#and even his black teeth and nails🥲🥲🥲

[notonlymice]

the range of lizard emotions

[humanpurposes]

My Heart Belongs to Daddy part vi, modern!Aemond

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist // take the breath that's true

modern!Aemond x step-daughter

Warnings: 18+, language, family tensions

Words: 4500

A/n: Here we go, the penultimate installment! Part vii is going to be the last part and I can't really believe we're almost finished 🥲

And this is a complete coincidence I finished this today but HAPPY BRITHDAY to Ange aka @ewanmitchellcrumbs!! Consider this a little gift from me as a thank you for all your love n support 💚

Also available to read on AO3.

She wakes startled, her heart beating furiously to the sound of raised voices coming from the kitchen. 

She’s in the middle of the bed, curled up on one side with the bed sheets bunched up around her.

After the mess of last night, Cregan had gone to the pub with Jace and Baela. Evidently he hadn’t come back but his things are still strewn about her room, the brown leather holdall by the wardrobe, his t-shirt on the floor, his aftershave on her vanity.

She runs her hands over her face and forehead, groaning at the headache pulsing in her head as the shouting continues.

It’s a rarity for Alys and Aemond to get so heated, usually their arguments are a cold war of curt remarks and furious glances. She holds her breath, listening for specific words but she can’t make anything out.

It concludes with Alys shouting at the top of her lungs, “FUCK OFF THEN!” followed by the kitchen door slamming, a pair of loafers clicking against the floor of the hallway and then the front door opening and closing.

She goes to the window, pulling the curtain back just enough to see Aemond’s silver Jag pulling out of the driveway. Something about seeing him leave feels so final.

Once she’s thrown on a t-shirt and some shorts she treads carefully down the stairs, afraid to disturb the eerie silence that hangs about the house.

Alys is leaning over the counter, cradling her forehead in her other hand. She breathes deeply and slowly, the cup of coffee in front of her long forgotten. 

Finally she tries to compose herself, taking a sharp inhale through her nose, looking at her and forcing a smile, as if there aren’t tears welling in her eyes. “That’s it then,” she says, her voice hoarse from the shouting.

Panic strikes her gut like a knife, twisting and twisting until it burns. “Did he say why?”

Alys huffs bitterly. “He said it was ‘differing priorities’. Says he wants to reconnect with his family–” she licks her teeth and makes a sucking sound with her tongue– “he thinks I’ll just get in the way.”

“Is that actually what he said?”

“No.”

“Well how do you–”

“I just know!” Alys snaps and she flinches. Alys waves her hand vaguely in front of her face before she starts to rub circles against her temple. “I just… know.”

She looks down at the counter, hoping to find some way to make herself useful. There’s another cup in front of one of the stools. Black coffee, half-full. She reaches for it instinctively. She can’t see the prints of his fingertips and lips on the white ceramic, but she knows they’re there. He’s left a packet of cigarettes behind too, the same packet from the dinner party.

She pours the leftover coffee down the sink and squeezes some dish soap onto a cloth to clean it out. Her hands are shaking and she almost drops it twice.

“Gods, as if I even cared enough to interfere with his family,” Alys tuts behind her. “They never liked me.”

She can’t bring herself to disagree, but it’s not like the Targaryens are renowned for being welcome to outsiders, let alone the woman in her forties who took Alicent Hightower’s precious golden boy from her. She feels cruel for thinking that, especially because she knows she would never say that to Alys’ face. 

There’s a tapping sound coming from the counter, a nail against cardboard. She glances over her shoulder as Alys drums her fingertip against Aemond’s packet of cigarettes. Her head is tilted and she hums distantly.

“I never meant for things to go this far,” she says, “but it’s done now.”

She can still feel Aemond’s hands on her waist and stomach, pushing her against the sink and pulling her back into him.

Why end it with Alys now? Had he told her the truth? Surely this would have turned out to be a very different conversation if he had. So why didn’t he?

“I just know these last couple of months have been fucking unbearable without you.”

She slowly places the clean cup by the sink, squeezes the water and soap from the cloth and dries her hands on a tea towel.

She can feel her heartbeat in her throat, and wonders if she’ll be able to speak if she tries.

“Mum?”

Alys doesn’t look up at her, still preoccupied with the packet. “What is it darling?”

When she doesn’t respond right away Alys turns to face her. Her mother can often be distracted, even when she tries to talk to her, there always seems to be something that’s more important. Not now though. She looks at her, really looks at her, with red cheeks, dried tears and her eyebrows raised in a sympathetic expression. Focused, ready to listen to her.

There’s an old harbour down by Blackwater Bay, two tall stone walls cutting out a little corner of the shore. In the summer people like to go down to swim there because the waves aren’t as rough as they are in the open sea and the kids in King’s Landing have made a tradition of jumping from the harbour walls. She used to go with Harwin and Jace, before Luke was really old enough to swim. The wall is highest right at the end, from a slab of concrete which everyone called ‘the table’ looking out on the other side of the harbour. Every year she told Jace she would jump from the table and every year she walked along the wall and clambered up onto the concrete. She would look down at the waves, rolling, colliding and roaring as they splashed up against the harbour walls. Suddenly her body would start to tremble and she’d forget how to breathe. She never managed to do it.

Now she thinks she’d take jumping into the bay over what’s about to come.

“I’ve done something really awful.”

The train from Oldtown to King’s Landing takes four hours. Four hours when she has nowhere else to go, nothing else to do but put her headphones in and watch the snow covered hills and fields of the Reach race past in a blur of white and green.

In the end she had accepted the Masters programme at the University of Oldtown. Alys’ reaction couldn’t be described as enthusiastic, but she would have been less excited for her to stay in King’s Landing. 

Looking back, her first term had been good. She enjoyed her modules, liked all of her lecturers (even the stricter ones), was doing well on all of her assignments and she had access to the Citadel Library, which was far older and more impressive than the library at KLU.

She moved into a dorm room in the middle of the city just a few minutes from the main campus and made a few friends who all shared a flat in the well-to-do East District, which was where she did most of her socialising. On her free days she took herself to explore the city’s museums and bookshops, or she’d get herself a coffee and a cinnamon pastry and sit by the bank of the Honeywine, watching the boats and the flow of the water.

It should have been perfect, and it was in some ways. She threw herself into everything, research and essay writing, afternoons in pub gardens and parties full of strangers. Her life had become a tangle of possibilities and it was easy to let everything else slip away.

She ended things with Cregan well before she left for Oldtown. She told him half of the truth; she hadn’t been feeling like herself lately and she wanted space to feel like a person again. She didn’t tell him about Aemond or the incident at the dinner party, and she didn’t tell him that she felt like she was wandering through her own life like a lost puppy, looking for something she couldn’t quite put her finger on, something that would fill the space in her chest that seemed doomed to remain hollow forever.

He seemed shocked but he took it well. According to Jace he’s been getting rather close to Aly Blackwood, a KLU graduate from her year. Aly Blackwood is best known around King’s Landing as a goth with a heart of gold. She has tattoos and piercings, wears sleek eyeliner and black platform boots and spends every weekend going to concerts or music festivals. She’s smart and a people person, just like Cregan. If things are heading that way then she’s happy for them. He deserves someone like that, someone who doesn’t lie to everyone around her, someone who doesn’t fuck her mother’s boyfriend halfway through a dinner party, while her own boyfriend was only in the next room.

Oldtown was the perfect escape, until the 1st December came around. Everywhere she went there were lights and trees, couples huddling close together to keep out the cold, while Last Christmas played somewhere in the distance. She enjoyed as much of it as she could, especially when her new friends dragged her to go ice skating or to Oldtown’s annual Christmas market in the square. But she couldn’t shake the dread of having to go home and spending three weeks in the house alone with Alys. Three weeks of sleeping in the bed where Aemond used to fuck her.

She watches the window as the treeline of Kingswood vanishes, and the shoreline of Blackwater Bay stretches before her, which means the city is only minutes away.

She takes her phone from her pocket and looks at it with the same nagging impulse that so far, she’s successfully ignored for months. This is her last chance to call him before she gets to King’s Landing. She doesn’t even know what she would say. She doesn’t want to talk to him or see him, but she thinks it would be nice to hear his voice or just know that he’s thinking about her– if he is thinking about her.

She opens her notes app and the note titled really good advice.

Don’t engage.

Don’t listen to songs that make you sad.

It’s okay to let go.

The train emerges from a tunnel and slowly starts to halt as it comes into the glass canopy over the platforms of Central King’s Landing Station. She slips her phone back into her pocket.

Alys picks her up from the station. She’s not wearing her usual red lipstick and she’s cut her hair into a stylish bob that makes her look older– in a good way– but other than that, she looks the same. 

They hug stiffly and exchange the same mumbled greeting. “Hi. You alright? Yeah, good thanks.”

Snow drifts down from a dark grey sky, but it’s not cold enough for it to settle, despite Ella Fitzgerald’s wishes for a “White Christmas” through the car speakers. The traffic is busy so she has plenty of time to admire the lights and displays in shop windows, and the trees twinkling inside the houses as they get closer to Queen’s park.

The house is gloomier than she remembers, but then she left it in early September when the weather was still warm. That’s her least favourite thing about winter, it’s dark and it’s only 4pm. It’s cold too. She wonders if Alys came straight from the office.

She leaves her bag at the bottom of the stairs and follows Alys through to the kitchen. She squints at the harsh lights as Alys rummages through the fridge. “Didn’t have any time to think about dinner,” she says, “the last few days have been non-stop.”

“That’s okay,” she mutters, familiarising herself with the feeling of the white marble countertops under her palms. “I can walk down to the shops, if you need?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Alys says, “you’re a guest.”

That’s a new feeling, being a guest in her own house.

To Alys’ credit, she’s making an effort to be around more. She comes home from the office earlier than she usually does and on the weekends she brings her laptop to the lounge and works from there. 

She has reading she could be doing for uni but she’s too tired to read. Lately, every time she picks up a book the words blur and fade into one another. When she’s bored of scrolling through her phone or flicking through the TV, she tries her hand at baking gingerbread to get into the festive spirit. They turn out surprisingly well but then she’s just left sitting in the kitchen by herself, nibbling cookies and feeling utterly ridiculous for it. Why does being alone have to be so embarrassing, surely there’s no one around to care?

The worst part about being home is how obvious they’re both avoiding a certain topic.

They’re eating dinner around the island in the kitchen. The fridge is stocked up in anticipation for Christmas day (which seems unnecessary if it’s only for two of them) and in the meantime they’re living off simpler meals, mostly pasta or something with rice.

“Rhaenyra’s coming over for drinks on Christmas Eve” Alys says after a few minutes of silence.

She pauses her mouthful. Alys hasn’t so much as mentioned Rhaenyra since the dinner party after her graduation, and before that the wedding. She dreads to think this get together might include some other Targaryen relatives.

She swallows. “Why?”

Alys frowns. Rhaenyra and Harwin used to alternate their Christmases between their fathers, one year with Viserys, one year with Lyonel and the Rivers. That tradition had apparently been abandoned after Lyonel died not long after Harwin. Last year it had just been the three of them.

Alys shrugs. “Rhaenyra suggested it. We’ll just have a few glasses of wine. You’re welcome to join us if you’ve not got other plans.”

Other plans are unlikely; none of her friends are in King’s Landing. So far the holidays have just been a waiting game, but the festive season seems to drag on when you’ve got nothing interesting to do and no one to see. 

“I’ll be around,” she says.

“Perfect.”

Then they come back to silence, apart from the scraping of cutlery. She worries if she’s chewing too loudly, it sounds loud in her head.

Then Alys starts talking about a new client of hers. She becomes surprisingly animated, clearly excited about the new venture for Rivers PR, until she mentions an issue with contracts and some legal dilemma, then she goes quiet. It was Aemond’s job to sort that stuff out, make things more manageable for her. 

She tries to change the subject by telling Alys about Oldtown, her new friends and the possibility of a graduate role at the Citadel Research Institute. 

“One of my lecturers is a partner there,” she says. “They usually reserve two placements for Oldtown students.”

“How long would it be for?” Alys asks.

“Two years,” she says, taking a quick sip of the bittersweet grapefruit soda Alys had insisted she try, “it’s paid work, and then I’ll have a job by the end of it.”

“Sounds like you’ve got everything planned out nicely.” Alys doesn’t say it like a compliment. Her voice falls as she speaks.

“I mean, it’s only a possibility,” she says, “I’d have to get accepted. I was thinking about applying for some stuff in King’s Landing too–”

“Do you like Oldtown?” Alys asks. Her expression is utterly unreadable. She might be furious. She might not care at all.

She places her glass down. Her stomach aches with hunger but she finds that she doesn’t feel like eating. “Yeah, I do.”

“Well then I see no reason to force yourself to stay here,” Alys says and promptly goes back to eating. 

Her chest feels like it’s about to burst.

She told Alys the truth. She didn’t try to justify what she did. She watched her mother cry, stood there as she screamed at her and gave her space when she wanted it. Seven hells, she had moved to the other side of the continent to give her space.

She knows there’s no version of this where she isn’t the villain, where she doesn’t wake up every morning and feel like a shit human being. Part of her is still trying to accept that her mother might never forgive her, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t want to try.

The edges of her vision start to blur. “You’re here,” she says.

She watches Alys’ chest rise and fall and her lips start to tremble as she sets her cutlery down. She breathes as she hangs her head, gnawing slightly on her bottom lip.

She anticipates another argument like the one before, that will leave her with a hoarse throat and a tightness in her head.

Then Alys turns her head to face her with glassy eyes. “I hope you don’t think I’ve held you back.”

“What? No, why would you say that?”

“You seem so happy in Oldtown I just… I hate to think that you only went to KLU for me. Don’t get me wrong, I loved having you at home for another three years, but I just wanted you to be happy. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you–” she gasps a small sob but snatches it right back. She wipes her eyes with her fingertips, careful not to smudge her makeup. “I’m sorry if I’ve made things… difficult.”

She can hardly believe what she’s seeing. “No, no, no…” she utters, reaching for one of Alys’ hands. Her throat feels thick and when she blinks she feels hot and heavy tears trailing over her cheeks. “This was all my fault. Mum, you’ve given me everything, and what have I done with it but just be selfish and stupid and–”

“Oh come here,” Alys huffs. They both stand and Alys wipes her daughter’s tears away with her thumbs. 

“But you must hate me,” she whimpers, “I lied to you. I hurt you.”

Alys strokes her hands over her hair and cradles her, bringing her into her chest like she used to when she was a child. “I wanted to at first,” she mutters, “of course I did. I never would have thought…

“You know, I never actually thought I’d have kids. My parents weren’t exactly great at making me feel like a priority, and I used to think I could never be a parent because, well, I didn’t know how to be one.

“But you were so perfect. From the moment you were born I just knew I loved you, like I had never loved anyone before, and I knew I never would love anyone more than you, ever.”

She clings onto her mother like she might fade away, with the material of her blouse between her fingers and her ear pressed to her heartbeat.

“You’ve always been my everything,” Alys whispers, “I just… I don’t want to lose you.”

She pulls herself away from Alys’ embrace so she can look her in the eye. “I really am sorry, for everything with Aemond.”

Alys hums shortly. “Was it just sex?”

She’ll never forget that night in the hotel room, how stupid she felt, how empty it left her, how lost she was for months after. Sometimes she wonders, if she could, would she take back what she said? There’s no point in getting hung up on what-ifs. 

She still feels lost in a lot of ways, but the dust seems to be settling now. She just hopes things will be a little clearer now.

“I think it was for him.”

Alys frowns sadly. “Oh you stupid thing.”

She wants to cry all over again, but it’s a fair statement. “Are you sure you don’t hate me?”

Alys considers the question. “Maybe just a little.”

By Christmas Eve her mood has significantly improved. The weight has been lifted from her body. She doesn’t have to spend an hour convincing herself to get out of bed. She doesn’t lose herself under the warm, running water of the shower. She doesn’t feel so exhausted from the simplest of tasks.

She and Alys finally get not one but two trees up. The ‘proper tree’ is in the dining room, with golden lights reflected in the silver and glass ornaments. In the lounge they have a smaller one that sits in the window. It has fairy lights shaped like stars and mismatched decorations, little wooden snowmen, plush reindeer and polar bears they’ve had since she was little and golden birds that belonged to Alys’ grandmother. She likes the small tree the best because every decoration has a memory. She feels like a little girl again, buzzing with excitement to spend Christmas day with uncle Harwin, aunt Rhaenyra and her cousins.

Tomorrow, she'll wake up slowly, have mimosas with her mum, roast some potatoes, eat too much food and fall asleep curled up on the sofa. Nothing else will matter. She won’t keep second guessing someone else’s every move. She won’t cry herself to sleep thinking of every little thing about her that isn’t good enough to be loved.

Alys is adamant tonight will be nothing like the dinner party in June, thank the Gods.

She changes into a mini dress with a colourful floral pattern and styles her hair nicely. She tilts her head at her reflection and puts in some pearl drop earrings, but something still feels missing. She shrugs it off.

She helps Alys put out snacks and drinks on the kitchen island and choses a playlist of all the essential Christmas songs, just in time for their guests to arrive.

Rhaenyra looks as stunning as ever, in a black two piece that fits snugly around a growing baby bump, bright red lipstick and gold jewellery on her neck and wrists. She hugs both of them tightly and smiles beautifully in a way that makes her think she might be genuine. 

Baela and Rhaena follow behind her, which is a pleasant surprise.

“No boys with you?” Alys asks as they all walk through to the kitchen.

“Thought we’d keep it strictly pleasant company,” Rhaenyra says, “nice to have a bit of calm before we go to dad’s tomorrow.”

“Right,” she and Alys say at the same time.

They all sit in the kitchen. The twins are a year older than her. Baela’s been working at her grandfather’s company while Rhaena’s found her way into being a stylist, always posting from film sets and photoshoots. She looks the part too, she tends to wear bright, bold colours and pairs them with patterns and materials that shouldn’t work together, but somehow they do.

They ask about Oldtown and she doesn’t feel bad about repeating everything she’s already told Alys. The attention is quite nice.

Given the baby, Rhaenyra can’t actually drink but she pours some cranberry juice into a wine glass and sips it elegantly. “Jace told me you and Cregan broke up?” she says once the charcuterie boards have been finished off.

In that moment she tries to think of all the ways someone might react when they’re not bothered by something. Unbothered people smile vaguely and play with their hair without it seeming nervous. Unbothered people crack jokes at their own expense and laugh things off. Unbothered people don’t take as long as she’s taking to answer a question. “Um.. yeah.”

“Oh well, that’s life,” Rhaenyra sighs. “You know I broke up with my first girlfriend before I went to uni.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. And then she married my dad.”

She and Alys look at each other. They both try to look concerned at first, until she sees a flicker of a smile on Aly’s lips. She slips too, and they simultaneously snort into laughter. 

But once the amusement wears off and Alys and Rhaenyra retreat to the lounge, she still feels guilty. 

Baela and Rhaena are gossiping about some shared friends. She only half pays attention.

Maybe Rhaenyra meant it to be reassuring, empathetic, validating, but Oldtown wasn’t the reason why she ended things with Cregan, more a symptom of a single problem.

She has a sudden urge to reach for her phone, but she’s left it upstairs.

She was doing so fine in Oldtown. She was happy, busy, things didn’t seem to bother her as much as they do in King’s Landing.

“What are you doing for new years?” Baela asks. 

“Oh um, nothing. Mum has a fundraiser she usually goes to.”

“Are you not going to go with her?”

A ballroom full of canapés, elevator pitches and entrepreneurs making small talk sounds like a living hell. “Definitely not.”

“We’re all going to Dracarys,” Rhaena says, “you know that club on Silk Street? Why don’t you join us.”

She starts to shake her head. Hanging out with Aemond’s cousins sounds like it could be a bad idea. 

“I know what you’re thinking,” Baela says, “but don’t worry, it’s just us, Jace and a few other girls. Cregan won’t be there, he’s gone back to Winterfell.” 

She releases a shaky sigh of relief. Right. Cregan. The person she should be worried about.

“He and Aly Blackwood are a thing now,” Rhaena says.

She keeps her eyes on a space on the counter. “Yeah, I heard.”

The kitchen falls to an uneasy silence. Baela and Rhaena look at each other and she can feel the anxiety radiating off them, restless and uncomfortable without something to fill the lull in the conversation. She doesn’t mind the quiet. 

They don’t stay too late. When they go to leave the snowfall is a little heavier and leaves a light dusting over the drive and the cars.

“Let me know about new years,” Baela says, “we’ll have fun!”

She supposes so, and besides, she could do with getting out the house and drowning her sorrows with a sensible amount of margaritas. 

She and Alys stand in the doorway as Rhaenyra’s Escalade pulls away and disappears down an otherwise empty street, leaving a trail in the snow that is quickly covered again. 

Alys checks the time on her phone and shows her the time: 00:02. “Happy Christmas, darling,” she says, wrapping her arm around her shoulders.

She smiles and leans into her. “Happy Christmas, mum.”

Alys grins and nods towards the stairs. “Now get to bed or Santa’ll skip our house.”

She giggles softly as she goes, entirely pleased that Christmas isn’t turning out to be a complete shitshow. Alys has left a new pyjama set on her bed, white, fluffy and impossibly soft. It makes a difference from her old Black Sabbath t-shirt. She readies herself for bed, brushes her teeth and takes a few sips of the glass of water she’s brought up with her. 

Her phone is plugged in on her bedside table, but it must be fully charged by now. 

The moment she reaches for it, the screen lights up and it starts to ring. The glare of the white text makes her eyes sting: Aemond Targaryen.

All the months of distance are gone in a moment. All the time she’s spent trying to move on are lost for just one glimmer of hope. It would be so easy to accept the call. She doesn’t care what she should or shouldn’t say. One movement of her thumb and she’ll hear his voice. 

Don’t engage.

It’s okay to let go.

She watches the phone ring until his name disappears.

A/n: I also realised that I've been referring to Harwin's father as Simon Strong which is incorrect, it should be Lyonel, so I've gone back and corrected that.

General Taglist: @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy

Series Taglist: @marthawrites @urmomsgirlfriend1 @aaaaaamond @boundlessfantasy @sahvlran @tinykryptonitewerewolf @arcielee @tssf-imagines @aemondsfavouritebastard @skikikikiikhhjuuh @queenofshinigamis @lost-and-founds @izzydlb @dc-marvel-girl96 @xcinnamonmalfoyx @padfooteyes @castellomargot @pet1t3 @okfashionista @khaothick @babygirlyofthevale (I'm so sorry I said I was gonna add you for last time and I completely forgot 😭)

[thatsthewrongwallcraig]

fragile, but not like a flower.

Summary: Sometimes you need to be cut up to be made whole again.

Pairing: harddom!Simon Walker x sub!afab!Reader

Word Count: - 2.6k

Content Warnings: Dead Dove Do Not Eat 18+!, Overstimulation Meltdown (Not Sexual), Consensual Cutting (Very Much Sexual Tho), Fingerfucking, Humiliation, Pet Names, Honorifics (Sir/ Daddy / Princess), Aftercare <3

A/N: To my defence, this was written on fever medication 🥲

Tagging: @ohlookapan @queer-crusader @somethingblu3 @blueberrypancakesworld

She's not acid nor alkaline

Caught between black and white

Not quite either day or night

She's perfectly misaligned

I'm caught up in her design

And how it connects to mine

I see in a different light

The objects of my desire

- Alkaline By Sleep Token

A sniffled cry clawed its way from your lungs and out of your throat, accompanying the porcelain shatter of a cup that had slipped from your fingers as you’d meant to pour yourself some tea. The harsh sound of it splintering into a multitude of sharply edged shards caused your inner pot of already bubbling and rumbling overstimulation to boil over eventually, for you to switch from painfully numb indifference that had lasted throughout the past days to a nearly toddler-like tantrum in which you needed to hold on to yourself as hard as you possibly could to not just throw and smash every damn cup from the cabinet in unbridled frustration.

“Oh, fuck you, stupid fucking cup!” You whined out with a gush of uncomfortably burning tears prickling at your waterline, choking back the urge to stomp down onto the broken cup, your mind fully reeling in the thrashes of finding something to drown out the overstimulation fit that left you feeling disgustingly helpless in its wake.

Instead of hammering your bare foot down at the splintered porcelain, you took a shaky step back from the scene of the almost-nearly-crime, jaws clenching roughly and teeth grinding, causing unhealthily crunching sounds to echo through your skull. Away from the immediate source of possible pain to disrupt those raging feelings of constant incompetence and enraging clumsiness, your thoughts immediately pinpointed at the option to slap your knuckles against the very edge of the wooden counter or your head against the door to the kitchen until the hurt drowned out the powerlessness over your own vile emotional whims that tortured you just like they did right now. Perhaps you should just tear and rip at your hair until the burn emitting from your scalp slapped some sense back into you.

“You alright?” The pushing need to just scream nagged at your ribcage as you whirled around to look at Simon with wide eyes, his face peeking out behind the doorway leading to an open living room.

You knew that he just wanted to be nice because he cared for you, he really did, however, every single ounce of negativity shifted his way and you drilled your fingers into your palms with such vigor that the shape of your nails would leave thin dents in your skin. You’d never subject Simon to your stupid outbursts, never never not ever would hurt him the way you longed to hurt yourself right now, yet, the thought of simply pouncing him to scratch the infuriatingly gentle smile from his face flitted through your mind for a brief moment.

“Hmhm..”, His soft yet curious gaze wandered from your harshly clenched fists to the broken cup right behind you, putting two and two together before you even finished uttering, “No, ‘s just…”

The unfinished groan was accompanied by your shoulders slumping down, the violent apex of your fit being effectively surpassed as quickly as the storm had enraptured you.

“Come’ere. I know. I’ll clean that up, yeah?” Simon’s brows raised into an understanding arch as he motioned to you that it was going to be okay with a nod of his head.

Tears were gushing from your lash line and over the soft round of your cheeks before you even reached his opened arms, seeking shelter in a tight hug that felt like him gently squeezing everything back to where it belonged like straightening a crooked shelf.

“Oh, hey, babe.”, Simon cooed into your hairline whilst his hand found the back of your head, tenderly stroking down to the nape of your neck, “It’s not just about the cup, hm?.”

You shook your head in his tender embrace, wiping your tears with the fuzzy fabric of his fir green cotton shirt and muffling your sobs alike.

“Everything’s jus’ pissing me off so much.” The words rumbled through your chest and with them, a new wash of wetness spilled from your eyes, the deafening exhaustion of the sudden emotional outburst catching up to you swiftly.

“Everything? What’s everything, love? Tell me.” Starting from your hairline down, Simon led his fingers to wander along your spine, grazing past your shoulder blade with fingertips not just stroking but lightly pressing you further against him and you didn’t hesitate to take that invitation.

“ ‘M just so fucking stupid all of the time.”, The self-deprecation came pouring out without any warning, making you flinch from your own words, “Can’t even pour a cup of tea.”

Instead of resting his hand on your lower back, Simon let it wander further down quickly, fingers grasping at the round of your ass harshly as an imminent reminder that he didn't approve.

“Don't you dare talk like that about yourself.”, His tone rendered stern immediately, admonishing even, “You're very competent and a stupid mug won't change that, babe.”

Simon's sudden clasp at your behind caused you to whine out a wayward yelp, the sudden pang of pain rendering through you; helping.

“Again.” You uttered as the pain hadn't even begun to fade.

“Excuse me? Oh.” Simon picked up on it quickly, palming at your ass again, this time squeezing even harder, causing you to claw at his shirt and groan into the fabric.

The hurt emitting from his ministrations cut right through your clouded mind and changed the anger and frustration into humble atonement because you knew just fine that Simon wasn't fond of you talking about yourself this way, to say the least.

The tears stopped almost instantly as the sting of his hand working the muscle and flesh of your behind came as a saving grace, an addictive distraction to your over-triggered and used-up patience.

“Oh, so needy for some proper discomfort, hm? Poor thing.” His sharp taunt shot right between your legs, having you throb just because of carefully aimed words, “Need me to take care of that, yeah?”

Biting down on your bottom lip, you nodded, relief and bubbling excitement flushing the last remnants of your amplified self-hatred out of your thoughts.

“Alright, then be a darling and pick one thing, only one, from the kitchen and come back to me, got that?” You nodded again but that wasn't enough for Simon.

“Use your words.” He demanded harshly, underlining his point with his entire palm smacking your ass, making you jump against him, feeling that it was not just you getting worked up over this already.

“Understood, sir.” You uttered before sensing his hold on you easing up to let you go and pick your favored tool of torture.

The realization of just how hot your face was had already knocked the air from your lungs as you stepped back, turning back to the kitchen whilst Simon simply slumped down on the sofa, leisurely spreading his arms along the headrest. With a thrashing heartbeat and blood rushing down between your legs, your eyes hastily roamed over the counter; a wooden spoon? Too blunt. A bamboo chopstick perhaps? Not violent enough for your current cravings. Your gaze came back to the splintered porcelain and you lit up in unbridled masochistic excitement.

From behind, Simon watched you crouch down in front of the shards and splinters, his head slightly cocked to the side whilst you decided on the piece worthy enough to be brought back to him. Holding back a groan of his own, Simon ignored the throbbing need gradually straining against his jeans because this exquisitely escalating scenario required him to be fully there and not on some sex-crazed ego trip over your body and his release; there'd be more than enough to catch up to that later.

Having his eyes on you and following every single one of your moves had Simon pondering about what riled him up more: the fact that you had each other wrapped around your fingers or the way his freak matched yours so utterly perfectly.

For a swift moment, his eyes fluttered shut as he recalled one particular night where he'd spit on your tongue, had you swallow it and you’d thanked him with glazed-over eyes all because you had a rough day at work.

You just took so willingly and it left him so fully satisfied because your inner whore for pain and humiliation finally was a worthy counterpart to his nearly limitless sadistic creativity. Simon took a great deal of pride in being allowed to be the one providing all that for you in a safe and judgment-free space because you did the same for him. Without your consent and you offering your body to him like that, none of it would take place.

“This one, sir.” Simon’s eyes opened up again to find himself looking at a triangular-shaped piece of gray and red striped porcelain; he remembered to cup, picturing the whole piece in his mind.

“You sure?” A quick point of no-return safety question for the sake of both of you.

“Uh-huh.” You nodded vigorously and the wicked glint in your eyes painted a wide grin onto his face as he tapped at his thigh.

“C’mon then, get yourself out of those PJ shorts and sit with me for a while.” Simon inhaled deeply, taking the sharp piece of material from your grasp so you could just shimmy out of your frilly shorts without the danger of scratching yourself, which was reserved for only him to do.

You eagerly followed his demand and let the delicate satin fabric pool at your ankles before stepping out of the little pile of cloth and sitting yourself down in your superior's lap.

“There, there.” He hummed contently, one hand pulling you flush to his front whilst he nuzzled his lips into the crook of your neck, greedily mouthing at the sensitive skin.

Simon got you squirming in his lap without even so much as putting the sharp edge of porcelain to your skin and he unmistakably reveled in how needy you were for his attention, his touch, and guidance.

“Close your eyes, love.”, The deep timbre to his gradually more raspy tone caused a wash of goosebumps to roll over your body, nipples momentarily pebbling against your oversized sleeping shirt, “Feel that?”

With the entire width of his palm, Simon pressed the splinter against your thigh, squeezing the outlines of its shape into your skin, effectively coaxing a whine to fall from your bottom lip.

“I’m sure that that’s going to hurt so bad but that’s what you want, ain’t it? You’re such a deviant little glutton for punishment.” The combination of cool porcelain pushing against your leg and his words lulling you in, sparking a familiar, warm pang of shame and embarrassment to creep into your cheeks, had your stomach twitching and flipping.

“Uh-huh.” You mumbled anew, your head nodding along without you even really being aware of it.

“Hm, such a mess already, pathetic.”, Simon groaned into the curve of your neck, his free hand shamelessly groping at your cunt to keep you from toppling over, “Look at you braindead little dummy.”

“Ouw, mhmmm..” The weak exclamation of your discomfort upon Simon’s fingers taking hold of your crotch was met with a sly laugh.

“Oh, no, doesn’t that feel nice, yeah?”, He hummed against your throat before leading his index and middle finger to push between your labia, spearheading into you, “Haven’t even started, poor baby.”

You felt your walls clench down around his fingers, couldn’t help it to happen.

“Dumb little slut.”, Simon lifted his hand from your thigh, angling the very tip of the splinter against your skin, “Let’s see how you handle that, hm?”

Way before your body caught up to the sliver of cold followed by a distinct sting of pain as skin got torn, you mewled out in plain fear. One perfectly horizontal cut, from outside to inside of your thigh. Not threateningly deep but enough to tear through the first layers of skin, enough to draw blood.

“Good girls don’t hurt themselves, they wait for Daddy to do that, no?” Simon set the edge a little higher, not waiting for you to adjust to his ministrations before adding the next incision.

“What a fucking whore you are!” Simon couldn’t keep the filth spilling from his own mouth as he sensed you clenching down around his fingers again with each former and every next violation to your leg.

“Enjoying this so much, princess?” The gruff stubble of his dirty-blonde beard scratched against the crook of your neck.

“Hurts.. s’much, ouw, please, sir.” You muttered with quivering lips, brain unable to grasp if you already had enough or just kept wantonly stuttering for more.

“Oh, I know, love, but you asked for this, remember?” Yet another cut demolished your skin, little droplets of blood pooling out and sliding along the curve of your thigh.

Such a pretty sight, skin torn open and rivulets of red pearling down to both sides.

“Good little girl.”, Sir hummed, fingers drilling further into you, feeling how wet you were, how desperate, “Taking it so well.”

Again, tears burned at the corners of your eyes, this time from a very different flavor of overstimulation.

“Aw, are you going to cry now? Because you're getting what you asked for? Spoiled brat, really.” Simon tossed the bloodstained piece of gray and red onto the wooden panels below just to push his tumble across the swollen incisions, generously smearing the blood all over your thigh.

“Please…” You heard yourself rambling, mind entirely drunk with adrenaline and dopamine alike.

“Please what? C'mon, speak up, slut.” He demanded but you couldn't, not even if you put everything you had left to it, instead, your body simply let go, contractions spasming around his fingers, orgasmic convulsions rippling through every nerve ending.

Everything within was tethering on the edge between crumbling down or ascending, no in-between, only either or and Simon knew all too well. To keep you from tumbling, he took the hand from your thigh and wrapped it around your waist, softly pulling you closer.

“Issok, honey. I got you. It's over, you did so well, babe.”, The cascade of sweetness started trickling from his lips to pull your reeling mind back, “ I'm so proud of you. ‘M gonna spoil you rotten, I promise.”

“It hurts.” Was the only thing that managed to roll over your tongue, brain dominated by clashing sensations of pleasure, pain and awfully plain confusion about what to lean into.

“I know, love, I know, but we'll take care of that, yeah. Clean you all up and put disinfectant on it. Can you push through that for me?” In a gentle motion, Simon pulled his fingers out of you, now taking both arms to gingerly hold you close in a calming embrace.

“I dunno.”, You huffed, lungs gasping for air as if they suddenly remembered that oxygen came as rather vital, “It'll burn.”

“Yeah, it will, but I know you can be brave about that, no? We still gotta clean up after playing, hm.” Simon was right and you very well knew it, however, you still dreaded it and that made you laugh out.

“That's so stupid.” You shuffled in his lap, hands finding his thighs to hold on to, “I let you cut me with a broken cup but disinfectant, that's where I draw the line?”

It made Simon cackle just the same.

“Everybody has their hard limits, no?”

[babstheyaga]

no lube, no protection, all night, all day, from the kitchen floor to the toilet seat, from the dining table to the bedroom, from the bathroom sink to the shower, from the front porch to the balcony, vertically, horizontally, quadratic, exponent al, logarithmic, while i gasp for air, scream and see the light, missionary, cowgirl, reverse cow girl, doggy, backwards, forwards, sideways, upside down, on the floor, in the bed, on the couch, on a chair, being carried against the wall, outside, in a train, on a plane, in the car, on a motorcycle, the bed of a truck, on a trampoline, in a bounce house, in the pool, bent over, in the basement, against the window, have the most toe curling, back arching, leg shaking, dick thribbing, first clenching, ear rining, mouth drooling, ass clenching, nose sniffling, eye watering, eye rolling, hip thrusting, earthquaking, sheet gripping, knuckles cracking, jaw dropping, hair pulling. teeth jitterbug, mind blogging, soul snatching, overstimulating, vile, sloppy, moan inducing, heart wrenching, spine tingling, back breaking, atrocious, gushy, creamy, beastly, lip bitting, gravity defying, nail biting, sweaty, feet kicking, mind blowing, body shivering, orgasmic, bone breaking, world ending, black hole creating, universe destroying, devious, scrumptious, amazing, delightful, delectable, unbelievable, body numbing, bark worthy, cant walk, head nodding, soul evaporating, volcano erupting, sweat rolling, voice cracking, trembling, sheets soaked, hair drenched, flabbergasting, lip locking, skin peeling, eyelash removing, eye widening, pussy popping, nail stractching, back cuts, spectacular, brain cell desolving, hair ripping, show stopping, magnificent, unique, extraordinary, slendid, phenomenal, mouth foaming, heavenly, awakening, devils tangos, cliffjumper could put a nuclear bomb inside me and i'd still ride. (because of my bf i am even more obsessed with CJ cause he can do his tf prime voice really well 🥲💍)

[bokehmonn]

NSFW SO MINORS AWAY PLEASE-

Here's a little sneak peek of the SoapGhost VampAU I've been working on! Hope you guys like it I'm really sorry for being so slow. Life hasn't been very good to me and I've been trying to recover a little health wise as well🥲 but I hope you guys enjoy💕💕💕💕

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Simon barely had the chance to look over his shoulder before he was yanked through wrought iron gates and thrown onto mahogany floors.

His breath was knocked right out of his lungs as he tried to get his bearings to no avail.

From his peripheral, he could see something dart by him, the wind brushing over his cheek.

This wasn't right. 

This felt wrong in every sense of the word. The hairs on his arms and neck were up straight, his knuckles white from his clench fists. He slowly started to stand up, trying to ignore the trembling that had encompassed his entire being before he was knocked back on his knees

Even with the military training from his teens, he still wasn't sure if he could keep up. Sure, he'd dealt with his fair share of wild animals, but this? 

"Jesus fuckin CHRIST-" he yelped as he was dragged by the scruff of his hoodie further into building, his sneakers squeaking against the floor in retaliation.

With a punishing grip he grabbed onto the wrist holding him as leverage and twisted his body so he was back on his knees before pulling himself out of the hoodie and getting a proper look at the perpetrator.

Dark brown eyes widened at the sight of elongated fangs and a tousled but all too familiar mohawk.

"Soap?!"

Simon took a tiny lurch forward before stopping himself and getting a proper look at the brunette.

Nothing seemed right. Soaps body was a discordant mess of joints, shoulders hunched in like a perdator. His hands clawed and flexed as if ready to rip out Simons throat at the slightest move.

Every single cell in Simons body screamed at him to turn around and RUN but he had to school himself just like every other time.

Never move first.

His father's actions had taught him that lesson enough times for it to truly stick.

He willed himself to look into Soaps eyes only to feel his stomach plummet when he spots the glow of garnet with a ring of azure. Glinting as brightly as newly polished mirrors in the centre of black ink, they were honed in on the blonde, as unmoving as stone. He took in the appearance of his arms from his peripheral. Strong muscles bunching up at the tiniest of movements skin turning from a healthy tan to black all the way to his claws.

God he was screwed.

Simon didn't know how much longer he could keep his posture, his thighs starting to shake from holding his weight for an extended amount of time.

He blanched as Soap started to move. Not towards Simon but slowly hunkering down on all fours, nails digging into the wood.

He bared his teeth and Simon could have sworn up and down that Soaps teeth had gotten longer with a faint tint of red at the ends.

As much as he wanted to run he knew the best way to make a window of escape in an area he had no Intel on.

Violence and timing.

Simon let out a quick puff of air and tensed ready to take on anything thrown his way.

Soap let out a distorted howl loud enough to make Simon flinch as he launched himself straight at the blonde, hunger evident in his eyes. Simon crouched lower last second feeling a sense of pride as Soaps expression changed to confusion before driving his fist into Soaps stomach winding the man.

Simon took the opportunity to twist and grab the other in the most punishing chokehold he could manage, legs twisting around Soap to bring him to the ground.

He could hear the brunettes garbled wheezing and felt a glimmer of hope. If he could knock him out he could leave.

He doubled down on his efforts as Soap started to struggle his arms flailing as he tried to find purchase.

"You're not going anywhere you hear me? You're gonna stay still like a good man or I swear to fucking God- " Simon growled out as he leaned back trying to keep him from moving.

If only his luck were as good as his grades.

If only he spotted the feral grin Soap sported on his face as he pulled against Simons grip one last time finally lurching forward enough to gain some traction on the ground.

If only.

Simon let out a yell bordering between panic and confusion as he was hefted into the air, arms caught in Soaps vice like grip, before being slammed down onto the ground hard enough for black spots to dance in his vision.

He let out a rattling wheeze as he struggled to get a single breath in.

He could hear Soap getting up, boots thumping.

Despite his struggles breathing the adrenaline rushing through his veins was enough to make him scramble up and make a run for the door.

If he could just get out he could find a place to hide or even bolt back home if luck be on his side.

He was a mere few feet from the door-escape at the very tips of his fingers before it was yet again snatched from him as Soap barrelled into him from behind.

Talons dug into his shoulder and neck as Soap put every ounce of his weight on the other.

Simon clawed at the ground as he wriggled under the other man, trying to get free.

Nails burrowed into his shoulder deep enough to bleed and make the blonde cry out and give up moving altogether.

He could feel Soap lean in from behind, breath fanning over his ear sending a shudder down his spine.

"Caught you."

He moved his hand up Simons neck to lay over the side of his head leaving a thin trail of blood from the shallow gashes.

Soap pressed down harder as Simon tried to struggle again, curses leaving his mouth in a flurry.

"Soap get OFF!! The fuck do you think you're doing?! Are you insane? Wait till I get out of this I swear to fucking God I'm going to rip your fucking balls off you-"

"Shut up."

Terror washed over him like an ice cold bucket of water. Simon took in a shaky breath and looked over his shoulder as best he could to see Soap staring down at him coldly. It felt wrong- the face he was so used to seeing bright and cheery dawning such a foreign expression.

"Soap?" He wheezed, fingers flexing against the floor on reflex.

"I said. Shut. Up."

Soap pressed his forehead against the back of Simons neck taking a deep breath.

"Did you always smell this good Simon? Or is that just me?"

The way Soap said his name shouldn't have made him feel the way he did. The low growl had tendrils of warmth pooling in the pit of his stomach. The flush of blood in his cheeks made his face burn. His skin tingled where Soaps hands pinned him down.

He just wanted these feelings to /stop/.

Simon tried to wiggle only to have the brunette push his head down into the ground even harder, earning him a pained yelp.

He could hear Soap wet his lips before feeling a warm tongue drag over the wounds the claws had inflicted.

Simon tried his very best to suppress the full body shudder as Soap let out what had to be the most sinful groan he had ever heard in his life.

"Fuckin hell bonnie you taste even better than my wildest dreams." He whispered nipping at Simons ear before licking over the wounds again.

"I could just eat you right up."

Simon could practically HEAR the hunger in his voice.

"Don't you fucking dare Soap!!"

Soap grabbed a fistful of the blonde's hair yanking his head up.

Simon could feel the pinprick of fangs resting right over his pulse point.

He tried to truly struggle in one last ditch effort.

He was going to die.

All alone.

Somewhere no one would find him.

Just like his father had always said. 

He would die where no one would care to look.

Tears welled up in his eyes as he heard Soap chuckle quietly.

"I wanna hear you when you scream."

"Johnny-"

The sharp burn of fangs piercing his skin made the blonde freeze up for a second out of shock before the pain spread.

A moment in he realised someone was screaming. Then he realised it was himself.

It was too much. Too much. His skin was burning like he was set aflame. He could feel the pull of blood in his very being as Soap drank from him. The pain felt damn near unbearable but it felt so strange.

As much as it hurt it almost felt good. As if it were right on the boder of /too much/.

Simon felt like his mind was turning into mush. This was wrong-so wrong.

He couldn't do this.

He couldn't die like this.

He managed to pull an arm out from under Soaps thighs and elbowed the brunette hard enough to make him rip his fangs out.

Simon used the chance to twist around under him and push Soap as hard as he could before scrambling to his feet.

Only he couldn't keep his weight up and he came crashing down onto all fours in seconds.

He felt so weak. So tired. 

Yet every inch of him felt like it were bruning up. 

Everything was spinning. It felt odd. Too much movement. He shook his head, trying to shake off the dizziness.

He tried once again only to topple face first again. 

He could feel his own blood dripping into his tshirt making it stick uncomfortably.

"Johnny.." He wheezed, reaching up with trembling hands in a weak attempt to push him off again.

Bloodied hands held his against a strong chest.

"I've got you now."

If it were any other time, he could have listened to Soap talk all day. If he were brave enough, he would have leaned against the brunette and let the rumble of his chest lull him to sleep.

But he wasn't.

He wouldn't be able to become that brave ever again.

Soap grabbed the blondes thighs, hoisting it out of the way so he could settle between them. 

If Simon had much blood left he would have blushed at the act. 

He watched as Soap licked his  blood off his lips before leaning down knocking his temple against his almost gently.

"We're not done yet."

He let out a breathy form of protest.

It died quickly as fangs sunk back into his neck and the burning returned with a vengeance.

Simon let out a weak string of insults as he felt calloused hands stroke at the tears freely falling down his face. He would turn to ash at this rate. His skin tingled all over flushing from whatever concoction was coursing through his system. He could hear the whimpers and cries falling from his lips.

Heat pooled in his stomach like molten lava. All his nerves felt fried. Frazzled. Sensitive. His clothes felt too constricting. He was shaking like a leaf. The floor too cold under him.

It took a second for Simon to come to the sickening conclusion that he /liked/ it.

Simon let his hand roam over Soaps shoulder, grabbing onto the back of his shirt in a death grip as Soap ground down. 

A stuttered gasp slipped past Simons lips as he squeezed his eyes shut.

The friction felt so good. He wanted-no needed more.

The constant pull of blood forgotten as he arched his back trying to get just a little bit more of that feeling. An all too familiar ache that just needed to go away. He needed it gone. This wasn't the situation where he should be getting hard for gods sake.

Simons head hit the floor forcefully as Soap grabbed him by the hip and pinned him down. 

He wanted those hands all over him. He'd watched Soap at the field too many time eyes transfixed on his hands. Grabbing at the ball, opponents gear and pulling, running through his mohawk, anything Soap did with those hands sent Simons mind straight to the gutter. 

He just wanted them on his bare skin now. He'd do anything.

Why was he thinking like this?

"W-what did you do to me?" Simon whispered, hating how his voice shook.

Soap pulled back lips shiny from his blood. Simons arms flopped down to his sides.

"Feels good right?"

"The fuck..."

Soap licked his teeth clean before showing him a pink tinted fang.

"Covered in some loopy shit. Makes people go all weak kneed. And more from the looks of it. Depends on the person."

His eyes darted down to the tent in Simons pants.

Obsidian hands ran up to his chest and back down to hips wAnd more from the looks of it. Depends on the person."

His eyes darted down to the tent in Simons pants.

Obsidian hands ran up to his chest and back down to hips where they rubbed circles over the jutting bone as he ground against the blonde again.

Simon tried his best to focus on Soaps face as another sound bordering a whimper was ripped from his throat.

God knows it might be his last time seeing it. Even with the red eyes he still looks beautiful. Simon tried his level best to reach out.

Just once he wanted to feel the warm skin under his fingertips. He could hear the little hitches in his breath as he tried frantically to gain any semblance of control.

Soap seemed to have some mercy in him as he leaned down letting Simons fingers brush over his cheek and up into the buzzed side of his head.

God, he was so warm. So alive. Would he ever be able to feel this again? Would he wake up tomorrow thinking this was a dream? Would he be able to smell coffee and citrus again?

Simons eyes were starting to droop.

"Johnny please-"

"I'm not full yet."

Four words that broke him from his reverie.

"Always were a greedy little shit." Simon mumbled as he let his head fall back.

Fully surrendering.

Simon came to the conclusion that he'd do anything for Soap.

Absolutely anything.

Soaps hands tightened painfully as he bit down on the other side of Simons neck dragging out a broken whine.

Simon let curses and whimpers spill from his lips as Soap continued to grind against him. He couldn't think straight for the life of him.

"Johnny-"

He was shushed with a snarl as his sank his teeth in deeper, making Simons voice reach an all new pitch.

The blonde dragged his nails down Soaps side eyes rolling into his skull the second he felt a hand unbuttoning his jeans and finally stroking him at an unforgiving pace until he was seeing white.

It wasn't enough.

It would never be enough.

He wanted it to stop but at the same time he needed Soap to keep going. He wanted Soap to erase him entirely. Take everything that plagued him and make it disappear. He just wanted to rest. 

He let out a string of broken curses as his thighs shook from the exertion, back arched off the floor as he mindlessly begged for more. For anything. His vision was dark around the edges, his body so cold yet so warm.

Soap thumbed at the head smearing the precum gathered there and pressed down hard.

Simon cried out as he finally came shaking violently, thighs clamping down on Soaps side. Soaps hips stuttered as he finally came mere seconds after with a shaky grunt.

The brunette still hadn't had his fill it seemed.

Unbothered by Simon going boneless he kept stroking him through his orgasm until the overstimulation became too much and Simon begged for Soap to stop.

The blonde felt exhausted. He watched with glazed brown eyes as Soap finally pulled away with a look of pure satisfaction as he licked the come off his hand along with the blood on his chin.

Simon blinked slowly as he watched the red fade from his eyes and be replaced by the azure he adored so much.

He watched silently as Soaps face changed from blissful to confused to terrified as he yelled something. He couldn't make it out. Too muffled and faded.

His neck still burned with a dull throb in his shoulder. Simon let his eyelids flutter shut.

Finally.

Some fucking peace and and quiet.