach you the ways to pleasure,’’ Aegon explained.

⁂

On your return from the brothel, you said a giggly ‘good night’ to Aegon and disappeared inside your chamber, excited to undress and try what Larissa had taught you. You had studied her movements, which had triggered tingly feelings between your legs.

You unlaced your dress and boots, then flopped down on your bed. You opened your legs, exposing your pussy, and took a short moment to look down at it. It was different from Larissa’s. Your hair density was different and you didn’t have the floppy skin she called ‘petals’, but you didn’t think too much of it. All bodies were different, she said.

The cool air of the room made the throbbing between your legs worse. Was this how it was supposed to feel?

Tentatively, you lowered one hand between your legs, right against your throbbing core, and breathlessly gasped when you made contact with your sensitive skin. You threw your head back against the wall and closed your eyes at the new found sensation.

Wetness stuck to your fingers and you pressed harder against your core, causing your eyelashes to flutter. ‘’Ahh.’’

Your fingers traced the seam of your slit, spreading the wetness around. Each touch sent waves of sensation through you, making you want more. Taking it to the next level, you swiped between your folds, causing you to moan as soon as you met your sensitive flesh.

You continued doing so, humming in delight and feeling yourself relax more into the sensations your fingers were bringing. Why had no one told you about this kind of pleasure before? It was much better than eating raspberry tarts.

Another moan slipped past your lips, the tingly feeling between your legs intensifying. You pushed your hips down onto your hand and sighed softly, arching your back from the bed. But it wasn't enough.

Something inside you was tingling.

Finding no better ways to relieve these tingles, you slid your middle finger inside of yourself. Immediately, your walls closed around your finger, warm and wet. It felt strange — and sinful. You began moving it in and out, your mouth opening to form an ‘O’ shape.

‘’Oh Gods…’’

You began pumping your finger in and out a bit faster, thinking it was what you needed, but it did not make the tingles go away. It did feel good, but after a moment, your hand was getting tired and the tingles were growing more intense.

‘’What am I doing wrong?’’ you asked aloud, feeling frustrated.

⁂

On the morrow, after your afternoon tea with Helaena, you knocked on Aegon’s door. He rarely left his chambers during the day — other than for dinner or to ride Sunfire —, so you knew he would be there.

Taking a deep breath, you knocked on the heavy wooden door. The sound echoed in the quiet hallway. Moments later, the door creaked open, revealing Aegon in his usual princely attire. His silver hair was tousled, and his eyes had a tired look.

‘’I need your help,’’ you said, not wasting time with formal greetings. ‘’Something seems wrong with my body, I’m afraid…’’

Aegon raised an eyebrow, leaning against the doorframe. ‘’What do you mean?’’

You hesitated, second thinking if you should be going to him about your intimate problems. After all, Aegon had boy parts, how could he help you? ‘’What Larissa taught me last night, it is not working. I tried, but I cannot…make the tingles go away. My finger is not enough.’’

Aegon's expression shifted from curious to alarmed as he glanced on both sides of the halfway, making sure no one had heard you. If anyone knew of your little escapade into the city, Aegon would be in a lot of trouble.

Then, he stepped aside, gesturing for you to enter quickly. The room was somber despite the large window dorning over the city, and the bed was unmade. You couldn’t say you were surprised by the latter.

Aegon shut the door behind you, pulling you out of your observation, and turned to face you. ‘’You should be more careful of the matters you speak about outside closed doors. You would be surprised by the number of ill intentioned ears that are waiting for bad whispers in this castle.’’

You nodded, having not thought of that. On Dragonstone, there weren't as many maids or servants. They mostly assisted your mother and the younger children, or busied themselves with cleaning tasks in the lower floors of the castle.

‘’Take a seat,’’ Aegon invited, sitting down in a large velvet chair at the center of the room and gesturing towards a loveseat right across for you. ‘’And tell exactly what you mean by ‘not enough’.’’

You pursed your lips, trying to find the right words. ‘’I do not know how to put it into words… All I know is that when I inserted my finger inside myself, it felt good. But the tingles intensified and my finger wasn’t enough anymore. A-am I broken, Aegon?’’

He laughed quietly at the last remark. ‘’Broken? No. You’re not broken, my darling. You’re simply not doing it quite right. You see, in order to truly satisfy yourself when you’re all alone…a finger simply isn’t enough.’’ Aegon leaned in his seat, speaking closer to you. ‘’Would you like me to show you how to truly do it, properly?’’

You were most certain that you should not be doing this, but going back to the brothel was not a possibility at the moment. It was likely closed during the daytime and, although Helaena was a woman, you doubted she could be of help.

Aegon stood and pulled you with him, guiding you to his bed. ‘’Lay down. Make yourself comfortable.’’

You scooted back until you hit the pillows, glaring at the sheet when your foot got stuck in it. If Aegon would make his bed in the mornings, it would not have happened.

Once you were settled, he pulled your dress up, letting the layers bunch at your hips and pushed your legs apart. You were completely exposed to him, and rather than feeling uncomfortable under your uncle’s gaze, you spread yourself wider, desperate to feel good.

‘’Gods,’’ Aegon growled under his breath. His hand gently rubbed your inner thigh, caressing your soft skin. ‘’You have one magnificent cunny, dear niece.’’ He moved his hand up the inside of your thigh, gently playing with your soft sparse hair there, almost teasingly. ‘’Makes me want to kiss it.’’

You whined, feeling a tinge of shyness at his compliment. ‘’Aegon…’’

‘’I mean it. I’ve seen a lot in my short life, but none ever compared.’’ He pressed his fingers firmly against you, making you mewl from the contact.

It felt different from your own fingers. More pleasurable.

Aegon kept up the circular motions, using a bit more pressure, as he watched your expression flicker with pleasure, your mouth open and eyebrows knitted as a moan slipped from your lips. He began swiping his thumb over your clit and it made you moan so loud anyone who was passing in the hallway must’ve heard.

Your reaction made Aegon chuckle, amused. He brought a finger over your lips, shushing you. ‘’If you do this again, you’re gonna alert one of the maids. We don't want that, do we?’’ He stroked a piece of your hair, looking at you like you were the most beautiful woman he laid his eyes on.

You shook your head. ‘’I-I’ll be quiet,’’ you promised.

‘’Now, I’m going to put my fingers inside of you,’’ he explained as two fingers slipped down and entered you, sinking between your folds.

You gasped and pushed your hips against Aegon’s hand, realizing this was exactly what you needed. ‘’Ahh, this feels so good.’’

Aegon’s smirk widened, his eyes darkening with desire as he felt your hips move against him. ‘’See, nothing is broken. You just needed uncle Aegon’s help.’’ He increased the pace a bit, his fingers moving rapidly as your breath came in short gasps and moans as your mind got lost in the sensations.

Your whole body was on fire, trembling by need as his thumb started rubbing your clit again. You felt the heat inside yourself intensify, you could feel the release you so desperately craved was building.

You whined, grabbing the sheets next to you. ‘’A-Aegon, something feels strange. I think— I think I’m going to pee.’’

You squeezed your eyes shut and focused on not wetting the bed. How embarrassing would that be?

‘’You’re not going to pee. Don’t worry.’’ Aegon continued his ministrations. ‘’This is good. This is exactly what you want.’’

‘’No. I’m going to pee, I’m going to—’’ You interrupted yourself as your back arched off the bed as your final release hit you, your hands fisting one of the pillows so hard you almost pierced a hole with your fingernails.

Aegon’s free hand covered your mouth just in time, muffling your cries while you rode out your pleasure on his hand.

⁂

You sat on your vanity chair while servants were cleaning up the aftermath of your bath. Your chamber smelled of lavender oil, which you poured into the water to help get a great night of sleep. The beds were luxurious in the Red Keep, but it lacked the comfort of home.

‘’Will it be all, Princess?’’ your handmaid asked after brushing your freshly washed hair.

You thanked her for her service. ‘’Yes. Thank you, Dyana.’’

‘’I will see you in the morning, Princess.’’

Dyana left your chambers, and you waited for the servants to do the same. You didn't want to press them, but you were impatient to watch them leave.

Once everyone was out, you laid on your bed and pulled up your nightgown.

At supper, you had sat across Aegon and your eyes had fallen on his hand holding his goblet of wine. Precisely his long, thick, and dexterous fingers. You knew it was sinful to have such thoughts during a family meal, but you had been unable to keep yourself from thinking about the intense pleasure Aegon's fingers brought you. You had to clamp your thighs under the table, feeling a needy ache in your cunny.

Your fingertips skimmed over your folds, and you let out a small moan. You've been waiting all evening to do that. Your index finger slipped down to the pearl Aegon touched this afternoon and you made small, soft circles around it. A jolt of pleasure went up your spine. That felt so good. You continued rubbing soft circles, causing arousal to leak down your cunny.

You ceased the attention to your clit and brought your middle finger down to your entrance, spreading your wetness before sinking your finger inside. A sweet moan echoed in the room, but you reminded yourself to be quiet. Always quiet.

Closing your eyes, you imagined Aegon slipping his long, thick fingers deep inside you. Your walls clenched down on your finger, and then you slipped in a second.

‘’Ah, Aegon.’’

Like the night prior, your fingers were too small to reach where you needed. Frowning in frustration, you searched around your chamber for something that resembled a finger. There was a forgotten spoon from when you had tea brought up — too small — and a wooden stick used to roll parchment paper — too big. Lastly, you saw your hairbrush on your vanity. Perfect. The handle of it was smooth, it shouldn’t hurt.

You wiped your fingers on the sheets and got up to grab it. You brought the hairbrush handle down to your cunny and paused. Although you were alone in your chamber, you couldn’t help but worry you would get in trouble if anyone found out about this. Shaking that thought, you cautiously pressed the handle to your hole, and steadily pushed it in. You felt your cunny squeezing and slighting bucking your hips at the brush.

The sensation was foreign, but not unpleasant. As you pressed the handle deeper, you let out a soft gasp, quickly covering your mouth with your free hand to stifle any more sounds. You moved the brush handle gently at first, allowing your body to adjust to the unfamiliar intrusion.

Your other hand moved back to your clit, resuming the soft circles that had felt so good before. The combined sensations were intense, sending waves of pleasure through you. Your breath was short and your eyes fluttered closed as you imagined Aegon with you, his fingers instead of the brush.

The handle moved in and out, your movements growing more urgent as tears formed at the corner of your eyes, overwhelmed by pleasure. Your hips rocked against it, whining needily as you felt the pressure building, your muscles tightening as you edged closer to climax. Your walls clenched around the handle, and with one final push, the pleasure overwhelmed you. Your body shook with the force of your orgasm, your back arching off the bed.

You stayed there for a moment, panting and trembling, the handle still inside you. That felt… You couldn’t find any words to describe it.

Slowly, you pulled the hairbrush out, and placed it on the bed. Its handle was coated with your slick but you didn’t bother to clean it, pulling the covers over your body and drifting to sleep.

⁂

‘’Good morrow, Uncle,’’ you greeted, crossing paths with Aemond in the halls of the Red Keep after breaking fast.

Aemond gave you a short nod. ‘’Good morrow, Princess.’’

‘’Are you heading to the dragonpit?’’ you asked, noting the faint scent of smoke clinging to his black leather riding doublet.

‘’No. Returning, actually.’’

A pout formed on your lips, disappointed. ‘’That's unfortunate. I was heading there and hoping we could go together. I would go with Aegon, but he is not a morning person, as you know.’’

‘’We could go in the morrow after breaking fast?’’ Aemond suggested, watching as a smile lit your face.

⁂

Just as you were about to seek servants and ask them to prepare you a bath, Aegon knocked on your door and asked if you wanted to join him for another night in the city. He didn’t have any friends to accompany him, and Aemond was too much of a prude to go to brothels. Although you were younger, you didn’t have a stick up your ass.

On the way, Aegon dropped a few gold coins and got you sweets from a street baker. He wiped the cherry glaze on your lips with his thumb, sucking it into his mouth.

You sat at a table and indulged in wine amongst the men. Around you, women were dancing in their smallest clothes, entertaining the customers inside the brothel. Beside you, Aegon watched the curious fascination on your face while sipping his wine, pleased to see you were having fun. He made sure to drink enough to relax, but not too much he wouldn’t be able to keep an eye out.

When you finished your cup, Aegon rose to his feet and took you to the back of the brothel. Excitement was bubbling in your stomach, hearing the sounds of pleasure coming from men and women behind each of the curtains.

As you entered one of the rooms, a woman came up to Aegon and begged to suck his cock for free, desperately wanting a taste of the prince. She was only wearing a piece of cloth tied into a skirt, her small breasts and pointy nipples bared to all.

‘’Watch and learn, little one. Your future husband will enjoy this,’’ Aegon said with a wink.

He shoved his breeches down, exposing his surprisingly large cock to everyone in the room. You stared at it with wide eyes. Were all the cocks big? You peaked around you, searching for comparisons, but nothing seemed to come close.

When you drew your eyes back to your uncle, the woman was kneeling before Aegon, his cock already in her mouth. The action surprised you, but you took notes and watched as she bobbed her head down his shaft, sucking and slurping as spit dribbled from her mouth. Your eyes flickered to Aegon, who was groaning, taking pleasure from the woman’s mouth.

‘’Agh, fuck,’’ he slurred, his head slightly back. ‘’That mouth is made to suck cocks!’’

On the ground, the woman looked satisfied to please him. She moaned as Aegon grabbed a fistful of her hair and forced himself deeper into her mouth, groaning obscenely until he released his semen down her throat. Some spilled from her lips, but Aegon didn’t wipe it off like he did with the cherry glaze. He pushed her off him and re-dressed himself.

‘’Do all men enjoy this?’’ you asked.

He chuckled softly before responding. His eyes met your wide, curious gaze. ‘’Oh yes, most men enjoy it very much. Now, would you like another cup of wine?’’

You smiled. ‘’Please.’’

You sat on a couch by yourself, waiting for Aegon’s return. Before you, a woman was getting her cunny pounded by a bearded man. She moaned loudly, grabbing at her nipples. The sight made you think of the hairbrush you had inserted in yourself last night. It had filled you up nicely, but you couldn’t help but wonder how delightful a cock must feel.

Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t notice the man who approached you until he grabbed your hand and placed it on his cock. You froze, a bewildered look on your face. He said something, but you couldn’t hear it, too focused on how clammy and hairy he felt. You tried to retract your hand, but he gripped it tightly, forcing you to rub him.

The Gods must have heard your prayers because Aegon returned with the wine and saw what was happening. His jaw clenched, and his eyes narrowed in anger. He quickly stepped in, his presence commanding attention.

‘’Let go of her or I’ll cut your fucking cock,’’ he threatened through clenched teeth, his hand on the dagger tucked into his belt. His voice was low and deadly, leaving no doubt that he meant every word.

The man’s eyes widened in surprise when he heard Aegon, and his grip on your hand loosened enough for you to slip away. You wiped it on the skirt of your dress, trying to erase the feeling of the stranger’s cock. Washing them with soap and water would have been better, but there was no bassin to do so.

‘’I-I apologize, my prince. I did not know the whore was yours—’’ the man stuttered, making excuses, but Aegon didn’t want to hear them.

He grabbed his shoulder and pinned him against the wall, bringing the dagger to his throat. The man's eyes widened further as the dagger's blade pressed against his skin, fear flashing on his face. ‘’She’s not a fucking whore,’’ Aegon’s voice was low and dangerous, his eyes burning with rage.

The man swallowed hard. ‘’I-I apologize again, my prince. I meant no disrespect.’’

Aegon took a step closer, the dagger still at the man's throat. ‘’Don’t. Touch. Her. Again.’’ He looked down at his manly parts, then back at his face. ‘’Unless you want to lose your little cock.’’

⁂

The journey back to the Red Keep was silent. Aegon's grip on your hand was tight, his knuckles white from the tension. He was fuming, his eyes still narrowed in anger, his mind clearly still consumed by anger from the incident at the brothel. He kept you close, his gaze scanning the surroundings to ensure no one else tried to approach you.

When you finally reached the safety of the castle, he stopped in his tracks and turned to you. Guilt was consuming him. What happened was his fault. If he hadn’t left your side, this man would not have forced your delicate hand on his filthy cock.

Aegon opened his mouth to speak, then shook his head. He walked past you, abandoning you in the secret passages.

—

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sweatyracoon · 2 months ago

Text

Perv! Skz! Headcannons

Warnings: Perv behavior, obsessed Skz!, smut, unsuspecting reader, actions of weirdos

A/n: MDNI, just my thoughts on how they would behave were they perverts <3

Perv! Chan- 2/10

Conflicted eternally once he starts having these thoughts about you. He wouldn't act on them because he respects boundaries and cares for your comfort.

Didn't see you that way until you started wearing more revealing clothes. A short white tee during one if your walks. Low and behold, it rained.

Your pink lace bra/bare chest appeared through the wet material, making the poor boy flush.

He didn't have an umbrella, so he used his large frame to cover you until you could find shelter. He wouldn't even look at you, unable to breathe when he does so.

He always saw you as a kind friend up until that moment. He always knew you were beautiful, but when he caught glimpse of your torso, glimmering with the combination of rain water and dim lighting, he thought you a god(dess) in disguise.

Since then, he would gift you clothes that were either a little too small, or crop tops. You never realized it was more for him than you, seeing as that was your style anyway.

He loves being able to dress you the way he wants, and relishes in the way you thank him, hugging him tightly so he can feel all of your curves underneath the thin cotton.

He also loves the way you smell. Your shampoo and perfume make a perfect seductive concoction, making him dizzy and unable to concentrate.

When he hugs you from behind, he would quietly inhale, eyes rolling back, a small smile on his face.

He likes holding your hand in his, seeing the size difference. It's not necessarily a size kink, he just likes knowing that he can mold his into yours in different ways.

Perv! Lee Know- 9/10

Not afraid to be excessive.

He would grab at your ass, but you thought nothing of it because he does it to literally everyone.

His hands would longer a bit longer, though .

Sometimes he would come to stand behind you without you noticing, and when you move to step back, you hit his hard chest, turning to look at his stoic face.

He likes being in close proximity of you, feeling calmer knowing you were there.

He would wrap his arms around your waist to bring you down on his lap, cuddling you tightly as you both sat.

He would massage your thighs, sometimes going a bit too high, brushing against the inner lining that reaches your jean zipper.

He would often flirt with you verbally, and also use a lot of praise when it comes to talking about you.

He likes brushing his hands against your cheeks at random, making your breath hitch, waiting for what he does next.

That damn bastard drops them with a smirk, walking away.

He would sing about you to you, making you blush.

He would randomly kiss your hand, sometimes kissing further up your arm until he reaches his neck.

One time he decided to nip at it, making you gasp. He laughed.

He would eventually make his way to your lips.

"Finally!"

Perv! Changbin- 4/10

Total gentleman.

He had known you for a while, so it was natural to form feelings, right?

Chan told him it was okay, but his thoughts made him think otherwise.

Why is he looking at your ass when you walk away?

Why is he looking at your semi-exposed chest when you lean over?

Why is he noticing how plump and kissable your lips are?

He takes care of himself at night when the thoughts become too much, but he wakes up feeling guilty.

You were his best friend. The one that has gotten him through so much. You would probably think him disgusting if you knew.

He would hold your hand when he's stressed, and as if it were muscle memory, you would in turn wrap your entire torso around his arm, hoping to calm him down.

When he eats, you eat right with him, if not more. It becomes fun and sweet. A memorable moment for him.

When he's hyper and joking, your there to laugh with him, even if no one else does.

He loves you.

He would think that you love him too, but he then realizes all of the thoughts he had the night before.

When you saw him sitting in the studio lost in thought, you asked him what's wrong.

"Y/n?! What are you doing here?"

He jumped on the small loveseat, snatching the pillow at his side and covered his center with it.

You looked at it, getting an idea of what was wrong.

"Need some help?"

Perv! Hyunjin - 6/10

Total lover.

He follows you like a lost puppy waiting for directions.

His eyes are always glossy when looking at you, a small smile plastered onto his face when he's near you.

He loves wrapping his long ass fingers around your thin forearm, grinning at how his hand could probably wrap around twice.

Definitely has a size kink.

Wraps his legs with yours if your lying together on the floor.

Blows at your ear to get your attention

Begs to let him draw you naked, meaning he needs you to undress in front of him for hours.

Of course you said no.

For now.

He would whine at your answer, saying he needed to see you.

Very forward about his needs with you, and how he needs you to be the one to help him.

But he does it in a way to not make you feel uncomfortable.

He came too close one day and ended up kissing the shell of your ear, making you both freeze.

Hyunjin knew he needed to do that again, but he didn't want to push too far.

He waited for you to say something.

"Do that again...just wanna see how it feels,"

Perv! Han- 7/10

Definitely a panty sniffer.

Never been caught.

He loves when you hug him from behind, or just in general really.

Loves being close to you so he can smell you. Whether it's sweat or perfume, he could sit next to you all day. Bask in your scent.

He steals your hoodies and wears them often, hoping it will run off onto him.

He also steals a few pair of undies, sniffing them late at night as he touches himself.

His eyes glazed over when you take your own sweatshirt off, your inner shirt raising, showing your tummy.

He sees the soft flesh, and wants to shove his face into your pillow like skin. He wants to knead his first fingers into your stomach.

He bites your shoulder lightly when hes feeling particularly needy, because he can't tell you otherwise.

You think he's just being playful.

He melts when you kiss his cheek.

Lingers too long when he hugs from behind, pressing his clothed dick too close to your ass.

Perv! Felix- 2/10

Gentleman number two.

Cares about your comfort more than anything, so tries keeping how he feels to himself.

Takes care of himself before bed or in the shower, of course, imaging you and your body.

When he's with you, he is just his normal self with slightly more blushing.

And smiling.

He would give you massages and tell you jokes as well as praise you.

He would call you beautiful at least forty times a day.

Loves hugging you from the side, just to feel you pet his head.

Also likes messing with your fingers, noticing they are slightly larger than his.

Loves when you tickle under his chin. He likes being seen as a small kitty when it comes to you.

Rests his head on your lap to hopefully feel the heat from your clothed center.

Also tries to smell between your legs when he's there.

Tries to memorize the scent.

Tries to feed you to see your tongue poke out as you take a bite.

Perv! Seungmin - 8/10

Crazy lad this boy is.

He's significantly taller than you, so he loves standing behind you just to see his shadow against your small frame.

Likes when you look up at him with sparkling eyes.

Boops your nose, watching as you scrunch your face in response.

He likes annoying you to see your mouth open wide as you complain about his actions.

He fights the urge to shove two of his fingers down your throat to shut you up.

He really wants to see you gag on them, tears trailing down your face as you take them.

He breathes heavy when he sees you wearing his sweater, hoping you would keep it on forever.

He grabs at your knees when you sit across from each other, knowing that your ticklish there.

When you get tickled, you let out breathy moans rather than giggles. Not on purpose. It was just your thing.

And he loved it.

At least twice a day he tickles you.

Gets hard at the sounds you make, leaving you suddenly afterwards.

Licks your neck randomly just to hear you call him puppy.

He would kill to be your puppy.

He loves it when you wrap your hands around his neck in a silent threat.

He melts when he hears you say his name.

One time you spit out your gum since it lost it's flavor.

Seungmin grabbed it and popped it into his mouth, loving the taste of you.

Perv! Jeongin - 10/10

Innocent baby that doesn't know how to deal with these feelings.

Tries to explain it but all that comes out are 'uhm' and 'uhh'.

You pet his head in comfort and he whines.

He humps your pillow in your guest room at his apartment.

You question the stains when you visit, making him blush.

Always red around you.

Can't help but brush his skin against you.

Hands everywhere.

Hates hugs unless they are from you.

Tries to grind into your side when you both cuddle. He loves feeling your soft exposed skin when your in your pajamas, making him hard immediately.

Kisses your shoulders randomly.

Drinks after you thinking it's an indirect kiss.

Uses your lip balm for the same reason.

Groans when he sees you in your bathing suit for the first time, hiding under the water in hopes his boner will go away with the cold water.

Dry fucks the stuffy you won him from a claw machine.

He never let you see it again after he stained it with his cum repeatedly.

Barely washes it since it smells like you and cum.

Thinks about wrapping his hand around your throat all day.

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walaa-ayoud · 1 month ago

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ohbo-ohno · 9 months ago

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3.5k of cbf-turned-bully!soap x reader, inspired by this (very old) ask to my fave ever <3 (read on ao3)

tags: dubcon, dirty talk, masturbation, references to bullying, breaking and entering, rough sex, overstimulation

You’re still nearly shaking with frustration as you settle beneath your sheets, fingers twitching against your stomach and your jaw clenched tight.

You are not going to touch yourself. You’re not. There is no way in hell that you’re coming home from seeing Johnny fucking MacTavish for the first time in years and masturbating. It’s not happening.

…Well, you are awfully keyed up.

“Fucking bastard,” you hiss to yourself, frustration only growing as you shimmy down your loose shorts. You tell yourself firmly that this has absolutely nothing to do with the reappearence of your greatest nemesis, and try not to grind your teeth. You hadn’t even spoken to the man - just a glance of him had you hissing and ducking behind a different aisle at the supermarket - and you’re already riled by him. It’d be embarrassing if you weren’t nearly too horny to think.

You take a deep breath and rest your fingers over your slit, closing your eyes and letting your mind wander. You touch yourself slowly, fingers carefully spreading your lips as you let your mind wander. With your free hand you tug open your bedside drawer, tugging out your favorite toy and dragging it down your stomach.

Your movements are measured and familiar as your usual fantasies play across the backs of your eyes. You give yourself several long moments to slicken, coaxing more and more from your body with nimble fingers and quick circles.

In your mind, there’s a large body over yours and something just thick enough to let you feel the sting of a stretch inside of you, your breasts pushing against his chest, soft grunts in your ears.

Your breathing hitches, hips working against your palm as the fantasy starts to become more clear. He’s big, both above you and inside of you - only halfway in and already tugging you near the edge. His hands are on either side of your head, caging you in so all you can see is his tan skin, his rippling muscles.

You bite your lip to hold back a moan, eyelids fluttering. His bright eyes roll back when he pulls away enough for you to see his face. You lift one hand to your breast, the other gripping his head and both of you moan when you tug. The drag of his cock inside of you is perfect, his weight over you, the heat absolutely pouring over him…

His head drops back down when you let go of his hair, and his lips curve up into a smile as he looks down at you.

You nearly screech when you recognize him, throwing both hands away from your body and your eyes flying open to stare at your dark cieling. Your cunt and nipple throb, feeling quite suddenly neglected, but your heart isracing for an entirely different reason.

No. No. It’s one thing to satisfy your own needs after seeing the man, it’s another to… God, you can hardly even think it - to fantasize about the man and fuck yourself to him.

“Fuck,” you whisper, desire rapidly cooling. Without Johnny himself in front of you - all six feet of him, muscular and masculine as he’s grown up to be - it’s easier to remember just how terrible he was to you all those years in school. There’s no sharp jawline and cute scruff to distract you from the memory of how he’d steal your clothes before you could change in gym class, leaving you with only those embarrassingly tiny athletic shorts for the rest of the day.

You huff as you let your legs fall closed again, the mood well and truly dissipating now. All you’ve got left is regular frustration, instead of the fun kind.

A sharp tap at the window jerks you out of your pouting, and you yank your blankets up to cover what little skin is showing in a panic, the slick dildo resting on your thighs. The room is silent for a moment, absolutely still except for the fan in the corner that’s been blowing for years, until there’s another tap.

You don’t realize what it is until the tap turns into a thunk. Then, you can hardly bite back your yelp. You’re nearly paralyzed with fear as the sound turns into a sort of… jangling almost, clearly coming from the one window in your bedroom.

Back pressed against your headboard, you can do nothing but think of all the things you should be doing as the curtains start blowing more noticeably, wind pouring into the room.

You’re just sucking in a breath to scream when Johnny MacTavish pops out from behind the curtain, combat boots loud against the wood flooring.

“Same old broken lock, huh, bonnie?” He smirks, strolling into your room like he belongs, like he used to. “Be honest now, you were just waiting here for me, weren’t you?”

You’re gaping like a fish, you know it, but you can’t help but stare at him wide-eyed.

The last time John MacTavish was in your bedroom, he was at least a foot shorter and a hell of a lot more welcome. The two of you had been eleven when he’d still been willing to be near you, but as soon as you’d moved on to elementary school - as soon as boys became boys and girls became girls, and kids had crushes instead of cooties - he’d stopped coming around. It was only a few years after that, in high school, that he’d gone from a friend you used to have to the boy who made school miserable.

And there is not one single reason you can think of to justify him sneaking in, the way he used to. Not now, all these years later with so much - said and unsaid - lingering between you.

None of that seems to weigh on him, though. He’s cocky as ever, doesn’t even bother to take off his boots as he saunters towards your bed, giving you a long look that can only be described as salacious as he leans himself against the foot of your bed.

It’s pure instinct to grope blindy at your bedside table, grabbing the first thing your fingertips touch and launching it at his head.

His instincts are sharp enough the he catches the bottle of water before it can do any real damage, but the small distraction gives you enough time to stumble to your feet, blanket held protectively in front of your body - you’re not completely nude, but a tanktop and panties aren’t exactly what you want Johnny seeing you in.

“What the fuck are you doing here?!” You hiss, some old instinct making you want to stay quiet even though there’s no one in the house with you.

The look he gives you is almost begrudgingly scolding, his lips tilted up in the corners as he tuts like he’s just barely holding back a smile. “Now, what was that for? I know your happy to see me, no need to start throwin’ things.”

“Johnny,” you scold, heartbeat slowing as the initial fear fades. “What the hell are you doing in my room? We haven’t spoken in years, you can’t just show back up-”

“Aw, I knew you missed me,” he grins, easily interrupting you and stepping almost within arms reach, water bottle discarded on your dresser. “Figured you didnae want to hear from me, I’d have written if I knew you’d be so crabbit.”

You splutter a bit, spine straightening in offense. “You’re breaking into my house! I have more than a right to be- what’d you say? Crabbit?”

His smile only grows and he steps closer, making you instinctually take a step back. “I don’t mind, lass. ‘S always fun to coax a pretty thing out of an ugly mood.”

Your face feels like it’s on fire as you splutter, your heart only beating faster as Johnny prowls forward, eyes dragging down your body like he wants to eat you alive.

“I like your PJs, bonnie,” he rumbles, reaching out a hand to drag his finger down one of the straps of your tank top. “Did you match your panties just for me?”

Yous hiss and smack his hand away, one hand crossing tight over your chest to try and regain some amount of modesty. “How could I have dressed for you when you’re breaking in? This is ridiculous, you need to go, Johnny-”

You hardly even notice as he slowly pushes you backward, his chest pressed against yours until there’s no more room to pull away from him, the wall at your back a cold shock.

“Go?” He tilts his head, eyes big and round and you know the bastard isn’t as innocent or well-meaning as he’s trying to look. “But I just got here, bonnie. We haven’t even fucked yet.”

You rear back at the crass language, face flushing with heat. “What- we’re not going to-” You stumble over your words, pressing further back against the wall when his hands - rough, calloused, so much bigger than they used to be - grab both of your elbows to keep you still. “We’re not having sex,” you finally manage to choke out.

His grin is shark-like, sharp and verging on mean as he ducks his face closer to yours, lowering his voice to match your volume. “Why not? You look hungry, lass, don’t you want a little help? My fingers are bigger than yours, bet I can reach further up in your pretty cunt than you can.”

You gape for a moment, mouth moving as you think about saying any number of things, each of them dying before they cross your lips. This Johnny is so far from the lanky teenager who shoved you as you passed him in the hallway, and even further from the little boy who refused to be your first kiss because of your cooties. You have no idea how to deal with this invasive adult Johnny.

Your hands are small against his broad chest, and you press against him with just a hint of pressure, hoping he’ll take your hint and lean away. He doesn’t, only pushes himself closer and gives you some of his weight to hold up.

“Johnny, come on,” you try, pushing a little harder and only getting yourself more firmly pinned against the wall. “We can- let’s get lunch tomorrow, okay? We can talk then.”

Johnny doesn’t respond at first, only ducks down and presses his face into your throat. You stiffen at the feeling of his damp breath against your skin, the slight brush of his teeth chasing goosebumps down your spine. Your breath hitches when you feel a distinct shape against your stomach, his hardness pressing into you.

“I can’t leave now, bonnie,” he says against your throat, groaning and grinding himself against you just once. “Ye’ve got me all worked up, I’ll die if you make me go.”

“Johnny…” you whine, wrapping your hands around his biceps and squeezing.

“I’ll make it good for you, don’ worry,” he reassures, hands shifting from the wall to wrap around your waist. “Might be a tad selfish once we get goin’, but you’ll have your fun.”

You can’t do much but squirm as one of his hands slips down beneath your bottoms, large hand cupping you. Your squeak is entirely unintentional when his fingers begin to explore without any reservations, your face hot with embarrassment at how quickly your body reacts.

Johnny doesn’t lift his head far, only enough to mouth at your jaw and leave little sucking bites. His free hand, the one not stroking your clit and drawing out wetness from your core, drifts up enough to palm one of your breasts.

“Johnny,” you breathe, incapable of saying anything but his name.

You can feel his smile against your skin, and you arch further into him when he slides one thick finger inside of you. His fingers are bigger than yours, enough for you to worry about the size of other parts of him.

“You’re so tight for me, lovie. Gonna squeeze me just right, huh?” His fingers crooks inside of you at just the right angle, and your hips jerk forward on instinct as you cry out. “Pretty thing, can’t believe I never had this back in school.”

“What-” You start, cutting yourself off with a gasp that melts into a moan as he pushes another finger inside of you. You’re more than wet enough to take it, but everything seems to be moving at hyperspeed, and you can’t keep up. “Oh, that’s- what’re you talking about?”

He huffs against your jaw, nosing up a little further to press against your cheek as his hot breath washes over you. “You’re so pretty lass, had me hard as iron every day when we were kids. Wasn’t very nice, huh bonnie? Walkin’ around in those cute skirts and - fuck, your pretty blush… drove me fucking insane.”

You yelp at the sudden stretch of three fingers, pushing up onto your toes to try and jerk away, but Johnny just follows you, thumb stroking cruelly over your clit.

“Just wanted to bend you over,” he groans, pressing his hips into your stomach and gripping your breast tight enough that you worry you’ll bruise. “Wanted to put you on your knees, on your back, fuck, woulda done anything for just a peek at this pretty cunt.”

“Jo-hnny,” you hiccup, melting against him as the pleasure begins to overwhelm you, everything else fading as you creep closer to an orgasm you’re not even sure you want. “I don’t-”

“Hush,” he hisses, smacking your tit lightly and ignoring your cry of shock. “Lemme get you off here, then I’ll fuck you, yeah? Gonna split you open on my cock, show you what you coulda had years ago, gonna fuck you dumb.”

He finally presses his lips to yours, swallowing your moans and cries as they slowly grow in volume. Your hips buck against his hands as you chase an orgasm, unable to do anything more than pant into Johnny’s mouth as he licks into yours, tongue exploring every bit he can reach.

Your orgasm absolutely melts you, leaves you weak and limp pinned between the wall and the man you’d once known so well. Johnny’s breathing almost as hard as you, every part of him pressed fully against you. He’s all heat and solid man, forcing you to ride out every euphoric wave of your orgasm.

You’re a little glassy eyed by the end of it, knees weak and mind even weaker. You’re vaguely aware of your hands lightly pushing at him as he lifts you by the thighs, dropping you carelessly onto the bed.

“Fuck,” Johnny hisses, tearing your clothes from your body like they’re nothing. You whine when he presses kisses to your stomach, those kisses quickly turning to sucking bites that have you arching and running a hand through his mohawk.

He doesn’t bother to take off his shirt - too busy licking his way up to your tits for that - but the sound of his belt dropping to the floor and his jeans following is loud in the quiet of your bedroom.

When he takes your nipple into his mouth, sucking like he’s trying to physically pull more moans from you, you arch off the bed with a near squeal. He’s hunched over you as he settles firmly above your prone form on the bed, knees between your thighs and keeping them spread.

“Slow- slow down,” you gasp, tapping at his shoulder a bit frantically as you feel the thick - so thick - length of him press against your drooling center. “Johnny-!”

Your cry melts into a long, drawn-out moan as Johnny forces himself inside of you with one mean thrust. Three fingers somehow wasn’t enough prep for you to take him comfortably, his cock leaving you teary eyed and writhing on the bed as he bottoms out in just seconds. You feel like you’ve been impaled, the breath forced from your chest as you dig your nails into his shoulder and try despertley to breathe through the stretch.

“There,” Johnny pants above you, lips pink and swollen from his kisses. “There ye go, bonnie, good fuckin’ girl for me. Coulda - shit, shit - coulda had this years ago, huh?” His head drops low, eyes boring into yours as he pulls back and thrusts back into you sharply, forcing another cry from your lips. “See how good it feels? I can make you feel so good, pretty girl, promise.”

“Johnny, c’mon,” you gasp, scratching down his shoulder blades and pulling him close. Any reservations you had have been fucked out of you in just a few thrusts, and even despite your recent orgasm your clit throbs with need. “C’mon, you can- you can move.”

His smile is sharp above you, his own pupils blown wide and his shirt sticking to his sweat-slick skin. “Yeah? Want me to fuck you harder?”

You whine high in your throat, throwing your head back and hitching your hips higher as he finds a pace that works, his hips slamming against the backs of your thighs when you wrap them around his waist. You’re half off the bed with the position he’s got you in, his arms scooping you up around your back so he can lavish more attention across your tits.

Every breath you take leaves you in a moan or a cry, the pleasure he’s punshing into you almost overwhelming. You feel fevered, desperate in a way you never have before as you claw desperately at Johnny’s scalp, tugging his hair until he moans.

“So tight for me,” he slurs against your chest, drooling as he switches from one nipple to the other. “Drivin’ me fuckin’ mad, bonnie, could stay in this cunt forever, shit.”

“Johnny,” you gasp, eyes screwed up tight as you feel yourself getting closer and closer to a second peak. “You’re so… fuck, so big, I can’t… can’t breathe.”

“Yeah?” He asks, looking up at you and pushing himself up enough to press kisses to your lips. “‘M fuckin’ the air right out of you, huh? Fuckin’ you so good you can’t breathe?”

“Yeah,” you keen, your body beginning to tense as you begin to taste your orgasm. “Feel so good, Johnny, please, I’m so- I’m so close, c’mon…”

“Yes, yes,” he chants against you, his lips brushing over every bit of your face he can reach, tongue darting out to lick up the few stray tears slipping from your eyes. “Squeeze me tight, c’mon, come for me, lass, you can do it.”

He doesn’t give up his tight hold on you to rub your clit, but you find that you don’t need him to, the combination of his thrusts and everything about the situation bringing you to a powerful enough orgasm that your vision whites out for a moment. Your throat is sore as you shout, and the fabric of Johnny’s shirt is loose around where your fingers have dug in mercilessly.

“Fuck, tight as a vice, fuck, fuck,” Johnny moans, his own face screwed up in pleasure as he loses any rhythm he had before, fucking you like a fleshlight. He leans back and pulls you up with him, holding you chest to chest with him and burying his face into your neck as you hold onto him for dear life.

He buries his teeth right above your pulse as he comes, working his hips in small, jerky thrusts to milk himself as you tighten up around him. Your breath is synced with his, both of you panting desperately and soaked in sweat.

You’re still reeling as he begins to recover. Before you can even muster enough strength to let your thighs fall away from his hips, he’s falling forward onto the bed and laying both of you out on your sides, his hold on you not loosening at all. He takes half a second to throw his shirt across the room, then presses you so close that your tits are all but flat against his chest.

He’s uncharacteristically silent as the two of you share breaths, each of you slowly floating back into your bodies. The only emotion you can really muster is shock - how is it that Johnny, your best friend turned biggest bully, just fucked you better than any man you’ve been with before? It feels, in some absurd way, unfair.

“We’ll have to talk about this,” you say quietly, once your heartbeat has almost evened out and your breaths are coming evenly.

Johnny only hums, one big hand moving down to hitch your thigh back around his waist, tilting your body so somehow even more of your skin is pressed against his. “Sure, bonnie,” he murmurs, voice half muffled from where his face is pressed into your hair. “Tomorrow.”

“I’m serious, Johnny,” you try, one hand resting on his ribs. “You broke into my house.”

“Hmm,” he hums, taking a deep breath of your scent and letting it out contentedly. “I’ll say sorry in the mornin’. Sleep now, though.” His voice is almost pleading, his grip on you tightening for just a moment, one hand behind your back and the other resting on your ass. You feel like a stuffed animal, but you’re too pleasure-sated to really mind.

“Alright,” you agree, settling into his hold fully and letting your mouth rest against his collarbone as your eyes flutter shut. “Tomorrow.”

#welcome back to: gratuitous use of italics #stealing my old kinktober tags for this one #soap mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #johnny soap mactavish x reader #johnny mactavish x reader #soap cod #soap smut #john mactavish smut #johnny mactavish smut #bo writes #soap mactavish smut #cod fanfic #call of duty fanfic #soap x reader #dark fic

2K notes · View notes

nottswitch · 9 days ago

Text

— if you’ve been naughty, you get…

──────────── 𝐚 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞.─

summary: they say that the way you spend the new year’s night is the way you’re going to spend the whole year. you never took this expression to heart until now.

pairing: theo nott x reader

cw: 18+ smut, enemies to lovers, fingering, rough p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, semi-public sex, degrading/praise, cursing, italian pet names

wc: 2.1k

a/n: getting back to kinkmas at last !! enjoy some etl theodore filth babes <3

navigation ; masterlist ; theo m.list ; kinkmas 2024

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You had absolutely no idea how you ended up at the same party as the guy whose entire goal in life was to make yours as difficult as possible. To be entirely honest, you weren’t any better – your taunting seemed to mirror his in its viciousness, for no apparent reason on both sides. Somewhere, at one point, everything went to shit with you two. At first, it used to cause tensions in the friend group, because you just couldn’t stop constantly bickering and throwing all kinds of insults at each other, but over time, your inexplicable apprehension towards each other became a constant – a very annoying one, but a constant nonetheless.

Pansy promised. She promised that the New Year’s Eve party would stay Theodore Nott-free, he had some prior commitment, blah-blah-blah – irrelevant. Because right now, you were looking straight at his infuriating face as he was pressing you against the wall, his deep ocean eyes you couldn’t admit to finding captivating staring into yours. The sounds of the party were muffled, the beat of the music dully thumping through the narrow corridor, sending faint vibrations through the floor.

“You just couldn’t leave me alone, could you?” you hissed, crossing your arms on your chest in a manner that you hoped would come off as defiant, even though you knew it was a defense – same thing, different flavor.

Theo smirked – the smirk that always made your blood boil, a sign that he was enjoying himself way more than he should have.

“How could I ever leave you alone, tesoro?” he drawled, his voice mocking yet carrying a hint of intensity that you had never heard there before. Then again, with him, you could’ve easily just imagined it. “But if I had to guess, I’d say you can’t stay away from me either. And I wouldn’t be that far off, no?”

You huffed, rolling your eyes at his cockiness – it was in no way a surprise, yet it still made your irritation rise to the very top, bubbling up and threatening to escape in the form of another quip.

“Get your head out of your ass, Nott,” you muttered, raising an eyebrow in a silent challenge.

“Nott?” Theo taunted in response, leaning in just a bit closer – and that tiny little bit made your heart skip a beat, which you found to be a completely uncalled-for reaction. “Last time I checked, I was ‘Theo, please, faster!’.”

“Oh, fuck you.”

You hated the way your cheeks instantly flushed at his reminder – you did not need to remember that night when your entire composure crumbled to pieces, and you ended up in his bed, screaming his name so loud the walls were nearly shaking.

And you felt like you were on the brink of doing it again.

“If you insist,” Theo murmured, his lips now at your ear, nearly brushing against your skin – the bastard knew exactly how to get to you, unfortunately. You gritted your teeth, trying to resist for a fleeting moment, but when his hand slipped onto your waist, you gave up – and in.

“I hate you,” you whispered, roughly grabbing the collar of his shirt and pulling him into a heated kiss. Theo didn’t even gasp, which made a nasty thought spark up in your mind – he’d been waiting for this all along, and it probably wouldn’t be too far-fetched to guess that it was the only reason he came to the party in the first place. The kiss was all tongue and teeth, a stark mirror to the contradictory feelings you both shared – biting, rough around the edges, yet at the core of it there was passion that neither of you could bother to deny.

In a matter of seconds, both of Theo’s hands were on your hips, effortlessly lifting you up and wrapping your legs around his waist. Your hands flew up to his shoulders, breaking the self-imposed physical barrier of your arms across your chest and also symbolizing the last bits of your composure withering away. Theo knew – he had to have known – that this would happen, because his palm was at the ready, closing around your breast as soon as it was free to touch. He kneaded the softness of your flesh, his teeth sinking into your bottom lip as his hips started slowly but firmly rocking against you. You felt his hard, already throbbing cock pressing into your clothed pussy, and once again, you were somewhat amused by his ability to get hard in seconds.

“Been like this all night, bambina,” Theo murmured into your mouth, as if hearing your thoughts out loud. So, not in seconds. “The moment I saw you in this dress… Fuck.”

His other hand gripped the hem of your sparkly red dress, lifting it up just enough for it to bunch up at your waist. His eyes flicked down for a moment, a needy growl escaping his mouth as he took in the sight of your fishnets doing a very poor job at covering up the red lace of your panties.

“Wore these for me?” he asked teasingly, although his hoarse voice completely betrayed the fact that he was insanely aroused. His fingers traced the edge of the lace with an almost reverent touch before hooking through the hole of your fishnets and suddenly tearing them apart.

Your eyes widened, not quite expecting the roughness, but you knew you should have – Theo wasn’t known to be a patient man when it came to getting what he carnally desired, and at the moment, the object of that desire was you.

“What the–” you started, but he quickly shut you up with a kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth and swirling around, effectively making you moan. The sound only got louder as you felt his fingers sliding over your panties, savoring the wetness that started to seep through the fabric; he wasn’t the only one with a one track mind since the start of the party – the sight of him in his dark green dress shirt, three buttons at the top undone, caught your eye as soon as he stepped into the room.

“Such a wet little pussy for me, huh?” he whispered breathlessly into your mouth, rubbing a circle over your clothed core before easily slipping underneath – the feeling of your soft, drenched skin made him groan, perfectly matching your own sounds. “Wish I could keep you like this all the time… So fucking pliant…”

And shit, you wouldn’t be able to deny his words even if you tried – you were pliant under his touch, you did turn into melted butter as soon as his index and middle finger slipped inside you, you did clench your thighs around his waist as he started pumping in and out. He was just as pliant, though – you could tell by the way his cock was poking into your inner thigh, straining against the fabric of his trousers. If you had half a mind to look down, you would see a wet spot forming at the front, clear evidence of the fact that he wanted you with the same ever-consuming intensity.

You grew a bit bolder, the pleasure making your brain turn off and forget all about your surroundings or the consequences of your encounter. Your hand traveled down, grabbing Theo’s cock and giving it a firm squeeze, as if to remind him that he was as crazy about you as you were about him. A groan fanned against your ear at the small yet impactful action – a satisfying sound of Theo’s need. His fingers curled inside you before sliding out with a wet pop. The next moment, your juices were being spread all over your lips, mixing with your gloss and creating a strange, sticky texture of sweetness mixed with the tartness of your natural slick. You parted your mouth, letting Theo’s fingers in, your lips wrapping around them and starting to suck, lightly, teasingly, as your hand continued palming his cock.

“Playing with the damn fire, tesoro,” Theo warned in a hiss, taking your hand off of him impatiently. “Naughty, naughty girl.”

In response, you only started sucking more, your head moving back and forth on his fingers. Theo’s eyes were fixed intently on your lips, no doubt imagining them wrapped around something else. He hastily unzipped his trousers with his free hand, pulling them down to the middle of his thighs along with his boxers. His erection sprung free, slapping against his shirt-covered stomach. You glanced down, feeling even more turned on as you drank in the sight of his swollen, throbbing cock, knowing that it would be splitting you open very very soon.

And it did. Oh, gods, it did. With a single thrust, Theo entered, his tip immediately reaching your cervix. You moaned around his fingers, your eyes rolling back at the mixture of pain and pleasure – the feelings he could easily elicit in you, both physically and emotionally.

He wasn’t holding back, not in the slightest – his pace was rough and unrelenting, fucking all his frustrations of the last year into you. Your back was moving up and down against the wall, the heated surface scratching your skin, your high heels digging into the small of his back each time he pounded. He didn’t mind the sting, though, just like you didn’t mind the dull ache of his hand digging into your hip, without a doubt leaving marks. Finally, his fingers left your mouth and grabbed the back of your neck, pulling you into yet another sloppy mess that could be called a kiss.

The combined sounds of your moans almost drowned out the chatter of the party, but still, you could faintly hear the crowd starting to chant the countdown to the New Year. You pulled away, ignoring Theo’s disappointed whine for a second, trying to hold back on your own noises as you listened.

“The count– The countdown,” you shakily breathed out, meeting Theo’s glossed-over eyes with your misty gaze. He groaned and shook his head, a clear indication that he wasn’t going to stop, not until you were both panting and sweating.

“Who gives a fuck?” he asked in the same breathless voice as yours, his cock somehow reaching even deeper spots, as if trying to coax any stray thoughts out of your head. “What, scared you’re not getting a New Year’s kiss?”

His ability to tease you even as he was balls deep inside of you made you want to slap him, hard. You almost did it, if only you had the strength to move your limbs.

“Yeah, wanted to make a wish,” you tried to retort, your words sounding less convincing than you’d like them to be. “To never see your stupid face again.”

“Oh really? And here I was, about to wish for your charming self every day.”

You would have rolled your eyes at his usual mocking, but they ended up rolling for a completely different reason as Theo pounded into you with an especially rough thrust at the ‘three’ sounding from the main party room.

At the ‘two’, one of his hands was on your cheek, his thumb pressing into the tender flesh. His eyes were fixed on yours again, the intensity from before making you question if there was any truth behind his words.

At the ‘one’, your lips were crashing together once again as the orgasm washed over the both of you, accompanied by the fireworks blowing up outside. Red bursts of light coming from the window on the other side of the corridor cast your flickering shadows onto the wall, the beautiful sight in the sky barely registering in your fucked out mind. The only thing you could feel at the moment was the warmth of Theo’s cum slowly starting to trickle down your thighs, staining Theo’s pants in the process.

“You know,” he murmured, hoarse and panting, his dampened forehead resting against yours, “you make really nice sounds when I’m fucking you brainless, tesoro. I’ll make sure they’re the only ones you’re making with me all year long.”

You breathed out a small chuckle, closing your eyes as you started to come down from the high you were both still stuck on.

“Is that a threat or a promise, Theo?”

“Both, baby. Both.”

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