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Announcement: my current fixation is Tom Riddle. Thank you.

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Teacher's Pet- Tom Riddle

Hello people, I plan to write a spicy one-shot with Tom Riddle but am stuck on which dynamic to establish between the characters. And don't worry, all characters will be of legal age with an age-gap of 18 and 23-ish

A/N: Been a while since I've written for Jason. Enjoy! Also, I don't know why it's all clumped together and it won't lemme fix it sigh

A year ago, if someone had told you that you'd be Theo Nott's dirty little secret, you would've looked at them like they were crazy.

Just like water and oil don't mix, Slytherins and Hufflepuffs belong in two distinct circles that never intersect. Especially when one is a Nott heir, belonging to a family ingrained on the altar of the Sacred Twenty-Eight and descended from one of the most revered and influential lineages. And the other- well, a halfblood witch with a father in a low-ranking position at the Ministry and a muggleborn mother who owns a humble florist in Diagon Alley.

But here you are, as you have been for the past seven months, leaning against the edge of a dusty table in an abandoned classroom. Waiting. Sometimes he comes, sometimes he just leaves you standing there. You wonder if it is a way of reminding you that you're beneath him. That one day, he can just stop whatever this is and you'll have no choice but to accept it.

No. But he has to come. Tonight, he's left you with a note, summoning you, and you hate the way your heart did that foolish leap when you'd read it. Like it meant that he wanted you.

You know where to go. Don't be late, it read. It'd been unsigned, but you knew immediately that it was him.

Really, you should feel a deep sense of humiliation that you so readily embrace him each time he chooses to show up. Like he's the prize. Like he's some sort of drug that you had a taste of once and became addicted to, craving another dose every night you can get it.

Theo disregards you in the hallways, brushing right past you with his group of infamous friends as though you're no more than a stranger. In the Great Hall, his eyes scan the room, jumping right over your hopeful gaze from the Hufflepuff table, and when he does acknowledge you, it's a flat, bored-sounding greeting of your last name. One time, you'd tripped and spilled the pile of books in your arms all over the library floor, and he didn't even spare a glance. He just kept walking.

He treats you like you're no more than chewed gum stuck on the bottom of his boots, and pathetically, you continue to gravitate towards him like moth to a flame.

The door creaks open, illuminating a sliver of the corridor light into the dim room. Theo steps inside, clicking the door shut behind him. Within these four walls, the world is reduced to whatever fucked-up arrangement the two of you share.

His gaze lands on you, catatonic eyes unbetraying as he closes the distance, until you can smell the intoxicating scent of smoke, aged-parchment, and something so uniquely him that plagues you in your sleep.

"You received my note," he mutters. Not sorry for being an hour late. Not how have you been. But a rhetorical question that cannot be more painfully obvious as you stand before him and nod.

"Alright," Theo breathes, and then his hand pulls you in by your nape, holding you by the back of your neck as his mouth crashes down onto yours, hungrily and fervently. You respond with a soft sound that's swallowed by a familiar dance of fighting tongues and clashing teeth.

It's confusing, the way he ignores you and pretends you're non-existent, only to find you in the dark, and kiss you in this all-consuming manner that has your mind spiralling and thighs clenching with a pulsating desire.

Your fingers find the hem of his shirt, slipping beneath the fabric to find his smooth skin, leading up to his toned chest. Theo pulls apart, a heated glimpse there and gone in his eyes as both your chests rise and fall with a soft rhythm.

"Bend over," he instructs, demanding and direct. And you do, turning around immediately. Your hands find the edge of the table, back facing him and arc softly.

Behind you, you hear the unmistakable buckle of a belt undoing and a small, imperceptible exhale before your skirt is pulled up and you feel Theo's fingers pushing your dampened panties to the side.

Theo releases a low groan as the pad of his thumb gathers on your slick, circling at your clit. Once. Twice. Then he pushes it inside, drawing a soft sound from your lips. "You're soaked," he mumbles, fucking you with his thumb before replacing it with two fingers- one ring-clad, stretching you open slowly.

"Theo," you whine, his name wrapped in a quiet plea, fingers digging into the hard, wooden surface.

"What do you want want? Tell me."

You. For you to stay.

"Your cock. Fuck me," you breathe, "please."

Theos' fingers withdraw, and you see in the reflection of the tinted window, him using your wetness as lube, stroking himself briefly. You watch him as he positions his tip-bulbous and ready- rubbing from your clit to your entrance, a firm hand gripping down on your hip.

Theo thrusts forward in one sharp movement, sheathing himself completely, and you feel yourself splitting open on his girth, stretched beyond relief. A loud, wanton sound tears from your lips as you hear him hissing softly at the same time, "Fuck." His jaw tightens, "Fuck, you're so tight."

He spares you a few seconds to accommodate his size, despite it being the umpteenth time of you taking him. Slowly, the sting subsides and morphs into a satisfying pleasure as Theo pulls out before feeding himself into you once more, this time, inch by inch.

His thumb finds your clit again, pressing down firmly and moving in a circular motion as his hips begin to move, thrusting into you at a steady pace at first, then picking up into a faster, rougher rhythm that has your lower stomach rapidly tightening with a well-acquainted sensation.

You squeeze around him inadvertently, and hear the grunt that he slips. You can't help it, squeezing around him twice more, just to hear the sound.

Theo responds by gathering your hair in his hand, wrapping it around his palm and tugging. "You know what you're doing," he snarls, delivering longer, deeper thrusts that slant so perfectly, grazing that spot within you that has your brows knitting with focus, and vision hazing.

"Squeezing around me so nicely," Theo murmurs so lowly you nearly miss it, "you feel perfect."

Perfect. The last word makes your heart flutter involuntarily.

"Theo," you whimper, feeling the knot in your stomach building more intensely with each time he slams into you. Or perhaps you say it for the sake of calling out his name.

Your hand reaches back mindlessly, not knowing what you're reaching for, but for a brief second, he responds with a brush of his fingers before gripping onto your wrist, holding it behind your back. Theo's hold around your hair releases and the tussled strands frame your face.

"Theo... I'm going to-" An overwhelming pressure washes over you as your thighs tremble, back arching into him, as you come undone around his cock with a shuddered breath.

Theo doesn't relent, albeit he groans at the feeling of you constricting around him once more. Instead, he continues to fuck into you. Harder. Rougher. Deeper. Faster.

The hold he has on your hip grows bruising and you feel the gradual shift of his thrusts, becoming less rhythmic, more erratic. Theo lets go of your wrist, hand finding your hair again. This time, when he pulls at it, the force is enough to draw a gasp from your throat as he brings your head close enough that you feel the warmth of his breath brush the shell of your ear.

You can feel the sensation again. But you also feel the unmistakable, dull throb of his cock inside you. It seems he feels it too as Theo murmurs, "Come again. Come for me." And you both unravel, falling apart together.

Theo fucks you through your orgasm, and that makes it all the more fervid. His face buries into the crook of your neck, and for a few still seconds, the room is so hushed you can hear the rush of blood in your ears, the pounding of your heart against your chest. Heavy. Strained.

Then he pulls out, head lifting from your shoulder, and the absence leaves you feeling achingly blank despite the trickle of his warm, sticky residue spilling out from your swollen pussy, dribbling down your inner thigh.

You don't dare look for him in the window's reflection this time, afraid of what you'll see. Instead, you hear it as you struggle to catch your breath- the methodical sound of him pulling his pants back up, fastening his belt as though it's just another step in his daily routine. Perhaps it has become one.

Silence stretches between you. For a beat, then several more. Footsteps retreat as you remain bare and spent, quivering faintly in the newfound breeze, your legs still unsteady from his rough touch.

A pause.

The door clicks shut with a quiet finality that finally urges you to turn around. But when you do, glancing over your shoulder, you find he's gone again, leaving behind only the faint trace of his cologne.

You know better than to expect more. You know better than to indulge the fantasy that one night- just once- he'll stay, or that he'll say something to you afterwards. That he'll treat you more than just a warm body.

The burning sting of his cold departure and apparent indifference settles deep into your bones, lingering long after you return to the dormitories and crawl into bed.

Hours pass before exhaustion finally drags you into an uneasy slumber. Even then, your mind remains consumed by the ache he left behind- so consumed that your eyes never once drift to the thinly folded note resting atop your nightstand. The one that hadn't been there before you left.

You're more than what you think you are

- T.N

A/N: Two posts in a day, I'm impressed with myself. All likes, comments, reblogs appreciated and keeps me motivated!

A= Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

-If you're merely a hookup, do not expect any coddling or care from Tom. You've arrived, served your purpose, and now, it's time for you to leave. Despite it being way past curfew, Tom will not allow you to stay. He's made it clear from the start that the sex is purely transactional.

-The next morning, you wake up to find a familiar scribbled note paired with a fluorescent vial on your nightstand. "Fetus deletus," the label on the vial reads, and the note: "Take it before breakfast."

-But if you're dating, aftercare is vastly different. Tom will wipe you down with a warm towel, and run you a bath with epsom salt and your favourite scented essence. He'll probably do it with an expression that makes it look like a chore, but the tentativeness of his touch says otherwise.

-Definitely, he's the type to take precaution. "Go to the bathroom," he'll instruct, in that non-negotiable tone of his. He always makes you pee after sex. And as you do so, he makes you a warm cup of chamomile tea with a few droplets of the contraceptive potion he'd acquired from Madam Pomfrey. No way he'll let his girl be burdened with pregnancy whilst they're still in school.

-If he'd been particularly rough or had any reason to leave marks on your skin during sex, he'll lay you on the bed and apply some soothing balm or ointment to ease the sting.

-If you're hungry, he'll bring you to the kitchen, using his Head Boy privilege to bypass curfew, or summon an elf to bring in a light snack. Then he'll make sure you get adequate sleep to not fall behind in class tomorrow, watching you fall into a state of deep slumber, before he is able to rest himself.

-The softness that he displays is a stark contrast to the way that he usually manhandles you in bed.

B= Body part (their favourite body part of themselves as well as their partner’s)

-On himself, Tom likes his hands. They're long, nimble, and nicely shaped. They're his greatest tools, in duels, in conjuring, in practising his skills.

-They also make you writhe and twist in pleasure, and they make a pretty necklace when they're wrapped around your neck. His favourite thing that they do, however, has to be the reddened imprints that they leave on the curve of your ass when you give him a reason to. On the days following, he'll check up on them, almost feeling a sense of satisfaction watching them slowly fade away, though you always test him enough for him to add more before the old ones have completely vanished.

-On you, Tom likes your lips. The way they purse so easily and pout when you don't get the way you want. The way they huff and spew clever remarks, only for you to be chastised and pinned beneath him until you're whining apologetically for saying the things you said.

-He likes the way they look after a hungry kiss, the way they're slightly bruised and swollen but still asking for more. The way they part and stick out your tongue when he asks you to "open", they way they look painted and smeared with his cum.

C= Cum (Anything to do with it basically)

-As aforementioned, Tom likes the way his cum looks smeared across your lips. He is also not opposed to cumming on your face, especially when you cross him and he's in a particularly jealous mood. The sight is almost demeaning, and he feels oddly turned on that you'll let him.

-He'll always demand that you swallow to the point that he doesn't even have to ask anymore, just tapping the head of his cock on your lips or on your cheek. He watches as your throat works, the small wince at the slightly salty and bitter taste, then stick your tongue to show that it's gone.

-His favourite place to cum will always be inside you though. This way it feels like he's not wasting anything at all. Tom appreciates the view of the Black Lake at night, and the constellations that splay across the sky at the Astronomy Tower, but his favourite view is when he pulls out of your tight pussy and sees as his warm, sticky cum spill out of you, dripping down your thigh.

-He takes his fingers and scoops them, fucking it back into you, mentally fantasising of the day he doesn't need you to take the anti-pregnancy potion anymore and you can finally be swollen with his heir. Then he stuffs his finger in your mouth for you to suck. "Clean your own mess. Good girl."

D= Dirty secret/ fantasies (pretty self explanatory)

-Due to Tom's possessive nature, he's had some pretty...dark thoughts that keep him sated when his mind spirals.

-First, there's the temptation of fucking you on Dumbledore's desk, simply to spite the Professor that he's never been able to charm.

-Then there's the fantasy of fucking you in front of his knights- the Knights of Walpurgis- to stake his claim and make a statement. He'll have you bent across the head of the table or spread open for all of them to watch, reminding that you are only his to touch and have, whereas the rest of them can only ogle like starved dogs. This thought is most prominent when you flounce around in your short skirt that he disapproves of, or dare to flirt with Rosier or Dolohov to get his attention. Maybe if you push him enough, he really will make this true.

-Now, now, Tom would be lying if he says that the thought of using a curse on you has never crossed his mind. Perhaps not Crucio, or any of the ones that will really hurt or scar you. But one that will shock you or sting just enough when you least expect it, imagining the way that the pain will blend with bliss and you'll tighten around him further, gripping onto him like a lifeline.

E= Experience (how experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

-Contrary to what some may think, Tom is quite experienced.

-Even though he's always been ridden with responsibilities, patrols, appearances at Slug Club, studying, and secret meetings with the Knights, Tom occasionally also needed a sexual outlet for his frustration and stress. Hence, before you came along, he had hookups.

-Tom was just so incredibly careful with who he selected (to hookup with) and secretive with them- demanding silence and confidentiality from every women that warmed his bed- that no one knew about it.

-When you started to date, you realised just how good, no, outstanding he is in fucking, just like everything else he does. He knows your body so much better than yourself, almost like he studied the female anatomy to know exactly which places to press and hold, where to angle his thrusts, and how to bend his fingers.

F= Favourite position/s (this goes without saying)

-Tom prefers positions where he's on top or feels empowered. Positions where he has the upper hand and can control what you see, feel, or how much you can move.

Doggy: He likes to have you bent over, cheek pressed into the mattress or face buried into his pillow, muffling your sounds. He'll have his hand on the back of your neck or hair wrapped around his palm so that he can tug your head back and control how deeply you take him. Oftentimes, he has a hand placing pressure on your lower back, correcting your arch. "You can do better than that, love. Stay up right, or don't even think about coming." "Arch. More. Spread your legs wider."

Flatiron: Similar to doggy, but you're fully flat on the bed. He likes how this position allows him to hit deeper spots inside you and give more stimulation, drawing more sounds from you.

Cockwarming: Okay. Not a position, but whenever he's doing late night studying or finishing an assignment but you're getting restless, he'll have you push your panties to the side and sink down on his cock. Tom will have you sit still, burying your face in the crook of his neck until he's done, murmuring a warning, "Don't you move." If you start to become whiny, squeezing around him, he'll disengage immediately and deliver a sharp smack to your ass.

- Cockwarming is also used by him as a form of punishment. But when it is, he'll have your back facing him instead, a hand wrapped around your front to hold you in place as he holds his wand to your swollen and sensitive clit. Then he'll use a stimulation or vibration spell on you until you've made an utter mess on his lap, forming a creamy ring on the base of his cock without him needing to even thrust once.

G= Goofy (how serious are they in the moment? Humorous ect)

-No. You're out of your mind if you think Tom would ever crack a joke or do something like tickle you.

-In fact, if you ever laugh at him, he'll probably narrow his eyes and go harsher, rougher, harder.

-Then, when you've drifted off to sleep, it would plague his mind and Tom would stay up for a long, long time thinking about it because what did he do that could've possibly been funny?

H= Hair (how well groomed are they and what do they prefer in a partner?)

-Personally, Tom is always going to be trimmed. He takes hygiene and cleanliness very seriously and it feels unkempt to not tidy himself. Just as the hair on his head is always impeccably groomed, so is the hair down below. He'd never fully shave though.

-In a similar manner, he'd expect his partner to also be groomed and tidy. Maybe not completely shaven bare, but at least, also trimmed. It's not for aesthetic purposes but rather, he takes it as a form of selfcare. If you forget to and it's a little overgrown, he won't care too much. He'll still fuck you, of course, but it's just a preference.

-If you're a hookup, Tom cannot care less.

I= Intimacy (how do they act during sex? How do they express intimacy?)

-Before you, sex was not an intimate thing. But things have changed, and intimacy can be seen in the way his thrusts are deeper and more measured, given in longer strokes, in the way he holds you more possessively, rather than fast and quick, with little regard to the receiver's pleasure.

-Eye-contact is intimate to Tom. He'd strictly fucked his hookups from the back and taken them in positions where they're restricted so he can see all of them, but they can only feel. With you, he'll let you face him and see the expressions on his face (or the rare glimpses of them, at least).

-Most importantly, aftercare is intimate. As aforementioned, the difference in aftercare if you're dating and someone he cares about is stark compared to what you get if you're just a hookup.

J= Jack off (do they and how often)

-Like I said, Tom has always had hookups. He's never been shy of having women throw themselves at him, offering themselves, desperately wanting to warm his bed.

-Tom has a high libido but an even higher sense of control. In rare cases, when he really needed to relief himself, then he'd find a hookup, or later, you.

-Tom can probably count the number of times he'd jerked off with his fingers. The main reason he has done so in the past is because he's exhausted you too much and thinks you've taken enough for a night or fallen too deeply asleep.

- In those cases, he'll palm himself, swiping a thumb over his leaking tip, and delivering hard strokes whilst imagining that it's you instead. Even better if you're lying next to him asleep.

K= Kinks (what they’re into whether it’s for their partner or themselves)

Condescension/Dumbification: I can't explain it. He just does. It might be because it strokes his ego or that it serves you well when you're being a brat. Tom just loves knowing the effect he has on you and thoroughly enjoy seeing your delirious, brainless trance when he fucks you rough.

"Look at you, is that brain of yours still working?"

"The only time you're quiet is when you've got your mouth stuffed full of my cock. Starting to think you do this on purpose."

"What's wrong, love? Too much for you to handle?"

"Have I fucked you stupid? Maybe this is all that you're good for, love."

"So pathetically wet. Be honest, do you think before you act, or do you just think with your cunt?"

Brat-taming: Tom tolerates no disrespect, no backtalk, no disloyalty. But it never fails to amuse him that despite the amount of times he has you bent over his lap, writhing and pleading, telling him you're sorry for being a brat or flirting with a Knight to get on his nerves, you still manage to do it again. Each time you reoffend him, his punishments grow harsher, his spanking harder, his thrusts rougher.

"Please Tommy, I'm sorry, I won't do it again-"

"Quiet." Smack. "Now, count. Twenty. Forget or count wrong and we'll be here all night until you get it right."

"You think you're so smart, don't you?" Smack. "Being a brat, bending over the desks and brushing Abraxas' hand." Smack. "He knows who you belong to. The question is whether you do."

"If you want attention, speak to me instead of acting like a child. Do you understand?"

Praise: Surprise surprise! To Tom, praise is all about control, as is everything else. He enjoys praising you because it's so rarely given out from him, that the reaction he receives each time always amuses him. He knows his lack of praise makes you work harder to earn it, and it makes it all the sweeter when you finally get it.

"You can be such a good girl when you want to be, hm?"

"Taking me so well, that's my girl."

"The best girl for me, aren't you? I wish the others could see how good you can be when you decide to behave and listen."

Honorary mentions: somnophilia, dacryphilia, overstimulation, breath-control, restrained sex

L= Location (where are they doing the do?)

Hookups:

-The most frequent place you'll be summoned to is the Room of Requirement. It is private, secretive, convenient, and lacks a personal touch which makes it perfect to reinforce that sex is purely transactional.

-He would refrain from bringing you back to his room because there's no reason why you need to see his personal space. He also wouldn't want you touching or coming into contact with important documents, confidential notes or correspondances.

Dating:

-Before 7th year, he had to share a dormitory with his Knights, and even though they would all disperse and let him have the dorm to himself if he ever asked, he didn't like sharing a space because he never had a place of his own as a child.

-So it used to be his prefect's office during school hours or the prefect's bathroom after curfew so that you would be alone without distraction.

-Then came 7th year and his personal dorm because of Head Boy privileges. That became the primary space although he still calls you into his office when the situation is dire.

-If Tom ever trusts you enough, he'll bring you to the Chamber of Secrets.

M= Motivation (what turns them on and gets them going)

-Tom is very prideful, and if he ever feels challenged or jealous, he'll often reclaim control through sex. Once you realised this flaw of his, you would purposely try to rile him up to get his attention when he's busy, and this is what leads to you being brattamed.

-Another motivation is when you wear something of his or make it known to others that you're his girl. This includes wearing the necklace he buys you, telling others that you're proud of his achievements, or clinging onto him publicly even though he'd probably push you away a little or act like he doesn't like it. He makes a mental note to reward you that night.

N= No (things that they absolutely won’t do and turn offs)

-Tom's childhood experience of being alienated from the other children and lacking a sense of belonging means that he'll never allow himself to not have the upper hand again.

-He'll never submit or relinquish his control, no matter how much he trusts you. You can beg and beg for days to let you take control just once, but every time, he'll be firm and tell you know. Push and you'll be punished or he'll pull away.

-The only time you'll be on top of him besides cockwarming is if you're riding him. Even then, he's the one with the ultimate reign, holding your hips to guide, manipulating your movements, thrusting upwards.

O= Oral (how skilled are they with their mouths? Givers or receivers?)

-Tom prefers receiving, always. Seeing you on your knees for him, so eager to drop down, and looking up at him with expectant eyes will never not turn him on.

-The sensation of your warm mouth and soft lips wrapping around his cock, your tongue tracing the length of him and the way your eyes grow glossy as you take him too far is a picture he'll never forget. Especially when you swallow or have his cum smeared over your lips (as discussed under 'C').

-This doesn't mean that he won't give. And the fact that he's never once gone down on any of his hookups most certainly does not mean he's not good at it. Oh, he's immaculate.

-However, Tom will only give head if you've behaved extraordinarily. It's given as a reward, and only as a reward.

-He'll have your legs propped on his firm shoulders, as his tongue draws shapes on your clit that has you seeing stars, sucking and licking with just the right amount of pressure to have you squeezing your thighs around his head and tugging on his hair for more.

-The ultimate move is when his tongue thrusts into your sopping hole, fucking into you, before his mouth closes on your clit again, resuming on sucking as he pushes two of his long, thick fingers inside, stretching you open to provide the most shuddering and incredible dual sensation.

-The entire time, his gaze is transfixed on you, observing and noting every reaction, seeing you fall apart on his mouth.

P= Pace (Do they usually go rough and fast? Or slow and sensual?)

-The usual pace that Tom sets is fast and rough, but deep. Always deep. His thrusts are so deliciously measured, always satiating you, hitting every spot, drawing out every sensation.

-When he's jealous or angry or feeling possessive, he's even rougher, and you often have to ask him to "slow d-down, Tommy, please," and "it's too much-" only for him to respond by intensifying further, "Take it. I'll tell you when we stop." or "You'll take what I give you, and afterwards, you'll say thank you. Understand?"

-However, sex is even more consuming and fervent when it's slow. Now, again, this will only ever happen if you've been extremely good or he's feeling guilty about something (such as missing a date at Hogsmeade).

-He'll have you in missionary or with your knees pressed to your chest, folded like a pretzel as he withdraws until only the tip of him remains before gradually feeding himself back in, making his thrusts long and languid, fucking into you nice and slow. Every sensation is prolonged, and your orgasm comes in waves, even more powerful than usual, making your back arch and thighs tremble, until you're crying out his name and shaking.

Q= Quickies (their opinion on quickies and how often it happens if it does)

-With his hookups, it was always quick and brisk, with minimal contact, and doing only what was necessary.

-However, with you, he'd like to take his time and do things slowly. Even if the most common pace he sets is fast and rough, he likes to stretch out the foreplay, teasing you slowly until you're at edge of the pinnacle, before pulling away and starting again.

-As aforementioned, sometimes, he does need you urgently or in between classes. In those instances, he'll send for you and pull you into his office or an abandoned classroom (albeit rare), brushing your skirt down when he's done and pressing a small kiss to your temple before the two of you resume your routines.

R= Risk (are they a fan of taking risks? Do they like to experiment?)

-Just as he has a dark fantasy of fucking you and putting you on display in front of his knights, Tom has an unexplored desire of exhibitionism. Although, it's less about the risk of getting caught, but rather a matter of staking control, showing you off, and reinforcing to his subordinates that they can watch, but never touch.

-Internally, this heavily wars with his need to keep the vulnerable side of you private and solely his. A side of him wants to ensure that he's the only one that can see you bare and hear the sounds that he rip from you.

-Those are one some of the only things that belong to him, and he's in constant contemplation of whether he will ever share it.

S= Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?)

-Usually, he will expect at least two rounds from you. Once as you fall apart on his fingers or grinding against his thigh or lap, and once as he fucks you on his cock.

-Two rounds is the normal and what usually tires you out, but sometimes, after you've come around him, squeezing him tight, he'll contort you into another position and go again.

-Tom has high stamina and can last for a long time, but this is because he needs far more stimulation to release than you do. For every two or three times you come, he'll probably come once.

-Maintaining two rounds is for your sake. But if you egg him on and give him a reason to overstimulate you, he will continue for multiple rounds. If he is determined to edge you, be prepared to be sexually frustrated for hours.

T= Toys (do they own any? Do they use them?)

-Tom's wand is the only tool he needs. Besides, toys feel like a muggle thing and the thought of buying them from a shop feels beneath him.

-Instead, he'd conjure up invisible restraints to tie you up and restrict your movements, holding your hands above your head and binding your ankles together so that you're unable to move when you're being particularly difficult.

-He'd amplify your sensations using a spell before casting a vibrating enchantment, pressing his wand against your tortured clit if he wishes to overstimulate you.

-For anything you can think of, Tom can find a way to achieve it with his wand and magic, and accomplish a better job than a measly toy ever can.

U= Unfair (how much do they like to tease?)

-Nothing is ever fair with Tom Riddle, come on. Academically and socially, he's never been opposed to using deceit and his cunning to rise. What makes you think that he'll be fair in bed?

-After denying you of orgasm for an hour, he'll tell you, "one more and you can come," only to deprive you again. His only response is, "I changed my mind."

-Whereas he can be fully clothed with his dignity intact, he'll have you fully stripped and bare, exposing every bit of skin as you grind down on his covered thigh until you've made a wet patch on the fabric of his pants.

-Sometimes, he'll have you blindfolded, ridding you of your vision, and have you tied up, ridding you of your ability to move, as he spends hours to tease and touch you until you break apart with your remaining senses heightened.

V= Volume (how loud are they? What sounds do they make?)

-Tom is not too vocal during sex. But he's a grunter and groaner more than he moans. They're low and rare from him, and mostly only slip past his lips when he comes undone.

-His pleasure is shown in the way his movements change imperceptibly, the faltering of his rhythm and the pulse of his cock for just a moment. Besides, his sounds are often drowned by the loud and wanton ones he pull from you anyway.

W= Wildcard (an unexpected headcannon for the character)

-Well, Tom's mastery of Legilimency is one of the core reasons why he's so good at controlling your body, reading your micro-expressions, and why it's impossible to trick him and sneak an orgasm when he decides to deprive you.

-Not that he needs to use Legilimency, especially when he's grown to be so attuned to your patterns and signs, but it definitely helps.

-You'll feel a slight pressure in your mind, almost like he's whispering for you to let him in, and hear his low hum in approval when you relent. When he's inside your head, the connection is nearly indescribable, like you're submitting to him in more ways than one. The pleasure is also always stronger, like the two of you are one instead.

X= X-Ray (let’s see what’s going on beneath those clothes)

-Everything about this man is long. His fingers, his vision, and of course, his cock. Around nine inches, thick with girth too.

-The head is flushed with a darker pink, with a more prominent vein running from the tip to the base on the underside that you can feel so clearly when it drags against your walls and stretches you out.

-Slightly curved to the left and up, perfectly hitting all the spots inside you that make your eyes roll to the back of your skull and vision white with pleasure.

Y= Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

-High, but like I said, it's mostly restrained.

- He can choose to address it or not, though he's always had a way to solve it. Whether with his old line-up of eager hookups, or now, with you.

Z= Zzz (how fast do they fall asleep afterwards?)

-Tom has undiagnosed insomnia. This might be due to his difficult childhood at Wool's Orphanage, and the conditions he had no choice but to fall asleep in each night, with the distant cries of the other children and the cold seeping into his bones beneath the thin scrap of a blanket he had.

-He often occupies himself with late night reading, notetaking ahead of class, or making himself a warm cup of tea, watching as you fall asleep.

-Hours later, he'll finally join you, tucking you into his side and brushing a light strand of hair from your face with a vulnerability that no one else will ever experience or see.

-Even though he struggles with sleep, the best he's had is definitely with you lain next to him.

A/N: This took me way too long and is definitely the most that I've ever written, but I hope I did Tom justice y'all. All likes, reposts, comments are appreciated!!

The one thing that Theo Nott does best is fucking his girl silly. He's got your knees pressed to your chest, deepening the angle of his thrusts so deliciously right. His hips pistol against yours, the slick sound of skin on skin amplified by Muffliato on the walls, and the mixed scent of musk and sex wafting through the air.

His palm wraps around the base of your neck- firmly- but not enough to choke. He squeezes lightly, just enough to manipulate your breathing. Once. Twice. His fingers turn your face to the side so that your flushed cheek is pressed into the mattress, tussled strands of hair splaying all over his bed.

As he picks up his speed, fucking into you rougher, faster, even more intensely, he hits that spot inside of you repeatedly, the one that makes your vision haze. His thick cock drags against your spongey walls, and your thighs begin to give, only for Theo to tap your cheek in correction, tutting, "Look at you. All you have to do is lay pretty and take my cock. Is that so hard, bella?"

Promptly, he adjusts your position so that your legs can rest on his shoulders. He pulls out until only his tip remains before slamming back inside, sheathing himself entirely as he feels you sucking him in deeper somehow. "Lazy girl, can't even hold yourself up right," he taunts. "But you take me so well," he drawls, "the tightest fucking pussy. It's like you're made for me to fuck, hm?"

At this point, your body's beginning to grow slack, and your speech is gradually growing incoherent. When your lips part with effort, all you can manage to muster is a few slurred babbles, "Ngh...no....n-no...'m n-not-"

Utterly pathetic.

"Aren't you, tesoro?" Theo breathes out a small amused breath then, his hand unwrapping from around your neck only to grip at your cheeks instead, tilting your dazed expression towards him. He drags a thumb down on your swollen lower lip, smearing spit all over your mouth, painting an artwork on his most beautiful canvas. "Can't even form the right words, and you're denying that this is not all that you're good for."

"My dumb baby," Theo huffs, "fucked stupid on my cock already." When he feels the familiar, tell-tale sign of you clenching unconsciously around him, his free hand travels downwards to find your sore clit with ease. His thumb places pressure on your clit and he pinches down lightly, drawing an unrestrained moan from your lips, all wanton and sensitive. "Your brain just can't handle it, can it? Theo taps at your temple with a low chuckle. "Probably all mushed up in there. Don't tell me it's completely empty, tesoro."

"So pretty when you're cockdrunk. 'S the only time you haven't got anything bratty to say." Theo brushes a rogue strand of hair away from your face with a gentleness that starkly contrasts the vulgarity of his crude words. "Gonna come for me again?" he asks sardonically, "d'you think you have it in you?"

Being the gentleman that he is, he spares you a few seconds to respond, slowing down on the pace of his thrusts imperceptibly. But when the response arrives in the form of a mere, broken whimper, Theo can't help but to laugh. His ego is completely stroked and a new rush of blood is pumped straight to his cock. "Two more and you're done," he muses, voice dripping with faux sympathy and thoughtfulness. "I know you can take two more for me. You're my good girl, aren't you?"

It's a good thing that his dumb baby can't count too well, for the night stretches on and on and on. Theo continues to split you open wider, fucking into you until you're reduced to a senseless, quaking, and leaking mess. He fucks into you until your poor, sodden pussy remembers the exact shape and curve of his cock, feeling him long after he's pulled out and left you in a sticky puddle of his milky cum.

A/N: Enjoy guys! Not proofread but uhm yeah!

Tom Riddle is not a jealous partner.

Why?

Because jealousy is shallow and juvenile- a sign that one is unable to control their emotions, and an implicit admission that they believe they are not as good as the person they envy.

As someone who receives outstanding grades, glowing praise from every professor, a former prefect, and a Head Boy with a myriad of achievements, jealousy is beneath Tom Riddle. It's a weak, sentimental indulgence he simply cannot afford. A frivolous behaviour he refuses to entertain.

So if you decide to provoke him- to test or rile him up as a way to draw his attention- he'll not give you the satisfaction of starting a scene.

He'll remain steadily calm throughout Transfiguration as he observes the way your hand purposefully lingers and grazes against Rosier's whilst exchanging notes.

He offers no objection when you choose to partner up with Abraxas instead for a Potions assignment, despite the fact that he's Slughorn's star student. He simply returns to his cauldron, stirring with measured precision whilst mentally noting how close you've drifted to the blond, playfully flicking moondust onto his side of the bench.

As the day wears on and evening settles over Hogwarts with students gathering in the Great Hall, Tom cuts at his roast beef and sips from his goblet with his usual composure. Beside him, you laugh a little too enthusiastically at Mulciber's moronic joke and drawl, "Oh Mulciber, you're too funny."

You take a bite of the food from your plate, discretely glancing sideway towards Tom who sits primly with an impeccable posture by your side. Nothing. Not a clench of his jaw or a clipped remark. Not even a tightened grip on his drink.

If he notices your transparent attempts, he hides it well. Tom merely dabs his mouth with a napkin before rising from his seat, quietly excusing himself to retire early for the night.

His departure sends a small pang of disappointment stirring deep in your stomach. Had you really spent the entire day orchestrating schemes to make him jealous...only for him to remain completely unreactive?

Does he even care at all?

By the time you return to the Slytherin common room, the dungeons are veiled with a misty blanket of pale moonlight, serene and utterly quiet with only the distant trickle of a fountain and the occasional breeze of the castle's ghosts travelling about.

At this time, most of the girls' dormitory has fallen asleep, except for the dull, incremental rhythm of a grandfather clock. You're just about to crawl into bed when you spot it.

A small note written in a familiar, elegant script rests neatly atop your nightstand: "Come to my dorm. It'll be wise to not keep me waiting- T.M.R"

Back arched in a humiliating position, smudged mascara streaks down your cheeks, mingling with a broken stream of frustrated yet blissful tears. Your face is buried in his pillows, and the firm grip he has on the back of your neck does little to stifle the string of pleading noises that slip from your swollen lips.

"P-Please Tom-" You whine with a wet sniffle, the sound slightly muffled but loud enough for him to make of your request. "Too big...t-too much"

Tom's hips snap against yours, maintaining the same brutal and unrelenting rhythm he'd set from the moment he's sunk into you. Really, you should be glad he's even decided to fuck you tonight. After you publicly embarrassed him and whored yourself around his confidants and closest friends, you've given him every reason to be rough.

He wraps your hair around his hand and delivers a small but sharp tug that pulls your head up from the pillows until you're close enough to feel the warmth of his breath hit the shell of your neck. "What was that, hm?" he asks, his voice dripping with faux sympathy as he meets you with a particularly rough thrust that draws a broken moan. Tom tuts, "Too much for you? You want me to slow down, is it?"

Just as you’re about to answer, his hand that had been gripping your hip comes down on the curve of your ass with a loud smack, leaving behind a blooming sting that makes you tense.

"Ah! Please, Tom! Please-"

"Can't hear you, love. Not over the slicked sound of you taking me so well. Don't you hear that? How wet you are for me?" Tom angles his hips, watching you closely as he deepens himself to hit that spot inside you even more intensely. Plap. Plap. Plap. You don’t think it’s possible to feel this full.

His grip on your nape adjusts to wrap around the base at the front of your neck instead, squeezing just enough to manipulate your breathing but not enough to cut off your airway entirely. You gasp at the change, especially when Tom pulls out until only the head of his cock remains before slamming back inside, sheathing himself fully and feeling as your walls flutter and struggle to accommodate him, even now.

Seeing the tears on your cheeks, hearing the desperation in your voice, and feeling the way you're squeezing around him tighter like a vice only makes him harder in a sickening way.

"No more words?" Tom taunt, "Have I fucked you dumb on my cock? Pathetic."

Another smack lands on your ass, the sound reverberating through the room he'd purposefully chosen not to cast a silencing spell on tonight. Smack. Then another. Smack. And another. Smack. Let them hear, Tom thinks. All of them. In fact, they're probably rubbing and palming themselves to the sound of you being thoroughly wrecked right now. Knowing that only he gets to have you like this fuels him further.

"You thought you were so clever, didn't you? Parading around in that short skirt, leaning across the benches and laughing at their mediocre attempts at joking." Your vision has blurred at this point, thighs beginning to quake as your lips tremble. "It wasn't cute." Tom breathes out a dry laugh. "It made you look cheap and desperate, love."

Tom tightens his hold on your hair, your scalp now slightly sore as he yanks harder until your back is pulled against his firm chest. "We're not done yet. Don't you dare black out on me." His cock drills in and out of you, almost as if he wants to mould your pussy to remember the shape of him. At this point, your words have long transformed into incoherent babbles and discontinuous noises. You can feel it- the familiar pressure of climax building and building and building between your legs.

The hours stretch and pass by in a blur, and you've quickly lost count of the number of times you've come undone on his cock. A small patch of sticky mess has formed beneath the two of you on the mattress.

Finally, seeing your limp and fucked-out state, Tom releases a low grunt and buries himself to a hilt before spilling inside you- deep, warm, and full- before pulling out and leaving a messy trail seeping out from your sore cunt, slowly dribbling down your thighs. Your body collapses tiredly onto his mattress.

Tom gathers a smeared mix of your cum, commanding a low "open your mouth" before sliding his slicked fingers past your lips and pressing it against your tongue. "Remember how this tastes the next time you decide to do something this foolish." His expression softens only slightly as he brushes away your tears and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ears. "Never again will you test me."

The soft caress of his thumb is a stark contrast to the hours spent before as a reminder. "Nod if you understand."

Slowly, you do. A languid nod as exhaustion settles over you, making your eyelids heavy and droopy as the tension begins to fade.

"That's my girl," he murmurs, "If you want my attention, you need only ask. But you have it. Always."

Tom Riddle is not a jealous partner.

At least that's what he tells himself. And maybe, just maybe, there's a small part of him that knows it's not entirely true. After all, lying is another trait for the weak of mind.

A/N: First Tom Riddle fic bc there's a criminally low number of authors writing for him so... yeah! If it’s not the best it’s cause I wrote it half asleep

Simon Riley is so fucking big that no matter how many times you’ve fucked before, you’ll always struggle to accomodate his size.

Moaning and writhing as he pushes in, the initial stretch is almost painful. Simon is not only long, but thick. ‘Huge’ doesn’t do him justice. He has you in a mating press, knees to your chest as if he wants to feel himself in your stomach. And you’re convinced that he actually is.

It’s simply too much. It always is. You’ve barely started but are already close to tears. With your hand on his scarred torso, you try to push him away. It’s an instinctive move to tell him to slow down. But instead of obliging, Simon only replies, firm and curt. “Hands off or I stop.” “You’ll take it, ‘know you can. You always do.”

Simon moves your hand away and pins both your wrists against the mattress by the side of your head. Then he thrusts all the way in, pulling out just halfway before sheathing himself to the hilt, practically moulding you to the shape of his cock. You can feel every throb and vein.

You cry as Simon groans. It’s guttural and deep and shamefully arousing. He begins to move and his mouth works with unending mantras. “Fuckin’ perfect, Christ.” “Warmest, tightest pussy.” “Can stay buried in this cunt forever.” “Just like that, fuckkk” And then there’s the wet sound of skin on skin, the filthy noise heard just beneath your airy whines and his breathy pants. “Look at you.” Plap. “Fucking.” Plap. “Taking.” Plap. “Me.” Plap. “So.” Plap. “Well.”

Simon’s dog tag hovers over your face with every snap of his hips. As your brows furrow in concentration and active effort to adjust, one of his thumbs smooth over your forehead whilst his other rubs at your swollen clit to help you ease. And eventually, as always, the pain subsides and morphs into pleasure.

Still, your mind begins to haze as you’re completely fucked dumb now. Your eyes grow wet and you sniffle, palms holding onto nothing as they remain pinned by your head, tearing up from sex. Oh god.

Simon chuckles at the sight of you cock drunk. He’ll be lying if he says he doesn’t love the image of you ruined on his cock, soaked and pathetic. Caressing your flushed cheek, he squeezes them slightly with an order. “Open,” he taps your chin, and you barely have to think before parting your lips enough for him to slide his fingers in your mouth. “That’s it, suck.”

Simon’s favourite moment (though it’s hard to choose) is when your glossed eyes roll back, voice muffles, and pussy tightens around him like a vice. You clench onto him like you don’t want ever want to let go as Simon places some pressure on your lower stomach, feeling the outline of his cock drilling in and out. It seems you feel it too as your pleas and sobs grow louder, music to his ears. “ ‘am close Si, please…fuck, ‘am close.”

“Then cum on my cock, let go f’r me, love.”

There’s no better feeling than that overwhelming bliss, that shared moment of intimacy when you both unravel, and you fall apart in his strong, inked arms. You hear Simon curse and feel him spilling inside you—warm and full— and when he pulls out, he plugs everything back in again with his fingers, drawing out one last cry. “Can’t waste anything now, hm?” “Wouldn’t you look so pretty swollen with my kids?” he muses.

Finally, Simon briefly kisses your temple, short stubble contrasting soft skin as he wipes your tears. Euphoric tears. The last thing you hear before you’re picked up in his muscled hold and walked towards the bathroom is that long awaited praise. “Good girl, did so well for me.” And fuck, would you let him do it again.

Jason Todd who is 100% the type of guy to smile at you with a mouth full of blood and wink at you if he ever got arrested.

Jason Todd who stumbles into your apartment with deep gashes from patrol and holds your waist as you treat him. Then he’ll have you ride him, insisting he’s fine

Jason Todd who is never insecure. You can wear a belt as a skirt and flounce about, because the second another guy dares to stare at you, Jason will have them pummeled to the ground.

Jason Todd who promised to stop smoking if you’d find him another way to occupy his mouth. Now whenever he has the urge to, he pulls you down to sit on his face. “Fucking suffocate me, baby.”

Jason Todd who fucks you rough and hard until you’re sore and dumb. But once it’s over, he’ll kiss your all over with aching softness and run you a warm bath. (Or give you another round in the shower if you’re up for it.)

Jason Todd who can be bleeding out on a random rooftop but the second he sees your message reading “miss you, Jay,” he’ll be knocking on your door. He’ll always come home to you.

Jason Todd who sounds like Candy by Doja Cat

Dating Jason Todd vs Dick Grayson

Jason:

-In the simplest way, dating Jason can be described as humble yet plenty enough. He hasn’t got the wealth to be lavish like Bruce or even Dick, but everything that you wish for, you’ll find yourself receiving.

-For instance, once when the two of you went shopping, this really beautiful but costly satin nightdress caught your eyes. You mentioned it to Jason, to which he replied with, “$180 for that piece of fabric?”

-Still, the following night, you’d found the exact piece sitting on top of your vanity. “I still prefer to see you in my shirt though,” Jason shrugged when you squeezed him in a tight hug and peppered him with endless kisses, but not without a faint, adoring grin.

-Jason’s not a naturally romantic person considering his lack of passion in past relationships, or lack of relationships in general. He was more used to casual hook-ups and one night stands. However, with you, Jason is always attentive and ensures to make mental notes of even your smallest reactions.

-This is reflected in the way he treats you. Jason sees how your eyes linger on social media posts about pretty bouquets so he tries to bring you your favourite flowers at least once every fortnight. He overhears a conversation between you and a friend about these ridiculously overpriced plushies called Jellycats, but he loves you, so he buys one just to hear you squeal.

-Besides this, the two of you have an ongoing tradition. Every Friday night, after patrol, Jason brings home takeout (and it’s always what you like to eat). Then as you dine together, you’d watch a horror film or cheesy romcom, depending on who’s choosing.

-Despite Jason’s rugged exterior, he’s surprisingly skilled at cooking. We’re not talking about a lousy pasta or easy fried rice—this man is talented. Seriously, the steak he grills is one of the best you’ve ever tasted.

-Jason also does all of the plumbing and electrical work in your shared apartment. He’s extremely skilled with his hands and because of that, he refuses to pay for ‘simple’ tasks he claim are a scam for money. “It’s not that hard,” you’re always hearing him say, “pfft, I can do that too.”

-In turn, your role is to put up with his dry sense of humour, smoking habit, and to patch up his bloodied wounds on (basically) a daily basis.

-Jason’s love languages are acts of service and quality time. He expresses his love for you in silent, unspoken ways, whether that’s making you some warm tea when you’re groggy or reading with you on his lap. (Yes, Jason is a reader) With him, it’s all about the little things.

Dick:

-Dick, on the other hand, is definitely a lot more flashy but not in a materialistic way at all. This man is a die-hard romantic and most times, you wonder to yourself how he is even real! A man can’t possibly be this perfect.

-He never needs an excuse to gift or spoil you. Dick might be out on a mission or grocery shopping, but the second he spots something that reminds him of you, he’s buying it. “Look, I got you this hair clip because yellow reminds me of you. You like it?” “This teddy has eyes like you.”

-Dating Dick also means that the two of you are conjoined. Personal space does not exist so you can forget about it. If you’re angry, he expects you to tell him why. If you’re smiling, he better be the reason why. His hands are constantly on your waist, arms wrapped around you, showering you with kisses. Basically a golden retriever come to life.

-Whereas Jason has a Friday tradition, Dick has a weekend breakfast. Often, on a lazy Saturday morning, you’ll find your boyfriend missing from his side of the bed. But if you follow along and trail the scent of buttery goodness, you’ll find him flipping pancakes in the kitchen—berries for him, chocolate for you. God, and there’s nothing hotter than a shirtless chef.

-Dick’s love languages are pretty obvious. For one, he loves physical touch and genuinely will whine if you try to abstain him from hugging or kissing you for an hour. He also makes a habit of praising you with words of affirmation and showering you with gifts, as mentioned above.

-Life with Dick is truly mostly sunshine and rainbows. The only obstacle is his underlying fear of disappointing Bruce. Due to the way he was brought up, his golden boy title, and mountainous pile of responsibilities, Dick does commonly get anxious. That’s when you need to intervene and assure him as he would for you. “You really think I do a good job as Nightwing?” “And the best boyfriend ever.”

A/N: NSFW version? Yes, no?

Sugar and Sweat: Simon Riley

Simon Riley who’s in his early forties. He’d just been discharged by the SAS, the entire TF141 dispersed as if their years of commitment and service meant fuck all to the new bastards in charge. It’d been an ‘honourable’ discharge, but that meant jack shit when he’s now lost everything—the task force had not only been his family but his life.

Simon Riley who feels stranded outside the military base. He lacks the qualification to get a decent job and all he has left in his name are a few articles of clothes and scraps. Thank god, with the last of some shitty government fund, Simon is able to purchase a cheap place to stay.

Simon Riley who now lives in a trailer park, brooding and grumpy. Still feeling heavy from his dismissal, he’s fallen into old habits of chain-smoking and drinking. A whole mid-life crisis. He’s overwhelmed by rage when he’s sluggish with intoxication, but when he’s sober, it hurts more than ever.

Simon Riley who opens the door one morning, wearing only the dog tag he hadn’t once taken off and an aged pair of low-hanging jeans. Irritated he grunts, “What the fuck do you want this ear—” But then he sees you. A pretty little thing who has no place in his trailer park full of junkies and perverted old men.

Simon Riley who invites you inside. Funnily, it’s the first time he has let anyone into his home. Simon unashamedly stares you up and down, taking in your luscious hair, butter-yellow dress, twinkling eyes, and oh soft skin. He learns that you’re baking cake for a friend and are here to borrow sugar. Albeit hesitant, Simon rustles through his pantry cabinet and finds a packet of sugar that hasn't expired. He isn't entirely sure why he’s offering a helping hand but he finds his efforts worth it when you flash him the sweetest smile he’s ever seen. Christ.

Simon Riley who raises a brow when you ask, “What can I do in return, mister? You’ve been so kind.” He’s half stunned and half intrigued at your enthusiastic demand to repay him. Really, he’d just expected you to go on your way. But since you asked… maybe he can get you to clean his trailer? Or maybe he can have a share of the goods you’re baking.

Simon Riley who is still considering what compensation to ask of you when he catches your shy gaze dropping to his scarred torso, not-so-slyly checking him out. He watches as you instantly grow pink and turn away. Ding. Suddenly, he knows exactly what he wants from you.

Simon Riley who swipes empty beer bottles off of his couch and folds you over like a pretzel, knee to your chest. He slides your frothy dress up to reveal a pair of lace panties that he desperately wants to tear off. As he push the flimsy material to the side, he lets out a guttural sound, "Fuck, prettiest fuckin' pussy I've seen."

Simon Riley who gives you the best head you've ever received. He kisses and licks, sucking on your swollen clit, then thrusting his tongue in and out with such expertise that you can't help but to feel a rush of jealousy at the others who had been lucky to experience this before you. Simon's stubbled jaw scratches at your supple skin but what's pleasure without a little pain? He eats like a man starved, and when he adds a few delicious curl of thick fingers, you're immediately bucking against his mouth.

Simon Riley who finally frees his aching cock from the restraint of his pants, silently amused as he watches the startled look on your face. He answers your question before it's even asked, as if it's an ordinary concern. "You'll take it. We'll make it fit, love." Then he's stretching you apart to accommodate his size and filling you to the hilt like you've never felt before, drawing out the most humiliating gasp you've ever gasped.

Simon Riley who barely lets you adjust before beginning to fuck into you, rough and hard, until you're sure you're delirious. A large hand of his settles around the base of your neck, not tight but firm as he ensures that you feel every vein and pulse with each snap of his hips. At some point, you can barely keep your eyes open, having been fucked dumb on his cock. All you can focus on is how scarily endowed he is, the dog tag hovering above your face, the stench of sweat, and the slick sound of skin on skin echoing through the room. You've never felt such bliss and filth at once.

Simon Riley who, despite his rugged exterior, marred form, and intimidating presence, praises like he worships you. "Good fuckin' girl, doing so well f' me." "Taking it like you're made for it." "Maybe I should keep you huh? Fuck you dumb on my cock like this every day?" "Sweetest thing I've tasted, fuckin' hell." "Gonna be good and cum for me, hm?"

Simon Riley who groans as you whimper and arch your back, clenching tight around his cock. He feels himself pulse and quickly pulls out before he spills, covering your soft thighs with warm spurts of his cum. Simon takes a second to tentatively brush a strand of hair away from your face, covertly admiring you with a fascination that catches himself off guard. Seeing you meet his gaze with gentle eyes, he finds himself craving something new and wanting after nearly a year of lost light.

Simon Riley who has you seated on his lap, pulled against his muscled body after he had cleaned you up and handed you a shirt to wear. He can't help but question his years of self-discipline as he feels his cock hardening again at the alluring sight of you in his oversized clothes. "How you feelin'?" Simon asks. On the surface, it seems that he's merely studying your dazed expression, when really, he's memorising every contour and freckle in case he never sees you again. Simon despises the fact that he won't even be able to blame you if you wish to not be associated with the likes of him. He may be familiar with rejection but that doesn't lessen the sting.

Simon Riley who is surprised when you flash him a devastatingly pure smile that has his stomach feeling all sorts of odd. He cocks a brow as you murmur in a meek but honeyed voice, "A little sore, but it's alright. If you don't mind me asking mister—what's your name?" Simon is disarmed by your curiosity, but more than that, by his own reaction. He can't quite understand what's happening as he willingly speaks of his guarded past, simply because your fingers had traced the ink along his skin. And when he slips his dog tag around your neck and goes as far as to offer you dinner, the realisation strikes him hard. You've bewitched him.

Simon Riley who has been befuddled by his own behaviour ever since you knocked on his door earlier. Yet he knows one thing for certain—you won't just be the neighbour who came by to borrow sugar. When you agree to join him for a humble meal later, what Simon feels is instantaneous. For the first time since he was discharged, he feels something good—a fragile spark of hope that maybe, just maybe, his life isn't entirely over after all.

Can you guys tell he likes to swear?

Jason’s just gotten off patrol. As soon as he enters the apartment, he sees his moping girlfriend—snuggled in a fluffy pink robe, paired with a warm mug of tea. Her favourite soap opera is playing on the TV and she’s wearing her signature pout that has him biting back his amusement.

“What’s wrong, baby?” Jason pretends to ask, entertaining her daily drama. He pretends as if nothing is ever wrong, as if she doesn’t complain at every chance. And he pretends he doesn’t love to listen when it’s secretly his favourite thing to do.

“Everything, Jay! Everything’s wrong.”

“Tell me about it.”

Picking her up to straddle his lap, he tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Jason hums contently like he’s paying attention when he’s really just enjoying gawking at his pretty doll huff and puff, a ‘serious’ knit on her face.

Tilting his head, Jason then continues to hide his grin as she begins to rant, telling him about her terrible day and all the people who did her wrong.

“First, the barista messed up my drink,” she frowns. “He gave me two pumps of caramel instead of one.”

“When I got to work, Lisa was being such a bitch. She told me my hair actually looks so good today, but they look great every day!”

“Then, then Jay, that’s not even the worst part!” Looking even more upset, she whines, “my parcel said its delivered, but when I came home, it wasn’t by the door!”

And of course, like the caring, dutiful boyfriend that he is, Jason plays the part of comforting her. He brushes a brisk kiss on her temple, thumb caressing at pink cheeks. “Oh no, my poor baby.”

It’s not like he means to sound condescending, but luckily, all ditzy and moody, she doesn’t notice.

Jason can’t help but find it a teensy bit ridiculous that whilst he’s busy beating drug lords and delinquents to a pulp, his girl has the privilege of sulking over a wrong coffee order.

In a way, it’s almost refreshing. Though mostly comical.

Yet, like always, Jason’s hands wander beneath her smooth robe and silken nightdress to find even softer skin. He flashes her a criminal smirk with a suggestive glint in his eyes.

“Let me help you feel better, yeah?”

“Have had such a bad day, lemme show you how you deserve to be spoiled.”

Despite her irrational moans and bad case of princess fever, Jason is sure to indulge his girl like no one else does.

He loves her just the way she is.

Stuck with Me : Jason Todd

"Jason, get the fuck out."

It was quarter past ten and you'd just returned from your fifth date of the month. Since your recent breakup with Jason due to him being found in a compromising position with an ex-girlfriend of his, you'd been determined to erase him completely from your mind.

You started off by eradicating traces of his presence- the sheets that stained of his cologne, the photos on the wall, and the dumb napkin you kept from your first date.

The only exception was an oversized sweatshirt that you still occasionally wore to sleep. It was comfortable, you told yourself, that that was the reason you kept it. Yet the sight of it in the back of your dresser made you feel a little pathetic every time you glimpsed at it. Guilty. One more wear and you'd toss it out. Just one last wear.

However, it was all easier said than done. And moving on was certainly made harder by the fact that the bastard showed himself in your apartment every night without fail.

At first, you allowed it. You’d thought Jason was only back to collect his belongings, so you watched with spiteful eyes and commanded him to take back everything— his gifts, his clothes, and his damn Red Hood suit. Then, as soon as he was done, you ordered him to leave and to never return again.

The second time Jason appeared, he had just finished patrol. His bloodied suit had been stripped on the ground and his chest was heaving with a terrible gash across his skin. "Help?" he'd asked from his form on the couch. And despite gripping clenched fists and with gritted teeth, you'd reluctantly cleaned him up before sending him out. Again.

On the third time that he’d entered, you made sure to confiscate his set of keys. To your surprise, Jason complied without a fight but he wore a wordless smirk on his face. You hadn't known the meaning of it until he somehow re-emerged a fourth time. Then fifth. Then sixth. It was as if "we're done, I never want to see your fucking face again" meant nothing, and he'd never left.

After work, you knew what awaited you at home. And oh, the terrible, stupid, painful ache you felt in your chest as you would find him on your couch, your dining table, then sitting by your bed. Utterly disrespectful, disregarding your feelings, re-tainting your space with the same memories you tried to destroy and burn into ash.

You hated him. You hated him so much because not only had he broken your heart, he had stolen it. Jason had left a vacant space. A space you desperately tried to fill by going out on dates with eligible bachelors at every possible moment.

There was no denying you were an attractive woman. Smart, educated, beautiful, sweet, young, and charming. You had a bundle of successful men lined up one after another after Jason's loss. Doctors, business-owners, models, actors, engineers, and even a few multimillionaires. You’d forced yourself to give them a chance but with every passing date, the knit in your stomach coiled tighter. You knew deep inside you could never move on from the rugged, scoundrel vigilante with scars for days. You hated that most of all.

Tonight's contestant was a bar owner. Older, built, not a bad-looking guy. Of course, he'd brought you to his establishment and seated you in his private, most lavish room reserved for only the top, VIP guests. He fed you delicious food— some wine-stewed venison— and the drink in your glass never once emptied. Throughout the dinner, he complimented you, talked about himself, and asked questions about your life and profession. Seriously, there was nothing wrong with him. A perfect gentleman. Yet you still found yourself making up vague excuses to leave early. Why? You didn’t know.

The door clicked close as you flickered on the lights. You needn't see him to know it was him. It was routine at this point. This time, Jason was sitting on your reading chair. His helmet had been strewn onto your coffee table and he looked just as out of place among the soft-pink cushions as ever. You felt your cheeks grew hot at the sight of him. Out of anger, you told yourself.

"Get out. Now." Your teeth grinded with the effort it took you not to scream and thrash at him.

Jason only stood up, approaching with lazed but sure steps as he cocked a brow. Instantly, you feel irritated and bothered. Jamming a manicure finger into his toned chest, attempting to press hard, to make him hurt, you glared, "I told you to never come back again. Why won't you fucking listen? I don't want you in my apartment, Jason! We are over!"

He didn't even attempt to move you. Instead, Jason stepped closer until you felt the warmth of his skin radiating through his shirt and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. You slapped his hand away. "Leave," you growled, but it sounded weak even to your own ears.

Jason’s laugh dripped with condescension. "Why? So your rich playdate can come in? I promise I won't bloody him too much." Jason tilted his head a little, gaze dropping to your lips before they met your eyes with a small sneer. Then he looked past your head, voice laced with challenge. "Speaking of, where is he? Or…” he dragged, “maybe you lied and there was no date. Pity. You look so good."

Jason's hand snaked out to hold your hips, and you fought to ignore how nice they felt or how they reminded you of the sinful things they were capable of doing.

“None of that concerns you,” you spat in retort, full of malice. "Why, you jealous?" It was just a light taunt but secretly, you might've wished that he was. It would make you feel a little bit better if that were the case.

"You could never replace me or find someone better." Jason replied without missing a beat, but now, any semblance of a grin had been wiped off his face.

"Don't flatter yourself. Anyone is better than you."

At that, he barked out a dry chuckle, and his thumb caressed your hip in a way that he wasn't even aware of doing. "You think that you’re so tough because you act it. You pretend that you're over me, yet you still sleep in my clothes."

The red, hot rage that replaced your previous bitterness was evident. Crimson coloured your cheeks and Jason seemed to grow amused again.

“What? You thought I didn’t know?”

You scoffed incredulously. Just as you thought he couldn't be any more of a shameless hound. "You snooped through my things?"

"Mine, actually. And I didn't need to, it was just sitting on your chair."

"You're actually fucking unbelievable."

"You're obsessed."

"Fuck you."

You attempted to push him away then, finally riled up.

How dare he accuse you of these things?! Who did he think he was? Of course you had moved on! That's why you were able to go on all those dates.

Your chest rose and fell with the exasperated amount of fury, agitation, disbelief, but most importantly, the hurt that you felt. It was written all over your face but you no longer cared. The words on your tongue tasted like acid, metallic and bitter as you spewed them.

"I don't know how I ever loved you."

With the eight words that fell came a heavy silence that suddenly rang through the room. You could see the very moment that Jason's eyes darkened, his fist clenched, and all traces of amusement or mockery died.

Jason’s jaw set tightly as he spoke with deceiving calm. It chilled you as much as it humiliatingly excited you. "Look me in the eyes and say that again, I dare you.”

You swallowed then lifted your chin. His eyes were a deep shade of molten green but now it looked closer to a blackened hue. It was so quiet that you could only hear the drum of your heart and sounds of shallow breathing apart from the crackle of tension which thrummed between your bodies.

You had thought that you'd relish in the sight of Jason affected but you didn't. As you spoke, your voice lacked conviction. You repeated yourself a second time and began to realise how big of a sorry lie it was.

"I said, I don't know how I ever lov-"

Jason's hand reached out so fast to wrap around the base of your throat, you could barely react as his lips crashed down on yours. It should've showered you with mortification that you didn't even pretend to put up a fight before you moaned against his lips and kissed him back just as ravenously. You kissed with heated passion and unspoken wrath. It was a clash of teeth and tongue. A tangled mess of pants, fervour, thirst, and need. Absolutely filthy.

Only pulling back to breathe, Jason leaned down to bite and suck on your skin. Skin which had been left unmarked for way too long. Your neck, your jaw, your lobes. Fuck gentle. “Been too fucking long,” he rasped.

You shuddered as Jason’s teeth skimmed the column of your throat and his tongue traced after. You should have pushed him away but instead, you mewled a desperate whine and tugged him closer by his tussled black hair. Fingers raking through the familiar, silver-grey strand at the front of it, your thighs rubbed for much needed friction.

In the past, you would've hurried him, but he was right and it had been wayyy too long. With every skilled touch and every move of his lips, he elicited another zap within you, bringing you back to life. You can regret this come morning.

Jason pushed your short skirt up the curve of your ass then tugged your dampened panties down as they fell to your ankle. A cool breeze brushed against your pussy, and your thighs clenched, earning yourself a rough spank. Smack.

"Spread them open." Despite not wanting to give into his orders so easily, you followed like the habit of a life time. You parted your legs and held onto the nearest wall for stability. Then, you felt the pad of his thick fingers tracing through your wet slit as they pressed against your entrance and pushed, stretching you open.

You moaned just as Jason groaned. "Fuck baby, you're so tight and warm." He set out a punishing pace right away, thrusting and curling his fingers the exact way you loved it as he used his thumb to rub at the nub of your clit simultaneously. Jason worked you with ease, and when he felt you clench too quickly, he added another.

You hadn't felt this good in so long, and your fingers had never felt the same as his. Even the toys you'd purchased after your breakup had not measured close to him. "Mm,” he drawled, “Poor baby's been neglected, hm?"

"None of your little dates could satisfy your needs, huh?"

Jason increased his pace, curling his fingers rougher. His taunts have fully returned as soon as he felt you beginning to pulse and squeeze. He knew exactly what that meant. "Must feel nice after not being properly touched for so long."

"Sh-shut up."

"What was that? You want me to stop?" He mocked.

Your eyes widened and you shook your head. You wouldn't put it past the bastard to follow through. "N-no! No, please, Jay."

You needn't turn around to see the infuriating smirk that must have crawled on his face. Jason chuckled with amusement. "Back to Jay now, am I? Would've done this earlier if I'd known."

"You-" Whatever clever retort you had on the tip of your tongue vanished as it got cut off with a moan.

With a skilled flick of your clit and a few more thrusts, you felt yourself shudder as the built up knot in your belly unravelled and you came around Jason’s fingers. He’d continued to fuck you through your release before eventually pulling out.

Jason turned you around to face him just as he brought his fingers up to his mouth and sucked. He did it so naturally that it deepened the hue on your cheeks. Jason studied you with smouldering eyes then his lips were on yours once more. He kissed as if he all he wanted to breathe was you.

Jason pulled down his pants and freed his cock from his boxers. He was huge as ever and you felt him hot and throbbing, his angry, leaking tip brushing against your lower belly. Jason broke off the kiss as he stroked himself a few times and placed some pressure at your entrance. At this point, you were too desperate to stop. No way you could stop.

“Quick, what are you waiting for?” You breathed impatiently, whole body buzzing with desire. You lifted your hips a little, urging him to push inside already, and with that, Jason sheathed himself with a brutal thrust that drew a loud cry from you.

The stretch was borderline painful. Jason pulled out halfway before thrusting in again to the hilt, moulding you to the shape of his cock. Even when you were dating, he had been difficult to handle. So after four tortuous months of abstinence, he was practically impossible to adjust to.

“Fuck,” you hissed, hands clamping down on his broad shoulders, your manicured nails digging in. You felt your eyes prickle with effort as you mumbled with a whiny edge. “It’s too much…Jay, it’s too much.”

Jason’s response was: “You can take it. You’ve taken more before.”

As you started to relax around him, slowly familiarising yourself with his size again, he gradually picked up the paces of his thrusts. The slicked sounds of skin on skin amplified as Jason groaned and closed his eyes from the sensation. “You feel so fucking good baby. I’ve missed this so much.” I’ve missed you.

You weren’t entirely sure whether it was hearing him calling you ‘baby’ again or his thumb finding your clit, but you squeezed around him, moaning louder as the sting morphed into a haze of pleasure. You clung onto Jason, breathing heavy as you not-so-discreetly inhaled his intoxicating scent. Since the breakup, you had tried so hard to diminish the smell of cloves, gunpowder, and leather that you’d forgotten how much you loved it. Jason hid his smile and pretended not to notice. He snapped his hips, fucking you into oblivion. Faster. Harder.

The bliss was overwhelming, and somewhere between the blur of sweat and pants, the proximity of your bodies as you shuddered again and formed a cream ring at the base of his cock, you began to sniffle.

A tear rolled down your cheeks, warm and salty. Jason’s thrusts faltered a little—barely noticeable—but he did not stop. He wiped it away with his thumb. “Don’t tell me I’ve fucked you so dumb you’re crying.” He was not too surprised if that had been the case considering that it had happened in the past. An embarrassing amount of times, in fact. “I’m not even that rough tonight.” But perhaps it was the break, he thought. “I’m not too rough, am I?”

You didn’t correct him and only shook your head. You tried to place your sudden sorrow aside and to relish in the pleasure as Jason fucked you through a third orgasm before he finally buried his face in the crook of your neck. With a deep, guttural sound, Jason twitched inside you and held you still as he filled you—thick and hot. When he’d pulled out, he dripped past your thighs.

“I’ll clean you up, baby,” Jason rasped, and after a beat, he added though his voice had dropped, “don’t send me out tonight.” An unspoken plea hung through the air as his forehead fell to yours. He swallowed, and you heard the faint inhales and exhales that he took as your chest matched his breathing. Jason pressed an unexpectedly soft kiss onto your temple.

Basking in the aftermaths of your gratification, spent and sore, your lips couldn’t help but to tremble. Guilt returned to slap you across the face as your stomach dropped with an immense wave of shame at the realisation of what you had done. You were so fucking stupid. You allowed him in again. You let your guard down and succumbed because you were weak.

Your voice was more vulnerable than you preferred, a little shook as you mumbled, “I c-can’t.”

“Why not?” At your rejection, Jason had looked almost dejected, and how dare he, you thought. He had been the one to betray your trust, to wreck your relationship, and to shred your heart to pieces. And he had the audacity to act disappointed that you wouldn’t let him sleep over after he had used you?

“Because you fucking cheated on me!”

It was the first time you’d ever experienced the world stop spinning. Everything came to a halt as Jason’s expression froze and a look of revelation crossed his face. It was the also the first time you’d seen him so stunned. Jason’s grip on your hips loosened before one of his large hands cupped your face, his dark green eyes narrowed.

“Are you kidding me?” He asked, but it was not as lost now, rather in disbelief. Jason breathed out a hard scoff, his words careful but angry. Whether it was towards you or himself, you weren’t sure, but his reaction made you unsettled. “That was the reason you ended things? Are you fucking kidding me?”

And then there was hurt. Jason Todd looked hurt.

“Are you insane? You cheated on me, of course I broke up with you!”

“I never cheated on you! What the hell are you talking about?” Jason roared, matching your volume now, and you flinched. Your breath hitched and your lips parted, brows furrowed with complete bewilderment. Jason had sounded so torn and raw and honest, but you knew what you saw. You were sure of it.

Jason closed his eyes then opened them in a futile attempt to ease his rage. “That night,” he spoke, the undying blaze in his livid gaze and his steel grip on your cheeks remaining firm. “You offered me no explanation but demanded me to pack and to leave. I had simply assumed that I’d done or said something stupid to push you away like I had done to the others in my past.”

You swallowed as Jason’s words spun your head and made you relive what had sure to be the worst night of your life. You could practically taste the metallic tang of bitterness and anguish as you replayed the vivid image of Jason and Sophie, an ex of his, in the lobby of your complex. You had been so excited to return to him after work had ended only to be sickened by the sight of her skinny fingers trailing down his chest. Sophie’s slender, perfect figure had been practically glued against Jason’s as she whispered him something with a practiced smile. You couldn’t even bear to look at Jason as blood rushed to your ears and you fled back to your apartment, beaten and deceived. No matter how much you felt for him, it was over, you told yourself.

“You looked so broken and hurt, it killed me. For once, I loved someone enough to leave without question. I just thought you finally realised you were too good for me.” Jason licked his lips and scoffed again. “But it was because you thought I cheated on you? You really thought so little of me you believed that I was disloyal?”

“Stop gaslighting me, Jason! I saw it with my own eyes. You and Sophie in the lobby! She was all over you and you let her!”

With each accusation, Jason appeared more struck, as if each word was a twist of dagger to his chest.

“What are you talking about? She threw herself at me! If only you’d stayed a second longer, you would’ve seen me pushing away! I would never want another woman,” his voice broke with how much emotion he poured into it. Jason felt stabbed by a stupendous amount of exasperated incredulity.

“Why can’t you understand that? I don’t want anyone but you! I love you so much that I forced myself to let you go, but of course I couldn’t stand not knowing you were safe or leaving you alone for long.”

“So I came back every night despite withstanding the torment of knowing that you’ve been going out to see other men! You think that’s been easy for me?!”

The guilt and stupidity that showered upon you made you feel like you wanted to peel open your skin and to swallow scorching stones. You had been a selfish idiot doubting Jason, and mistakenly, you’d hurt him too.

“I’ve only been going on dates to try and move on from you, but no matter how hard I try, I just can’t.” You confessed, feeling inexplicably abashed. You were so greatly embarrassed you wanted to go into eternal hiding, faltering as your eyes averted from his. But Jason couldn’t allow it. He ensured that you looked at him as he tilted your gaze with the grip he had on your cupped face.

“Jay, I’m so sorry. You have to understand I was hurt.”

Jason listened, but the only way he could think of responding was by sealing his lips to yours in yet another kiss. However, unlike the others you’d shared tonight, this one was so incredibly soft and vulnerable and sweet that it made your knees buckle. It was so much that it’d almost made up for all the months you’d wasted with him and replenished your shattered heart. You didn’t want to pull away at all. Neither did he, really, but someone had to.

“I’m sorry too. If I was good boyfriend to you, you would have never had to doubt me.”

“Jason-”

“One chance,” he murmured, thumb caressing right beneath your cheekbone. You didn’t even think of hesitating as you nodded. “I’m never letting you go again. I won’t give you a reason to question your trust.”

And with a terribly pretty grin that you hated to admit you’d missed, Jason vowed. It was such devastating words that you felt he’d mended you completely and that you’d heard the fervid beating in your chest once more.

“I mean it. You’re stuck with me.”

Brat-taming : Simon Riley

Simon wasn’t entirely sure how he ended up with a wife so much younger than him but somehow, he did.

However, what he definitely did not expect was all the baggage that came with the age gap —your high energy, defiance, and the bratty streak. Everything that clashed with his discipline and love for order.

There was no denying it. Your relationship, and soon married life, had been the greatest test of his patience. You seemed to have a talent for stirring up chaos which often landed you in trouble—left, right, and centre.

Today was no different.

Already burdened with phone calls and exhausted from work demands, the last thing Simon needed was another round of your endless attitude.

He tried to be lenient. Patient. Tolerant. He let the sass slide, indulged your needy games, and even warned you multiple times to behave.

But of course, per usual, you didn’t listen.

So when you pushed that final button by waltzing into his office for the sixth time in an hour, complaining about yet another small detail and demanding this and that, Simon snapped.

His hand slammed down on the desk with a sharp crack as he barked with a raised voice.

“Enough!”

Your brows knitted as you were slightly taken aback by his sudden outburst, yet your plump lips couldn’t help but to curl into the defiant pout Simon both hated and found irritatingly attractive.

“But—” Habitually, you opened your mouth to interject.

“Come here.”

His voice was hard and commanding as he stared you down with a look you knew all too well. “Now, before you worsen this for yourself.”

Despite being stubborn most times, you weren’t stupid enough to test your husband in moments like these. So holding back a snark remark, you bit your cheeks and stormed over to where he leaned slightly in his chair. Waiting.

“Now bend over the desk.”

Your breath hitched. You knew what was to come. You were no stranger to Simon’s method of ‘correcting’ your attitude.

“Si, wait—”

“Shut the fuck up! I haven’t got time for your games so bend over or I’ll do it myself.”

If you were smarter, you would’ve swallowed your pride, lost the dumb behaviour, and complied. But you were a brat after all.

Before you could even react, Simon had you bent over his desk with a strong hand pushing on your lower back to keep you against the cold surface. His other hand lifted up your mini skirt, evoking a small shudder as he stood behind you.

You could feel his presence even though you couldn’t see him. You could hear the mocking scoff as he ran his rough hand up your soft thigh then over the curve of your ass with deceiving attentiveness.

“Prancing around with this tiny scrap of a skirt, pouting your lips and running that mouth. Were you trying to distract me, hm?”

Shivering at his touch, you whined, “No …I wasn’t.”

Smack.

Simon’s hand landed on your ass with a sharp swat and he didn’t even attempt to soothe the reddening skin as he delivered several more. Swift. Brutal. Unrelenting.

“Lying.” Smack. “Straight.” Smack. “Through.” Smack. “Your.” Smack. “Teeth.”

Every spank was hard and unforgiving, drawing out pathetic whimpers as your fingers dug into the wooden desk. Eyes framed by damp lashes and with tear stained cheeks, you cried out, “I’m sorry, Si. I’m sorry.”

“Fuck,” he rasped, and he sounded nearly strained. Just nearly.

“Don’t give me that. You tell me you’re sorry but you’ll go ahead and repeat the same damn mistake the second it’s over. Isn’t that right?”

“N-no…” Though it came out too much like a question.

Smack.

“You’re never satisfied. Always wanting more, always complaining. Trying to drain my fucking wallet but that’s not all, is it? You just can’t be fulfilled”

Smack.

“What happened to that good little girl you were when I slid that ring on your finger, huh?”

Smack. Smack. The loud noises of his palm meeting skin resonated through your weakened whimpers and broken pleas. Pathetic.

“You’re my wife so I expect you to act like it, you hear me baby? Not a spoiled, fucking brat.”

At this point, you were too hazed to respond right away. The sting on your skin was too great and you felt overstimulated, sobbing and drowned in tears, regretting ever crossing him but you just could never help yourself.

Smack. And this one was slightly harder than the others.

“I expect an answer when I ask a question.”

“Gonna be n-nice.” The attitude was fading away and a hint of genuineness replaced your usually whiny voice that was only good for making demands. “I promise.”

And for a moment, you felt Simon pause, his large hand rested in a splayed position across marked skin.

“Are you? Or are you only pretending because your ass is getting sore?” Once again, you needn’t look back to see the sceptical raise etched onto his brows. “Because if you are, it’ll be more than just being unable to sit next time.”

You sniffled a little, rasping out another small “sorry”, at last pliant and listening.

“Hmm.”

Finally, you were rewarded with few caresses of his thumb across your skin. Simon leaned down, his free hand swiping some stray hair away from your shoulder before he muttered low words in your ear. Then it moved a little lower, barely grazing against your shamefully soaked panties.

“Good girl. Keep this up and maybe I’ll put my hands to a better use than reddening your skin.”

Minors DNI

Late night thoughts but…

Imagine Simon who was instantly enchanted by you the second you walked onto base wearing an innocent smile and a short skirt barely doing anything to hide your soft, plush thighs. You looked so out of place with your baby pink colours as you flounced amongst the tall, strong soldiers and pecked your dad, his Captain, on the cheek with a small grin that flashed your dimples. He groaned quietly, thankful for his balaclava to mask his slipped-up noise though the print of his hardened erection straining against the materials of his pants was undeniably prominent. What the fuck was wrong with him?

Later when his Captain, Price, called him over for a proper introduction, he played the facade of a restrained gentleman and even reached out his hand for you to shake (which he would’ve never offered to anyone else). Secretly, he just wanted to see the difference of your smaller palm swallowed beneath his larger, calloused hand, already mentally picturing the image of what your manicured nails would look wrapped around his cock.

“Princess, this is one of my best man. Meet Ghost,” introduced Price. Simon swore he saw your lashes flutter as you gazed up at him, tinted cheeks with pretty plump lips pulled into a small shy smile he couldn’t wait to corrupt.

“Call me Simon, love,” he drawled, his voice a deep yet velvety timbre which made an odd flutter erupt in your stomach.

Who could’ve blamed you when you ended up pinned against the wall in Simon’s room, your legs wrapped around his thick waist, his large hands cupping your bared ass as he rutted into you like a bitch in heat. He just seemed so nice….and if your dad had trusted him to bring you safely to your temporal stay after dinner, then why couldn’t you?

How convenient was it that his room was right besides yours? It wasn’t that he forced another soldier to swap with him for the night by abusing his authority.

A goodnight kiss grew heated when his gentle hold on your cheek turned into a grip around your neck, pulling your smaller frame against his toned muscles, letting you feel how much he’d been craving you the entire time since your arrival.

“You feel this, love? Can you feel how hard you make me, little tease?”

“Gonna be a good doll for me and help me feel better hm?”

His face buried in the crook of your neck, inhaling in your sweet scent and wishing he could engrave the sound of your soft whimpers, desperate moans and pleas into his mind as he stretched you out so good…pounding roughly into your tight heat with long, hard strokes that made your eyes roll to the back of your skull, digging faint crescents into his broad shoulders.

Sure, your cervix may have been bruised for the next few days, but the ache was worth it for the most life-changing marathon of blissed orgasm he gifted you. Lengthy fingers thrusting and curling against your sweet spot, his balaclava lifted high enough to attach his lips to your swollen clit, sucking and licking so expertly and tongue-fucking you into oblivion. Lapping at you to taste your sweet nectar after he brought waves of pleasure to wash over you again and again, then again.

“Little pussy so fucking warm and tight, mhm,” he groaned almost gutturally, “made to be fucked…made to be mine.”

“Know what this means? You’re tied to me now…forever mine to use and spoil and love…”

Simon delivered a small, firm squeeze to your neck when you responded with an incoherent mewl and not words.

“Say it.”

“…ah..nghm…” you were a whimpering mess, mind completely hazed with pleasure at this point, legs shaking, “…yours to use…and spoil and…love”

“That’s right, that’s my good girl.”

With one final thrust of his hips and a low grunt, he released, filling you to the brim with warm, spurts of his cum and ensuring you were stuffed full with his sticky seed.

Now that Simon had a taste, he would be crazy to let you go. He was a man of many things but never a liar, and indeed, he’d intended to keep his promise of making you forever his.

Much to his satisfaction, the next time you returned to base after a few months, you were more than just a visitor for his Captain but his girl…

And when you ran up to kiss his cheek, he noticed, the slight curve of a bump forming beneath your soft pink sundress.

——————

A/N: Has it been a year? I don’t know, but I’m back and I’m in my COD era! Hope you enjoyed reading this. All likes, reblogs, and follows are appreciated, so are comments!