this account is strictly for any mature content so minors please dni. if you'd like some sfw works, please feel free to check my main, but i can't control what you do.
requests are : closed
i haven't yet written anything nsfw, this is where i figure all of that out.
as usual, please refrain from copying my work or uploading it to another site as your own, thank you!!
This is in no way proof read btw. Also sorry this took me so long to post.
You checked your gear one last time, weapons loaded, comms live, extraction plan ready. Everything was set.
Except him.
The two of you had been almost entirely silent the entire morning. He was throwing plenty of sidelong glances at you, you were acting strange.
“Why is your rifle set up?” Of course Ghost wouldn’t ignore anything out of the ordinary, especially not with how you acted during the mission briefing. You hadn’t run into Soap before you left, luckily.
“Prefer using the scope to check on our target,” you just had to find something to distract him, “Gonna write me up for it?”
He looked at you too closely, studying your expression, “You seem nervous—“
“I’m not.” The response came out like a reflex. You didn’t look at him, hoping he wouldn’t notice you anxiety.
Ghost gently called your name, pulling your eyes to his concerned ones. Seconds passed as neither of you said anything.
He was looking at you like he used to, before everything had gotten so complicated. when the two of you had been able to share space as easily as breathing. As if understanding you was easier than understanding his own mind, perhaps it was at times.
A hand gently encased the back of your neck—applying a pressure which helped ground you. A memory flashed of the time you had been one comment away from breaking after losing your Mother where Ghost did the same thing. His own way of comforting you. Your head fell forward, allowing his thumb to come up to softly stroke your cheekbone.
You could feel his hesitancy, he wasn’t someone easily fooled. You just needed his guard down a little more.
You flicked your eyes up, connecting to brown orbs—and moved. Swift and sharp, you jabbed the syringe into the meat of his arm.
He caught your wrist too late.
"Fuckin' hell—" he growled, stumbling back. His knees buckled as the mild sedative took hold. Just enough to slow him, not knock him out completely.
You grabbed a length of reinforced paracord from your belt and, with practised efficiency, tied his arms and legs. You worked fast, using the task as a distraction from the hurt and betrayal now flooding his eyes.
"You little shit," Ghost growled, struggling against the bindings. His voice was rough with disbelief and fury. "You're drugging me now?"
"Not drugging," you corrected carefully, tightening the last knot. "Sedating. Slight difference."
He gave you a look that promised violence, “This isn’t you.”
You hurried around grabbing all the items you would need.
“Maybe you don’t know me anymore.”
“Oh don’t give me that bullshit.” He scoffed. His eyes followed each of your movements, thinning at you as your fingers brushed his skin whilst attaching the comms unit to his ear.
"You’re staying here," you said firmly. "Watching my six from a distance. If you come after me, you’ll compromise the mission and my safety."
“Like hell you are." he bit out.
You hesitated, then keeping your voice low. "It’s the better play. You’ll see."
His face hardened under your stare. The Ghost his enemies saw becoming real in front of you. You had pushed too far, you knew that for sure now, there was no coming back from this distrust you had built. Now wasn’t the time to think about it, you grabbed your pack and disappeared into the brisk air.
A coldness settled in your chest, leaving you untethered. This wasn’t you; you didn’t need Ghost to tell you that. You’d already made your choice, and now you’d have to live with it, no matter how loudly your heart screamed traitor, urging you to turn back and let Ghost in again.
Static buzzed softly in your earpiece as you moved through the desolate streets, every step careful, precise.
Ghost’s voice crackled through a couple minutes later, low and deadly.
"You’re a bloody idiot."
"Good to hear your voice, Ghost," you whispered, checking your corners.
"You think tying me up was clever? When I get out of this—"
"You'll do what exactly?" you asked under your breath. "If you tell Price, you know he’ll never let me on a mission again. Is that what you want?"
Silence, then darkly "You're takin’ advantage of the fact I care about you."
Your chest squeezed. But your tone stayed breezy. “Its called leverage.”
You hadn't spoken this freely with Ghost in weeks, a sharp tug in your chest growing the further away you got. You hope he would forgive you with time, but you supposed you had already become so distant that it wouldn't really matter either way.
A grunt filtered through your earpiece, “Soon as I’m out of these knots, I’m coming after you. This tantrum of yours ends now.”
"You’re not coming after me because I’m already in. You would only draw more attention and risk getting us caught if you came now," you murmured, slipping into a half-collapsed building being used as a temporary base. "And if you were honest, you'd admit you’re a little impressed."
Silence for a beat.
"Pissed," Ghost growled. "Not impressed."
You chuckled quietly as you continued weaving your way through rubble.
"I would've taken an eastern approach," Ghost muttered.
"Don't need the commentary, Ghost" you said.
"Should've thought about that before you left me behind." Ghost didn't quite pull off the light tone he was aiming for, coming out harsher than you think he intended.
The mission unfolded quickly, enemy patrols avoided with skill that would’ve made Price proud.
You fed updates through comms in a low murmur, Ghost giving occasional grunted responses. His anger simmered under the surface, but you could feel his focus, sharp as ever, adapting to the new role you had shoved him into.
Then you entered the main objective building and your comms went silent.
For nearly two minutes.
"Come in," Ghost said sharply. "Status."
Nothing.
“Fuck—” Ghost cursed, pulling out the long-range radio, pacing tight circles. He could hear faint movement, boots, rubble, but no voice. No breathing.
“Talk to me, sweetheart,” he said, dangerously quiet. “Where the hell are you?”
Still nothing.
Another fifteen seconds.
He was debating calling in backup, consequences be damned, when your voice finally crackled through, hushed and annoyed.
"Jesus, Ghost," you muttered. "Keep your panties on."
Ghost exhaled hard, sagging against the wall. Relief hit him like a truck.
"You were silent for almost three minutes," he snarled. "I thought you were dead."
"Couldn't talk," you said calmly, as if explaining it to a child. "You know... stealth mission? Talking in a hostile-controlled building isn’t exactly smart."
There was a pause.
"You could’ve given me a heads-up, smartass," he muttered.
You smirked to yourself, moving swiftly to your exit point. "Oh, also. Sweetheart?"
Ghost growled low in the comms, and even without seeing him, you could picture the furious expression under the mask.
A smile twitched on your lips, unbidden.
You were about to respond when the hair on the back of your neck prickled.
Movement.
Two shapes burst from the doorway directly beside you, shadows in black tactical gear.
They were definitely not supposed to be there.
You spun, barely dodging the first strike, your back slamming into the concrete wall behind you. One of them lunged. You blocked, twisting his arm and driving your elbow into his throat. He staggered, but the second was on you in an instant, catching your ribs with a brutal kick.
You gasped, doubling over, and dropped to a knee.
"Form's slippin'," Ghost murmured in your ear, cool and observant. "Don't let 'em box you in."
You gritted your teeth, parrying a punch and driving your knife into the first man’s thigh. He screamed. You cut it off at the source with a second slash. The other grabbed your hair, yanking your head back—
“Fuck off,” you snarled, slamming your elbow into his nose. He reeled, blood spurting, but he had grabbed your knife arm and pinned it.
"Breathe. I can't get a clear shot if you keep moving all over the place." He must've free'd himself from the binds and set up at the rifle, you were on the east side directly opposite him, you just needed to get him a clear shot.
You twisted, broke the grip, losing the knife in the process. But he surged back up, bloodied and furious. He got you on your back, straddling your waist, and smashed your head back into the concrete.
Your hands came up to knock him off but your movement felt sluggish. You stared into your attacker’s wild eyes, hands locked on his wrists, arms shaking from the strain.
You knocked his weight to the side, surging your hips up to knock off his balance. His arm was now pressing against your throat, cutting off your air supply.
Bucking your hips you finally unbalanced him, earning you a punch to your jaw. "I don't have a clear shot. You need to move, soldier!"
Ghost sounded angry in your ear.
But he had picked up the knife and began to circle you, lunging to try and find an opportunity to weaken you.
Then a single, sharp crack echoed across the river.
The man’s head snapped back. His body slumped.
You shoved him away, chest heaving, trying to process it. The first man had long bled out beside you.
Your comms crackled.
"Clean shot from 600 out," Ghost said casually. "I'll take my thanks now."
You coughed, wiping blood from your face with the back of your glove. “Bastard.”
"You're welcome, Soldier." A pause. "You gonna need any further assistance?"
You stood, body sore, heart pounding, and looked across the river toward the dark silhouette of the safehouse.
“Nope,” you muttered, popping the 'p', “Thanks for the cover.”
"Anytime. Now move.”
Shouts sounded from close by. You turned and ran toward the exit, bruised and bloody, but alive.
The debriefing room was thick with tension the moment you strode through the door.
Price stood stiff-backed by the table, arms folded, the look on his face halfway between relief and thunderous rage.
Soap was leaning against the wall, hands grasped behind him, staring at you like you'd grown a second head.
And Ghost…
Ghost was a storm barely contained, his arms crossed tight, boots planted like he was holding himself back from physically shaking you.
No one said anything at first.
You offered a weak, tired smile.
"Mission success," you said tightly, eyes shifting over the men you suddenly didn't recognise.
The reaction was immediate.
Price slammed his palm down on the table so hard it rattled. "What the fuck were you thinking?" he snapped, voice rough.
Soap whistled low under his breath, shaking his head. "You’ve got some fuckin' brass ones, I'll give ye that."
Ghost said nothing, just stared at you.
You couldn’t meet his eyes.
"Drugging a teammate?—“
“Sedating.” You cut in.
“—Ignoring direct orders? Going solo into a hot zone?" Price was listing every sin like he was reciting charges in a court-martial. "You think you did a good job didn't you."
"I completed the mission," you insisted, voice hoarse. You were sweating now. not from nerves, but something deeper.
"You compromised protocol," Price barked. "You put yourself and this whole unit at risk. You think we're gonna forgive you for this? You think you're special?"
“No, of course not. I realise I shouldn't have done it but-”
“You made that suggestion and I said no. That should have been final. You disobeyed a direct order from a superior.” Price got up in your face, “I’ve changed my mind. You’re off duty. I don’t care what missions we get, you’re not on them until I say so.”
You opened your mouth to answer.
Nothing came out.
The room tilted slightly, the edges of your vision blurring.
You staggered a step back, the three of them surrounding you, looming over you, blocking out the light in the room.
"You should've never come back. We're better off without you y'know-" Price's eyes are drilling into you as he pushes you back, your feet stumbling into a table.
"...Sorry," you croaked.
“Always wanting what Johnny and I have. Tried your best to ruin us, didn’ ya" Ghosts words intimately whispered into your ear sent you reeling backward. "You’ll always be alone."
A hand came out and grabbed your throat, your hands clawing at it as your vision began to fade at the edges. Their faces merging into one. The last thing you saw before you faded into darkness were their eyes looking down at you with indifference.
You choked awake on a shoulder, the gentle sway sending your head spinning.
“—fuck, she’s gone, I can’t see her anymore. Soap, what do I do!” You could hear Ghosts urgent voice in your ear. Your comms still connected to where he was trapped in the safe room, where you left him incapacitated.
You were still on the mission.
You must have made some sort of sound because the soldier next to you glanced over, seeing your eyes blearily looking around.
You could vaguely hear Ghost frantically shouting in your ear. He was being forced to watch you get captured, unable to help due to your earlier decision to leave him behind. You were sure he was furious.
The butt of a gun swiftly took consciousness away from you again, knocking the comms piece from your ear.
The last thing you heard was Ghost shouting your name. Not in anger this time, but fear.
Reader is a lower ranking soldier, who unfortunately gets placed in the same room as the deadly Ghost after an unfortunate fire. Chaos ensue.
pairings: Female!reader x Lt Ghost, implied that reader has a crush on Soap Notes: You can read in any order though I’d recommend at least reading ch1 first, platonic or romantic, up to you :)
୨✧୧ Odd habits Reader is a lower-ranking soldier who, after an unfortunate fire, is forced to share rooms with Lieutenant Ghost of all people. Unfortunately for reader, they’re only coping mechanism is balling their eyes out every night and Ghost has a keener eye than most. (lfluff, humour, protective ghost, )
୨✧୧ Gummy Bears Your friends dont believe that your roommate is Simon Riley himself, the ghost. So, they force you to go over to the lieutenant and ask a stupid question. That is until you realise his sergeant is also there too. (Soap Mactavish, teasing)
୨✧୧ First missions Ghost knows how hard it can be to prove yourself in the military, so he asks you for a ‘favour’ in which you go undercover on a mission with him team. He meant to just help you in exchange for scaring you all the time, but he finds something far more interesting instead. (141, canon-typical violence, fluff, teasing)
୨✧୧ A Favour While on a short trip to town, some creep hits on you, making you uncomfortable. you don't have anyone to walk back with you to the bus, but thankfully you still have a favour from Ghost waiting to be used. (protective!ghost, eventual fluff)
୨✧୧ Cookin’ for two You decide to cook a steak using the portable stove your friend got you, when Ghost is supposed to be busy. That is until he comes angrily talking over the phone, and you know damn well what you're doing breaks many regulations. (Teasing, fluff,)
୨✧୧ The 3 times Ghost looked after you and the one chance you got to do the same for him As much as Ghost wants to pretend you dont plague his mind, he finds himself drawn to making sure you're okay. Of course he'd never let you reciprocate it.. unless he hadn't even realised himself. (protective!ghost,fluff, sleeping together, teasing)
୨✧୧ Rumours your friends have distanced themselves with you after some baseless rumours surface, leaving you to come to Ghost instead. Luckily for you, he has a solution. (protectiveness, teasing, rumours)
୨✧୧ 'Girl Problems' When you dont show up to Soap's training sessions on time, he asks Ghosts where you've been. Turns out you've been having a pretty rough day, and luckily you have a grumpy roommate to help
୨✧୧ 'Behind the mask' You didn't expect Ghost to be any younger than forty, but clearly your estimation is way off when you accidentally walk in on him after a shower. (Romance)
And more to come!
Note: despite some chapters being romance focused, i still plan to make equally as platonic chapters !
Taglist: open
Support my work and buy me a coffee! (i’m fighting for my life updating during exam szn)
cw: pet play, exposure, (implied) heavy longterm bondage, gn!reader
It all started as a little joke. you were whining to john about work, about how you didn't want to go back anymore, how you wished you could just stay home and laze around all day, not having to worry about a thing. he had often offered you to be a stay at home wife, told you that he would love to take care of you and have you waiting for him the moment he came home, but you had always declined and told him you wouldn't feel right letting him be the sole provider for it. it did bother him just a little, but he would've never told you that.
but when those little words about not wanting to work left your lips? it was like the muse had struck him. he had an idea that would make everything go just how he wanted, while giving you exactly what you needed. it didnt take much at first, a little online shopping, a confession with faux shyness, and you had a collar around your neck while he was holding the leash. a few more little playful sessions like this and you had a wagging little tail and a cheap set of fluffy little ears, even a bone shaped gag between your lips. he knew that this was working far too well when you spent almost every night after dinner in the pet bed he bought, waiting for him to finish cleaning up the kitchen.
a few months later, the doorbell rings, Kyle, Johnny and Simon waiting patiently as they listened to the barking from inside, closely followed by price's soothing yet strict voice, telling the dog to calm down and sit. the man opened the door with a warm smile, welcoming his boys into his home, apologising for the barking. "the dog's not quite trained yet, we're working on it." the boys all chuckle, some jokes about the captain being able to command whole squads but not puppies, asking to meet the little troublemaker. price happily obliges, telling them that the little things a bit wild, far to eager to meet new people for their own good. they nod and watch as he whistles, shortly followed by a dull thumping as you hobble in, blinking up at them excitedly through the leather mask, immediately bumping against their legs with a wagging tail, sniffing at them.
My tumblr fyp, if you can call it that, has been a lot of rommy/ @rawme-price and this fic [link] has been stuck on my mind. And i will take down this drabble if requested.
CW: Smut/oviposition
Not accurate on stingray mating rituals.
sting ray hybrid! reader x trans! soap
Johnny who has recently graduated from the marine biology program, was sent with lead Doctor Price and Simon with the orca hybrid, Kyle and Johnny were to help with the string ray hybrid who had just been rescued from fisherman's who were cutting off pieces of the poor thing to sell on the market.
After feeding, Kyle went to go check on a few of the other creatures, while Johnny stayed behind to make sure you eat, but after a few minutes of watching the food float at the top of the pool before stepping he waded into the pool.
"Bonnie, ye here?" He called out, looking around the water, but still seeing no sign of stirring. He called out a few more times, before he finally turned around and decided that maybe you had just taken a nap.
But that was his mistake, just as he reached the side of the tank, he felt teeth in his throat, before he was pulled under the water. He fought against his assailant, but once he started running out of air, he finally relented, and stopped fighting back. Before he passed out.
When he woke up, he found himself in the small enclave of the tank, shallow waters, where you had built your nest, his clothes were ripped, and he could feel your teeth still in his neck. It was when he felt two claspers rut against his hips before he finally realized what was happening.
"Bon-" His words turned to a gasp as he felt one of the claspers entered his cunt. God he knew he should stop this before you got further, but the. way you stretched him open...it was an otherworldly experience. "Fuck...Bonnie..."
Johnny's heart raced as he felt the powerful, rhythmic thrusts of your clasper deep inside him. The sensation was overwhelming, a primal dance of pleasure and possession that left him gasping for air. The water lapped gently against his skin, a stark contrast to the intense heat radiating from your body pressed firmly against his.
"Bonnie..." His voice was a ragged whisper, a plea for more, for everything. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure crashing through him, a sensation unlike anything he had ever experienced. It was as if his body was made for this, for you, and every movement was a claim, a possession. He surrendered to it willingly, lost in the hypnotic rhythm of their bodies moving as one.
Your movements were fluid, body undulating against his in a dance as old as the sea itself. The way you stretched him open was an otherworldly experience, filling him completely and leaving him craving more. The sensation was so intense that it bordered on pain, but it was a pain he welcomed, a pain that only heightened his pleasure.
"Fuck, Bonnie..." He gasped, his hands gripping the edge of the tank as he tried to hold on to something, anything, in the midst of the storm of sensations. The water around them churned, reflecting the intensity of their encounter. Your clasper moved with a rhythm that was both primal and hypnotic, claiming him, possessing him, and he surrendered to it completely.
The world around them faded away, leaving only the two of them in this moment of raw, unfiltered passion. Johnny's body trembled with each thrust, his muscles tensing and relaxing as waves of pleasure washed over him. He could feel every inch of your body against his, the coolness of the water a stark contrast to the heat of their skin.
"Bonnie, please..." He begged, his voice hoarse with desire. "More, I need more." You responded with a series of thrusts that were deeper, more insistent, pushing him to the edge of his endurance. Johnny's mind went blank, his body taking over, responding to the primal rhythm of their union.
The climax, when it came, was an explosion of sensation that left Johnny gasping and trembling. Your movements slowed, body still pressed against his, claspers pulsing inside him, before finally you let your own release take over as you filled Johnny with your eggs. He was going to make a great father.
cw: am i even doing this right, ceo!price x secretary/personal assistant!gn!reader
Price and you had this little arrangement pretty much from day one. the attractions was immediately there and undeniable, hard to ignore even if it was more than just a little bit unprofessional. it had already started from the job interview when he had asked if you were good at following commands - he genuinely had no intentions behind it, but if you wanted to work for him you'd have to listen to him without questioning him - and you just gave him a flustered nod with a quiet "yes sir". now there you were, you had been with him for about six months and everything had gone smoothly, you seemed to be an idea team to the others.
of course they didnt know about the arrangement you had, nobody did. it might cost both of you your jobs if anyone found out, so you did your best to keep it secret. you always found ways to work around restrictions, making sure the two of you could hold up the little game without anyone knowing about the dynamic between you two.
no one really noticed the way you always stayed within a few feet of him, no matter where he went. nor did they notice that he would always pick your food for you, whether it was just ordering lunch or a business meeting. they didnt realise that you only spoke when spoken too, or that all the clothes you wore around the office suddenly were the same brand he wore and always matched his colours. nobody really questioned it when your desk suddenly got moved into price's office. nobody noticed the simple day collar that could've been passed off as a pretty necklace - of course they didnt see the engravings on the back of the little gem dangling from it. no one questioned the roomy cage he kept in the corner of his office by his desk, they knew he had a big dog at home. no one questioned the locked door in the back of his office, after all it was just his 'personal supplies'.
no one really questioned why his office was always locked for precisely 30 minutes every morning since you arrived, they just accepted it when he said that the two of you had a maintenance meeting every morning to make sure everything would go smoothly. no one saw the ankle cuffs that were attached to your desk, to which only he had the keys. people did sometimes question the soft, metallic clanking that sounded whenever you walked around with him, but he always put it off as the old building and its little flaws, telling them he'd have to get the pipes checked out soonish, it was due. the quiet buzzing that sometimes radiated from you was a little harder to explain, but if someone was poking around a little too much one strict look from him was enough to shut them up.
johnny loved to game. when he gamed, you were there, sat on his lap with his cock inside of you.
he'd already fucked you to exhaustion. you were laying against him, eyes closed with your head on his shoulder. you were both perfectly content.
for once, johnny was gaming quietly. when he did get a little frustrated and loud, you grumbled against him. he quietened down and kissed your head gently.
simon couldn't find either of you. admittedly, he hadn't tried very hard, enjoying the peace and quiet that, for once, permeated your apartment.
but then he tried to find the both of you.
it was rather obvious where you were, looking back. not the kitchen, bedroom or living room, you were bound to be in johnny's gaming room.
light flooded into the room. you groaned and covered your eyes, but johnny shushed you gently and kissed your head.
"sweet'eart," simon mumbled as he approached the two of you.
finally, you looked up at him. "hi, simon," you whispered and kissed his hand.
"johnny."
johnny didn't tear his eyes away from the screen. "lt," he said, hips bucking up in celebration when he completed the level.
you released a moan.
"christ, fuckin' horny mutt," simon mumbled when he took in the look on your face. "he fillin' you up, princess?" he asked and you nodded pathetically. "want me to take you to bed and fuck you good?" he asked and you nodded pathetically again.
simon kissed johnnys head before he pulled you away from him and carried you back to the bedroom.
Polar Bear Hybrid! John Price x Fem! Chubby! Black Bear Hybrid! Reader
Warnings: Mentions of past harassment, slight Yan undertones, John is big and scary (hot), hybrid stuff (idk man I'm just making shit up atp)
Word Count: 2.6k
Author's Note: IDK what made me pull this outta my ass but here we are :D
Edit: EVERYBODY GO LOOK AT THIS ART BY @tiredkatzz THANK YOU
Enjoy~
***
Being the kind of hybrid you are, you’ve gotten used to a plethora of people and their opinions. Oversized men tend to bully you for being a black bear hybrid, a small bear, not a real bear, because a woman can’t possibly be a bear hybrid. Idiots. Every hybrid species has female and male sexes, and some even have both reproductive organs, depending on the species.
Then there’s the women who think bears are the cutest creatures on the planet. They coo at you and your ears, reach for your tail, and then act surprised when you swat at them with fang and claw. Then you’re “aggressive” and “just like your hybrid half”. Whatever the hell that’s supposed to mean.
And of course you can’t forget the male bears. Boorish, big-headed, trying to mate or fight at every turn. Just before hibernation seasons are better, when they’re bulking up for winter and focused more on food than anything else. But once the season’s up and they’re ready to go? The smell on them is unbearable. They reek of hormones, all of them dying to get their dick wet and desperate for a cub or two or ten.
Luckily for you, you’re in a place with few of those male bears. Hell, it’s hard to find even one other bear hybrid in England where you’ve moved across the globe to live. Why? Who knows? You just needed some new scenery. It’s been a good few months so far, few people being the stereotypical bullies or nosing into your personal space. So, you figured you’d do yourself a solid and go out to a nice local pub and relax. Treat yourself.
It’s a cozy joint, warm and low-lit, not too crowded. Nobody really bothers you where you’ve chosen to perch on the end of the bar. A glass of honey flavored whiskey warms you right up, and loosens all the tension and stress from moving to an entirely new country.
And then someone decides to come and fuck up your day.
“Well aren’t you a pretty little thing? A bear ain’t all that common ‘round here darling.” The growl you let rip through you sends vibrations through the bar beneath your hands. The music would cover it from most of the other patrons, but you made sure the prick coming up behind you could hear it.
“Fuck off, or I’ll eat you alive.” Aggression tends to work on most ‘suitors’ that approach you. Even the lions you’d met before tend to leave you alone after a nice, low growl in their face. Not being docile has gotten you out of many advances. When you feel him reaching for you, you whip around in your chair and snatch his wrist out of the air before he can make contact, adding a stronger rumble in the mix. His big ears and long worm-like tail throw you a bit. Rats don’t tend to be as cocksure as this one. “What did I just say?” His eyes roll, beady and not alarmed at all like they should be.
“Come on sweetheart, don’t be like that! I’m sure you don’t get the chance to sleep with just anyone on the regular.” When his eyes flick over your body, you realize he’s talking about your weight. Bear hybrids have always been bigger, among several other hybrids who also have similar body composition across the species.
“That’s a bit rude, don’t you think, mate?” That was another man’s voice, coming from behind the rat. A massive hand comes down on his shoulder, turning him to face the man. There’s a black face mask covering the lower half of his face, the jaw of a skull printed onto it, two small ears poking from his brown hair. You can’t tell what kind of hybrid he is from that alone, and he doesn’t smell like a bear. But he’s massive like one. Towers over everyone in the pub, including mister rat, whose tail has wrapped around his own leg the longer he has to look up at this mountain of a man. Then another steps out from behind him, dark skin and tall, pointed ears. His eyes nearly glow yellow, and the shock of red amongst his dark curls tells you he’s a fox.
“I agree, Simon. You should escort the rodent out before I have myself a snack.” Well if that wasn’t a threat, you don’t really know what is. The rat leaves all on his own, scarpering off without another word as the two turn to you with their expression relaxing.
“Y’alright?” The big one– Simon– asks.
“Just fine, thank you. Didn’t need saving, though.” You try to be lighthearted about it, try not to come off too aggressive in case he decides to be less than savory. You may be a bear, but he’s very nearly twice your size. You know when to pick your battles.
“Good.” To say you’re surprised when they both turn tail with a nod and slink back over to their booth would be an understatement. Honestly, you were ready for another round of ‘don’t bother me’ while you try to be nice and not get hauled off by the big one. You note the table they sit at, with two others. One is a…cat? Maybe a cat of some kind, you can’t really tell from here. The other is mostly hidden in the booth, but you can see his body mass matches Simon’s.
You can’t find it in you to be upset about it. You may not love being some kind of damsel in distress, but at least they were decent about it. No fanfare, no need for congratulations, just content that you weren’t being bothered anymore. It’s not a first, per se, but it’s not nearly as common as it should be. Most ‘saviors’ only do it to get a favor out of you.
As you sit and sip your next drink, you keep an eye on their booth, contemplating buying them a round just to be nice. It wouldn’t hurt, surely. So as you finish off your glass, you ask the barkeep to pour another of their chosen drinks and haul them over to their table. Their eyes all lock onto you as you approach, and when you finally get a good look at the other two your throat seizes a little. The one sitting beside Simon is some kind of wildcat.
The other is a bear.
Not just any bear, either. No, this one’s a damn polar bear. And he’s massive. Big as Simon, for sure, but bulkier, heavily muscled beneath thick skin. His stark blue eyes pierce right through you, the white ears on his head flicking toward you where you stand at the end of their table. It’s only just occurring to you that every one of these men, despite you being a bear, could rip you to shreds with their bare hands. And sure they were nice earlier, but they’re still strangers. And the polar bear terrifies you. The fox speaks before you can swallow down the lump in your throat.
“That rodent still bothering you, love?” You blink, take a moment to think about the question you’ve just been asked because you were so busy trying to keep your composure you almost missed it.
“No! No, he’s long gone. I just figured I’d thank you for scaring him off.” You raise the tray in your hands with a shrug, then place it down and push it toward them. “It’s not every day people are kind enough to help without expecting some kind of compensation.” Simon leans over and plucks each glass from its seat, placing them all down where they belong.
“Appreciate tha’ dove. Didn’t need to though.” You shrug again.
“Wanted to. Figured I should start making friends.” The wildcat speaks up, leaning over his own glass with a wide, friendly grin.
“Yer not from around ‘ere, are ya lassie?” All you can do is shake your head, smile gently.
“What gave it away? The accent?” Simon huffs out a little laugh, the fox and wildcat chuckle. The polar bear is amused, but remains silent in his corner. Observing. The wildcat reaches a big hand out for you to shake.
“Johnny. Obviously you’ve already met Simon and Kyle,” so that’s his name, “and the big man here is John.” You shake his hand, but then when John is introduced you can’t seem to take your eyes off him. Something about him is gravitating. And terrifying. You’re acutely aware you’re being looked at by an apex predator, one that could easily snap you in half like a twig over his knee. Your lungs collapse when he moves, reaching out a big paw of a hand toward you.
“Very nice to meet you. It’s not every day I see another bear.” Your hand is dwarfed in his, his palm swallowing up yours and you can barely even get your fingers over the edges of it properly to shake. He makes it work, you guess. He doesn’t bring much attention to it.
“Wish I could say the same. Where I’m from, bears are a little too common.” His eyebrow lifts curiously.
“That’s a bad thing, is it?” You take a small breath, nodding slowly.
“When mating season comes around, yeah. I couldn’t count the pounds of flesh I’ve bitten off of hormonal males trying to get a litter out of the nearest female.” There’s a heavy huff from John, a smirk tugging at his mouth as you struggle to keep eye contact.
“Good thing there aren’t many bears around here, then.” You nod, inclined to agree.
“Well I’ll leave you all alone now. Just wanted to say thanks for being decent people.” You begin to step away, but a low rumble makes the hairs on your body stand on end. Kyle slinks from his seat and returns just as quick with an extra chair, settling into it like he’d always been there, completely unfazed. John reaches a big paw out for you to take.
“Join us, darl.” That’s all he says, waiting for you to take his hand. It’s not a demand. It’s not really an offer either. It’s almost like he’s just spoken a blatant truth, like there’s no way you wouldn’t join them.
He’s absolutely right.
Settling your hand in his is jarring, the sheer mass of him still making you weary, but he’s gentle when he tugs you to sit in the booth beside him. You aren’t entirely sure why you do it. Normally you’d be adamant about declining, but there’s something gravitating about the polar bear taking up space beside you.
“So when did you get into the country, love?” And then the conversation drifts off to your current situation. Where you’d moved from, how long you plan on staying, whether or not you need help moving in. They’re adamant about assisting with the heavy lifting, four big strong men surely could lend a hand. John especially makes it known that it’s only the chivalrous thing to do. Every time you ask about them, the answers are short and clipped. Military, special forces, not much else. You get next to no info on them except for their names and the broad occupation. Oh, and you find out that Simon’s a badger. Other than that, all conversation is laser-focused on you.
Part of you realises maybe you shouldn’t be giving out all kinds of information to strangers at a bar, but there’s something so disarming about these men that have managed to save your tail from a rat of all people and simultaneously frighten you to your bones.
“You got a ride home, lovie?” The hair at your nape stands on end when John asks the question. It’s loaded, surely, and surely they can sense your apprehension. You don’t necessarily have a ride, you do have a rideshare app you had planned to use though.
You aren’t sure you can find it in yourself to refuse if he offers to accompany you.
“Well, I was just going to find a rideshare to get home tonight.” For a split second, you can feel the irritation come off the polar bear. There’s the tiniest huff from his throat, a twitch in his big fingers around the glass of water he nurses. Wait- water?
“Let me take you home, darl. It’s safer that way.” Safer is debatable. You barely know him– them– and can hardly believe it would be any different either way. And to your credit, you do try your best to be docile about refusing.
“Oh, that’s so sweet of you! But really, I wouldn’t want to impose at all. Besides, I don’t even know how far out of the way you’d be going.” Then you really feel the tension roll off him in waves. A low, gentle but fierce growl builds in his chest, a big paw coming to curl over your thigh and squeeze. Suddenly your instincts are screaming at you from two opposing sides. One half of your hindbrain wants you to run.
The other half wants to jump his bones.
“It’s no imposition. I’ve got nothing but time tonight, lovie, and I’d lose my damn mind not knowing you’d gotten home safe. Rats tend to hover, y’know.” His eyes glance over your shoulder, then he juts his chin out in a signal for you to peek around at what’s caught his eye. That damn rodent is lurking in a corner, clearly watching your booth. When you’d locked eyes he averted his gaze, but there’s no mistaking anything. Damn it.
“I see.” It makes a little more sense now, the way he’s being so protective. A small piece of you had hoped he latched onto you and decided you were his. A very, very small piece. Another one of John’s growls rips through you, vibrations felt even in the ground through the soles of your shoes, and it makes your lungs collapse.
“Soap.” That’s all John says, then Johnny is up out of his seat with a smirk and a small snicker. And you? You just watch with wide eyes as the wildcat slinks up beside the rat and drags him out the nearest exit with not a soul the wiser. The rodent didn’t stand a chance against a hybrid like Johnny. With a gasp, you turn around to face John again, your hands tiny compared to the sheer breadth of his shoulders where you reach up to grab at his shirt.
“What just happened?” A burly arm slinks around your waist, tugging you to settle on his lap. You can’t think about the new positioning when you’re worried about the rat’s fate. Sure, he was annoying and relentless, but against you? Against a bear? The man didn’t stand a chance even if he were to try something.
“Nothin’ for you to worry about, lovie. He’ll be alright, promise, just teachin’ him a lesson, aye?” A lesson? You only feel a little better about the whole situation.
“What kind of lesson?” He hums, a low rumble deep in his belly while a big hand comes to brush a knuckle against your cheek.
“He’s learnin’ not to touch what isn’t his.” You squeak, squirm beneath his gaze. All at once, you realize you’ve made a mistake joining them in the booth. You should have refused, should have run when you got the chance, because now you’re in the clutches of an apex predator. When Johnny returns with bruised knuckles and bloody fingertips, you know there’s no real way out of this now.
Not when two big bear paws wrap around you to squeeze at your hip and thigh, locking your comparably small frame against John’s wide chest.
this is the masterlist of masterlists! the lists will be split between sfw and nsfw, with relevant info next to the links. i hope its straight forward, but please note only posts i felt worthy are featured in the masterlists! many posts are intentionally excluded seeing as i have over 1000 posts on this blog and only some are robust enough to get linked :]
the world outside simon’s safe and quiet house is too loud. every sound is a crash, every new smell a shock. you’re trembling, tucked tightly against simon’s chest, your fists clinging to his shirt. he has you wrapped in his softest hoodie, the one that smells only of him, a safe little cocoon against the overwhelming newness.
“shhh, kitten. i’ve got you,” he murmurs, his voice a low vibration against your ear. “just meeting some friends. good men. they’ll be gentle. i promise.”
you don’t believe him. you only believe in the dark, the quiet, and him. the memories of cold metal and sterile smells are still so fresh.
he carries you through a heavy door into a room that smells of coffee and something unfamiliar. you whimper, trying to burrow deeper into the hoodie.
the room goes silent.
“simon?” a deep, calm voice asks.
“brought someone,” simon says, his tone leaving no room for nonsense. his arms are a steel band around you. “she’s skittish. first time out in a bit.”
a collective, quiet understanding fills the air. you can feel their eyes on the bundle in his arms.
“oh, honey,” another voice says, softer, full of a kindness that makes your chest ache.
“we’ll be quiet as mice,” a third voice adds.
simon sits on a worn couch, keeping you secured in his lap. you’re shaking, a fine tremor you can’t control. but then...something shifts. as the blind panic recedes, your other senses sharpen.
their scents. god, their scents. they’re everywhere. it’s not just coffee. it’s the deep, oak and leather scent of the first man. the cleaner and sharper scent of the second. the wild, earthy scent of the third. it’s overwhelmingly masculine, a heady mix that makes you feel dizzy.
and they’re so big. you can feel their size, their presence, even through the fabric of the hoodie. huge, powerful men, being so deliberately quiet, so careful. for you.
a strange, warm feeling begins to uncurl low in your belly, a slick, unfamiliar heat that is the exact opposite of fear. you press your thighs together, confused by the sensation. your skin feels too sensitive, hyper-aware of simon’s hand rubbing slow circles on your back. each stroke sends a little jolt through you.
you dare to peek, just one eye, from the safety of the hoodie.
the one with the cap, price, watches with a calm gaze. the one with the kind eyes, gaz, offers a reassuring smile. the one with the wild hair, soap, is sitting on the floor, looking up at you with an expression of pure, unguarded wonder.
“hello,” he whispers.
the heat between your legs pulses, warm and insistent. you make a tiny, involuntary sound, half-whimper, half-purr.
simon’s chest rumbles with a quiet, knowing hum. “see?” he murmurs, his lips close to your ear. his hand slides from your back to your hip, his grip possessive. “told you they’d like you. look at them. can’t take their eyes off you, kitten. does it feel nice? all this attention from us?”
his words feed the strange, warm feeling. you squirm, not from fear, but from a need you don’t understand. you’re surrounded, overwhelmed by their size, their strength, their careful attention. and for the first time since the lab, the overwhelming feeling isn’t fear. it’s a thrilling, intoxicating heat, and you never want it to end.
the concept of overhearing gooner!soap talkin about you to the guys . . . “look, say what ye want — am man enough to admit, if she wanted to tape my mouth n’use m’cock like a dildo…aye, m’not sayin’ no fellas.” the men jeered and called him a sick fuck, but you were left hot & wet for the rest of the day . . .
I am falling for the hybrid propaganda (I've been here for years, who am I kidding? All my ocs since early teen years were hybrids)
Anaconda!Reader who is big. The soldiers in base all underestimated how big an anaconda hybrid would be. You were big, long, if you lied down beside Ghost, you'd be double his size and a bit more, because of how big your body is. Humanoid torso that is filled with scales, smoothly shifting to a massive snake body.
You were a temporary soldier, contracted to help with ambushes in the tropical terrain of their next op. Your species known for being quick and silent in water, aswell as hunting well at night.
The first few weeks of training, Soap was a big thrown off, it's not that he's scared of snakes, but he is scared of the monster snake that is at least 15 feet big. Taking a moment to warm up to you, though when he did, he enjoyed having your weight draped over him when he napped. Gaz is a bit less skittish, being a reptile hybrid, he ended up bonding with you easily.
Ghost didn't understand what was so scary about you, sure, you were big, but you were slow on land, too big to move so fast. Though whenever sparring, he'd get pretty freaked out whenever you'd demonstrain your restraint techniques; the weight of the muscles of your long body making adrenaline rush over his body in a fight or flight response.
Price was draw to how much of an utterly terrifying sight you were when in a body of water. It was only when you were all in the op and he saw you slither quickly underwater and kill man after man like some kind of siren dragging them deep down the water, did he understand why Anaconda hybrids are so feared.
They all also couldn't help but be rock hard when, after asked to interrogate a soldier, you started to slowly squeeze him, just enough to apply pressure and make him gasp, barely breathing as you broke his ribs, painfully slow, all while your tongue would flit out to taste the smell of his sweating and crying in the air.
I’m fucking gagged thank you for getting my first post to 1500 wtf guys 🤍😵💫 ANYWAY have some bear!price on the house 🐻
Bear hybrid!John Price x sleepy!reader
Cw: smut v little plot, slight dubcon (sleepy sex ig)
Wc: 2k things got a little out of hand…
It starts when he has to wake you from a well-deserved nap. A what-year-is-it kind of sleep. It was the first thing taught at military school, how to fall asleep on your feet. You took that personally and made it an artform. That's how Price finds you, knocked out on the rec room couch after cleaning up after someone else’s mistake as soon as you got back from deployment. Poor little scrapper.
He’s horribly endeared by it and his deep-seated instincts pull him to join you when his duty demands otherwise. Not his fault you look so cozy, curling around yourself and burying your nose in the blanket Gaz threw over you when he found you.
He tries calling out to you but you are dead to the world, so he lays a warm palm on your shoulder, rocking you gently to ease you back to the waking world. He answers your soft sleepy sound with a deep chuff, his bear endlessly pleased you feel safe enough to sleep so heavily around him and his team. You’re awake but definitely not alert, so he lets himself sit by your legs as you shake off the grip of sleep.
“Cap?”
“Meeting in ten, grab some joe.” He tells you, paw heavy on your head as he gives your adorable bed-head a ruffle. You’re too gone to sleep to wrinkle your nose at the treatment.
“Yessir.” You slur, and he has to make himself walk out the rec room at the sound of your sleep rough voice.
When he sees you again your eyes are brighter and you grip your coffee cup like a lifeline. You don’t get much of it down before you’re pulled to another task, looking down at it, forlorn, before putting in front of Price. A silent offering and he’s not one to turn down caffeine and if he does, take him out back and finish him off. And it certainly has nothing to do with the fact he gets to swallow down the lip-print you left on the rim. Honey-flavored chapstick. He doesn’t stop the happy rumble coming from his chest and you give him a small slight smile before you’re off. He adds the look to the catalogue of secret smiles he's won from you, a well-thumbed archive in his mind he keeps close as winter creeps closer.
Next time it’s you that catches him napping. You come well prepared, armed with coffee and the flask of whiskey you keep hidden in your vest. He doesn’t even hear the door to his office open, chin tucked to his chest, still gripping a pen. The approaching winter had him at its beck and call, quick to sleep and slow to wake.
“Your neck is going to kill later, Cap.” He rouses at the sound of your voice, soft and to his right. You’d lingered a little longer than you’d like to admit, barely controlling the urge to rub the fuzzy little ears he usually keeps hidden under his hat. He looked younger in his sleep, without the furrow in his brow and stern frown on his lips, like a big oversized teddy bear, but you’ll keep that one to yourself.
On que he lifts his head, neck cracking loudly. His wince has your hands itching to lift and massage the soreness out for him. You sigh, a little frustrated at yourself for fanning the flame of the embarrassing crush you have on your boss. You told yourself it was the trauma bond, nothing like shedding blood to bring two people together. It’s just the inevitable coworker crush you tell yourself, even when he’s the last thing you think about before falling asleep and the first when you wake.
It gets exponentially worse when he yawns, not looking as he reaches out to the general direction he heard your voice and patting around lazily. You can’t help but step up from your extremely respectful and professional distance away from his desk. The meaning of the words fizzle out when he catches a belt loop and reels you in.
“You got something for me?” He rasps, prompting you for an update, and the way his voice rumbles out of his chest and buries itself between your legs is beyond unfair. You start with the coffee, waiting a second before putting the flask down next to it. He lets out a grateful huff and you know you’re going to need to change your underwear after all this.
“Laswell touches down in twenty.” You ruin your own pleasant haze you’ve been floating in since he pulled you close enough to feel the heat coming off of him. The frown and furrow are back. He’s all squint, 90% bushy frown, hat forgotten on the desk in front of him.
“We best be meeting her then, hm?” He sighs, coming to a stand. You cannot be bothered to step out of his space but especially when you get a delicious whiff of his cologne and cigar smoke. Drenched. Ruined. In need of some alone time in the showers later.
You hardly breathe when his sleep-warm palm comes up to hold the back of your neck, steering the both of you out of his office. You stop moving all together when he lets go to open the door. He looks down at you when you don’t follow him through the door, the corners of his eyes crinkling.
“Keep up, trouble.” He chuckles, like he wasn’t the one caught napping on the clock.
“Right behind you, sir.” You hum. He doesn’t have to pretend to hear the warmth in your voice.
It isn’t long before John’s instincts have him searching you out at night, driven by your raw scent, fresh from the shower before you get ready for bed. It's getting worse day by day, so drawn in by your earthy sweetness that he lingers silently outside your door for far too long, holding his bear by the metaphorical scruff. You look longingly at the shadow under your door, fingers slipping through your folds wetly hoping he hears your need.
It’s not until he comes home limping that he finds his control slipping through his fingers, frost in the air. His senses are fuzzy and nothing feels right, his bear huffing and puffing just beneath his skin keeping him from sleeping off the pain. He barely hears the medic giving the usual warnings to take it easy before he’s bullying past them back to the barracks. His den calls to him, nearly dead on his feet when he smells you. It feels like every knot, every inch of tightness in his shoulders unravels as he breathes the remnants of you that linger in the common room. He doesn’t even realize he’s darkening your door until it pushes open under his palm. The sight of you asleep on your bunk, rolled half onto your stomach with your leg hiking up, settles him. The long line of your body has his mouth watering and teeth aching to sink into your plushest parts. You don’t stir when he looms over your bed, only when he sinks a knee down on the mattress. He lets out a pained groan when he sheds his shirt and drops down next to you, mattress squeaking violently under his weight and stitches in his side pulling tight.
“Mhm. Price?” You slur, head lifting off your pillow. He makes a pleased chuff, you don’t sound alarmed that he’s crawling in your bed at this hour, the fact you knew without even seeing him.
You try to roll over, giving him room, but he hushes you and presses a big paw on your back. You jolt, remembering you went to bed without a shirt when you feel his palm on your bare skin. He soothes you, big palm petting down your back as he urges you down with a grumble in your ear. His breath is hot on your neck as he rolls over onto you, thick pelt of his chest meeting the sensitive skin of your back as he eases his weight onto you with a satisfied sigh. You make a high pitched squeak at the contact, body going tight as he maneuvers you how he likes. Hooking a heavily furred thigh around your own and giving the padding of your tummy a grope as he settles. Your room was coated in your scent, your pillows and sheets even more so. He wanted to roll around in it until it settled under his skin permanently.
“Shush now, let ‘m get a feel cub, that's it.” He pushes a hairy arm beneath your chest, thick fingers groping your tits as he presses wet bristle-y kisses to your shoulders. You can’t stop the sleepy whine that leaves you, oh god please don’t let this be a dream, please please please-
The bulge pressing under the cleft of your ass is too hot and hard to be a dream. You can’t help but roll your hips back to feel more of him. You can feel how slick your lips are, slipping together wet and syrupy with your want.
“Price-“ the want in your voice and the smell of your need in the back of his throat is all the approval the bear needs.
“Settle down.” He slurs, but the way he humps against the plush of your ass has you doing the opposite. One particular rut has him pressed right up against your heat, underwear clinging to your folds as he pushes around your slick with the heft of his cock. You can do nothing but lay there with the way he has you pinned, legs tangled together as he grinds into you with sleepy rolls of his hips.
“Perfect thing, huh? Feel so good and you’re not even on my bloody cock yet-“ his moan has your eyes rolling to the back of your head.
“oh-“ your throat closes up on a desperate whimper when the hand pinned between your chest and the bed falls lower and cups your pussy, playing the damp fabric keeping him from your slick and pinching your puffy lips together.
“There she is.” His hips fall harder as he stuffs his face in the crook of your neck, breathing you in like it would get him high. He pulls them to the side and his thick calloused fingers are there to catch the obscene amount of slick, pooling on his fingers and down his palm. He knew it would be fucking good, knew you’d drip down his fucking balls like this-
You reach back, hands patting at the thick of his stomach hanging over his waistband before finding your prize, pulling his throbbing cock free and feeling it bounce up against your thighs. He wraps both his arms around you, banding you to his chest and hooking his chin over your shoulder as his thick cock slots against your pussy, drooling pre against your clit.
“Go on, honey, just put it- fuck, yeah.” He grunts, lips to your ear as your shaky hands obey and notch his cock against your aching hole, a twisted version of the kiss you always wanted from him.
He’s rolling on top of you, nearly pressing his full weight against your back and working your hips up with a meaty paw. Your brain is leaking out your cunt at the realization he’s mounting you-
“One big push, honey, sh sh sh-“ he’s cut off by his own groan as the tip pops inside you, immediately driving further into your tight heat. Your walls seize around him and the animal part of your hindbrain tells you to crawl away, but a firm hand on the back of your neck has you still. He clicks his tongue at you, silly thing, didn’t anyone ever tell you not to run from a bear?
He’s quick to remove the thought from your head entirely, arm closing under your chin to keep you still as he leans over you.
“Come on luv, just a little kiss.” He meanly squishes your cheeks with his fingers, turning your head enough to plant a mess open-mouthed kiss on you. He swallows every little noise he’s punching out of you and in their absence the steady plap, plap, plap of his heavy balls slapping your mound fills the room. The next time his gooey tip presses up against your sweet spot, you let out a desperate whine and clamp down tight on him, a foaming, creamy ring forming around the base of his cock. You feel every throb of him against your sensitive walls, milking himself with your pulsing pussy as he pants and groans into your mouth.
You are taken down with him as he flops back down on his side, cock still chubbed in your pussy. He doesn’t pull out, not even when his breathing evens out and he’s humping your sticky pussy in his sleep. His warmth and the delicious stretch of your pussy around him eases you into a deep sleep, completely surrounded by your Captain and stuffed with another load by morning. He’ll even let you yell at him in the morning for crawling in your bed wounded when you find a little blood on the sheets, it’s all worth it as long as he gets to crawl home to his little mate again at the end of the day.
simon has always been a well-respected duke, perfect to a t, but was he a good husband? having barely talked to the man you were wed to, you reach your breaking point and so does he. | 11.6k words.
content warnings - duke!simon x duchess!reader, angst with comfort, simon is emotionally constipated and avoidant, regency era setting (though may be historically inaccurate IGNORE IT), arguments, fingering, some mention of violence and blood, body worship, cunnilingus, p in v, riding -> missionary, simon is secretly a romantic.
a/n - my messy yet dear contribution to my obsession with period pieces and the duke simon agenda.
Three Months.
Three Months since you’d been enduring this marriage, if it could even be called one, for marriage was supposed to be the joining of two lovers for eternity. No, this was a mere arrangement, intent on ruining your life for the worst, a disastrous recipe. Hell.
Although, you supposed, you might be exaggerating it a little.
Simon was not someone you’d label as a bad spouse. He was eloquent in giving orders, persistent in perfecting his duties. A powerful man respected for his attentiveness and even his strength. Yet that didn’t contribute in any manner to what would make him a good husband.
This was supposed to be the perfect union between two powerful families — the Duke’s and the Marquess’ — an oath for political stability and better relations between these families. You had foolishly hoped, as a result of indulging in many romance novels, that your future husband wouldn’t be so bad albeit the circumstances being arranged. But Simon was anything but loving, quiet and always in his own chambers, barely ever uttering a word around you except for greetings. He had never shown his temper or any resentment towards you whatsoever, but the lack of reaction itself was jarring. The wall between you two was excruciatingly high and thick, and your every attempt at breaking through that barrier was met with rejection.
You had tried, really tried to busy yourselves with attending meetings and gatherings and everything expected of a duchess — but the ache in your heart was undeniable, the need for company constantly growing deep within you, an infested flower you wished to get rid of but couldn’t.
Were you that bad of a wife? Unpleasant and not even worthy of being talked to?
One of the town’s noblemen had hosted a ball with his dear wife this evening, most of the upper class expected to attend and be present. You were glad that Simon had finally agreed upon accompanying you to an event such as this, leading to you having spent quite a long time tidying yourself up with your lady’s maids.
“How do I look?” You asked one of the maids — Isabella — the woman who’d grown alongside you due to her mom having worked for your parents. Your only friend, dare you say.
“Beautiful as ever.” Isabella laughed, not bothering with titles, not when you both were alone and just two friends. Her fingers patted at your lips, the colour looking graceful. You stood up, sighing at the subtle constriction of your dress. Horrid societal expectations.
“I just… I hope tonight goes well. You know, with the Duke and I.” You sighed and closed your eyes momentarily, exhaling sharply. Be the perfect wife, be the perfect couple, perfect wife, perfect wife, perfect wife. You didn’t want anyone to gossip about you or your husband, not tonight.
“His Grace should be waiting in the carriage now.” Isabella gently nudged you towards the door.
Soon you found yourself in the carriage, sitting opposite to Simon, the silence thick and heavy, the only sounds being the low murmurs of the town in which the carriage strolled, and the footsteps of the horse. You stared at your lap, fingernails digging into your palm, brows drawn together. You could even hear your heart beating, and it annoyed you greatly.
“The ball is hosted by Sir Garrick, correct?” You attempted to make conversation, though didn’t quite look at him, solely focusing on the fabric of your dress, the patterns, anything to distract your mind.
“Yes.” He stated with neutrality strong enough to make you restrain yourself from not saying something irrational. Damn him. Taking a deep breath, you slowly looked over at him. Simon was looking out of the carriage’s window, his face not giving away any emotion. His eyes, those deep browns, always looked so empty, his right brow having a split. Probably from the brawls he frequented late at nights, assuming you were oblivious to them. Or perhaps he knew that you were aware of his whereabouts, and couldn’t care less about your opinion on him acting like a brute. You didn’t know what would be worse. His hands had faint bruises on his knuckles, and you hoped that no one would notice that during the ball. Despite that all, Simon looked hauntingly beautiful, a painting you’d see in an abandoned manor that’d leave you curious about everything. You wanted to reach out and hold his face, trace his jaw and ask about anything and all.
You shuddered internally at the way your mind had wandered. Your mother was right about books simply being a product of fantasy, nothing more.
The arrival to the ball was mediocre at best, the overall environment monotonous since you struggled to really connect with anyone. Simon had left your side to talk with other noblemen, so you attempted to busy yourself with talking to some of the ladies who struggled with hiding their pitiful stares and sneaky grins behind the fans that they carried. The Ton was well aware of your marriage, though they often called it tumultuous and turbulent. Little did they know that it was simply quiet, like a graveyard one would frequent late at night. What an odd comparison, yet it was yours.
The orchestral music drowned some of the noises around you thankfully, yet your ears still rang from the suffocation present in this ballroom. The people were too many, and silently, you snuck out towards the terrace, seeking fresh air and some time alone with your mind. A sharp exhale left you once the cold air of the night brushed against your cheekbones tenderly, though your hopes for some solitude were miserably crushed when you came face to face with your husband, who miraculously happened to be in the terrace as well. When had he even left the company of those gentlemen?
“Hello.” You didn’t bother masking your frown, fingering curling into fists by your sides. Were you mad? Maybe. After all, your plans had included spending the ball with your husband, side by side, perhaps even dancing with him. What a fool you had made out of yourself.
“I was just about to leave.” It was clear that Simon had hesitated, not having expected you here either, given the subtle twitch of his brows.
“You don’t have to.” You sighed and moved over to him, while still maintaining a certain distance, your eyes drifting upwards to the starry sky, the lack of clouds making everything much more clearer.
Simon stayed silent, and so did you. His hands unconsciously flexing by his sides, his jaw tightening as he stared off at the ground, not uttering a single word. What would he even say to the wife with whom he had barely conversed with ever since they got married? It was awkward, irritating, like a failure scratching at his skin.
“You look beautiful tonight.”
And with that, Simon walked back inside the ballroom, leaving you alone, confused as ever.
Beautiful.
The ball hadn’t gone that bad. Nothing had essentially gone down, you had no particular reason to get angry. But Simon had called you beautiful and ignored you for most of the night, and those ladies had dared to gossip behind your backs and you were just so exhausted, constantly imagining your mother being here amidst the ball, condescendingly staring down at you and your inability to even maintain a good marriage, at least in the public's eye. You were furious beyond what was describable, and you wanted to scream at Simon. Yell at him, accuse him for things he wouldn’t have done, make him angry so you could see his eyes light up.
“You embarrassed me tonight.” You spoke as soon as Simon finished his conversation with Sir Garrick and entered the carriage. You noticed the slight stiffening of his shoulders as he sat down, looking at you.
“Did I now?” He asked, his eyebrows raised in question. And that was the last straw, his indifference, not even acknowledging his wrongdoings and your suffering.
“Yes you did!” You hadn’t meant to raise your voice like that but this was beyond your control now. “You couldn’t even stand with me for five minutes. Five minutes, Simon! Nothing for people to see and think that our marriage might mean something for once!”
“People’s opinions don’t bother me.” He shifted, as if holding himself back. Always holding himself back. You wanted to grab the nearest thing and throw it over his head.
“But it bothers me! Do you ever stop and consider how I feel? Walking like a ghost in the mansion that is supposed to be mine too, but all I feel like is a guest rather than your wife.” You hissed through gritted teeth, though your eyes refused to meet his stern ones. No, were you intimidated? No. Blood rushed to your face out of the sheer emotion you were experiencing. “I stay quiet and handle it all, but at least don’t make me out to be some poor sad wife in front of the Ton!”
Simon’s silence was almost haunting, his eyes holding a flicker of something you hadn’t seen before. Was it irritation? Disdain? Was he incredulous at your audacity to raise your voice at him? You swallowed the lump in your thought as he opened his mouth and closed it again, your eyes not having noticed the tremor in his hands and the way they tightened over his knees. No, you were too busy studying the expressions of his face, every muscle twitch you could decipher under the dim light of the moon illuminating this carriage.
“I apologise for making you feel that way. But you know how this arrangement was always supposed to be.” Simon began coldly after a whole minute, leaning back. And that was it. You wished he fought back, not just apologise calmly and not speak anything else, something deep within from his heart while you mindlessly unravelled your feelings in front of him. Yet his words held the bitter truth because yes, you knew.
You didn’t know how much Simon regretted those words, tasting bitter on his tongue.
Neither of you spoke another word for the rest of the ride, soon arriving back at the mansion. The butler, having sensed the tension, politely stepped away, so did the maids, not daring to gossip just yet while you both were still walking through the entrance, your face struggling to mask your annoyance while his neutrality was broken for once with a scowl.
“Are you bedding other women?” You asked bluntly as you both walked upstairs and stopped at the point where two halls diverged, his chambers in the west, yours in the east. Simon visibly paused, whipping his head towards you in a fast manner and oh, you enjoyed that a little too much, enjoyed the way you evoked emotions out of him that had been suppressed for the past three months, perhaps even longer before your marriage.
“What bloody thoughts are running through your head?” He asked, his voice rough.
“Just curious. Do you have mistresses? Is this why you refuse to share a bed with me?”
“My god, woman. No.” Simon groaned, his fingers reaching up to rub his temples, stressed. You hadn’t questioned you both before like this ever.
“Then why don’t you share a bed with me?!” You exclaimed. It was undeniable that his response made your heart sting with something you couldn’t quite place. If he had mistresses, you would be able to flood your anger over him with much more ease, call him a scoundrel, a pervert, everything while the Ton would make sick assumptions about you. But that wasn’t even the case, he hadn’t touched any woman.
“Aren’t you the one who spends her time in the gardens reading books and smiling dreamily? Aren’t you the one who dreams of romance?” You noticed how his voice has raised to match yours. “I am not going to bed you and ruin something like that for you.”
“You don’t get to decide that!” A sudden pause. “You watch me…?”
Simon’s left eye twitched and he backed away, fixing his posture. “Go to sleep.” A command, leaving no room for argument, his tone containing the same authority he uses while discussing the town’s estates and giving out orders.
You, on the other hand, were fixated on how he hadn’t called your admiration of romance stupid like your mother constantly did, hadn’t called it an unachievable fantasy.
“Am I undesirable?!” Your voice cracked as you asked that, walking furiously after Simon when he had attempted to walk over to his chambers, always being the first one to walk away from every occasion. You weren’t going to let that happen, not today. Your hand reached out to grasp his elbow, making him stop right outside the doors of his chambers. He didn’t pull away, simply turned around to meet your eyes.
“Don’t you ever stop?” He hissed, his hands coming up to hold your shoulders, not shaking you but simply holding them in a manner that was firm yet achingly gentle. “Do you wish to sleep with me that badly? That is unbecoming of a lady like yourself.”
“You know exactly what I mean.” Your voice wavered, some of the fiery anger draining as soon as he held your shoulders to keep you in your place. “It hurts. This marriage stings me in ways I can’t even begin to describe, all I know is that I’m just so hurt!” Your hands ached to punch at his chest, though she just pressed flat against it, holding onto him. “And I have not once spent a night with my husband because he refuses to look at him. Do you have any idea how it feels? To be so unwanted?” You wanted to say so much more, words about sleepless nights spent thinking of how to get through him, how your mind would sometimes fixate upon his eyes, how you wanted to watch him unfold so badly, reveal himself to you.
Simon’s jaw clenched and you noticed that he was on the brink of… panicking? His eyes were wide, almost indicating the arrival of an impending storm, his hands shaking as they held your shoulders. For a moment you thought that he might push you away but instead, he brought you closer to him. “There are things you don’t know about me. Things I don’t wish staining your mind. Why must you insist so much on me?”
“I don’t need protection from whatever it is that you think you are.” You said earnestly, almost desperate, eyes glistening from being overwhelmed. “I just… I just want you to let me in.” ‘Because I care for you.’ You didn’t dare say, not wanting to think back upon admiring his hard work yet stressing upon his wellbeing.
“Go to sleep.” Simon gritted out, words tight and firm. You raised yourself up on your tiptoes, huffing as you shook your head in defiance.
“No.”
Simon moved with no hesitation, his hands cupping your face. You could feel the callouses on his fingertips, the roughness of his palms which held your face with foreign gentleness. He closed the distance between your lips, an act you hadn’t ever experienced before, much less with him, especially with the scrutiny of the society, his lips pressing against yours. Your eyes fluttered shut as the sensation of his lips moving against yours flooded your mind to the point where it was the only thing you could think of. How strange, you had never known how to kiss yet your lips parted against his with a familiarity that could only be born from practice. It was as if his lips were molded just so they could kiss yours.
Your hands twitched, not knowing what to do, so you simply kept them on his chest, a muffled gasp escaping your mouth when you felt something warm — his tongue — brushing against your bottom lip. It felt scandalous, yet so tender. You wondered if his heart was racing just like yours was, if he was struggling to hide a grin, if he was going absolutely crazy.
The kiss didn’t last much long and soon Simon broke away from your lips, leaving your breathless and struggling to catch some air, your face warm. The moonlight was the only thing illuminating the halls through the windows, giving his face a glow. You wanted to see if his cheeks were flushed, yet the lack of light made it hard to.
“You kissed me…” You blurted out, voice shaky, at a loss of words. Simon’s expression was unreadable until his brows furrowed, lips twisting as if he was in pain. Whether from you or himself, you couldn’t decipher.
“I did.” Simon opened the doors of his chambers and guided you in. It was dark, though you had already expected that, the fire crackling at the fireplace being the only thing giving this room a glow, somehow making his otherwise cold place appear much more like home. You breathed in his scent that lingered in the air, a rather shy smile twitching on your lips. His scent was subtle yet present in this room — a strange mix of coconut with earth.
“Simon…” You reached for his hand, uncertain. This was a shift of events unforeseen by you, perhaps by him too. You’d really expected to have stormed off into your chambers after yet another angry jab but here you were, standing a few inches away from his bed on which you could easily fall and pull him down with you, on top of you, let him kiss you once again. “What are we doing?”
“I don’t know.” Simon sighed, taking a step back. “I don’t wish for you to sleep mad.” He sat down on his bed, his hands enclosing around yours so you could stand in front of him, between his legs. “Or feel as if you are undesirable because trust me, you’re not. You’re so much more and-“ He broke himself off, shaking his head, irritated at himself. Sometimes it was hard for you to read Simon, your husband otherwise so emotionally closed off. It was as if feeling anything whatsoever was uncomfortable for him, given the way he winced after every sentence he spoke, as if making you feel that way hurt him physically.
A flicker of irrational hope instantly ignited in your head, like a cartoonish lightbulb, your eyes widening. Was this really it, the end of the miserable days you’d spent all alone? Simon’s eyes were fixated on you, his features looking impossibly warm and gentle with the glow from the fireplace. Your hands hesitantly reached up, fingers tracing the old scar on his brow, the cut on his chin, anything and everything. “You look tired.” You whispered, leaning down, your lips aching to taste his again.
But he leaned back, causing you to freeze, blood rushing through your face. Everything suddenly felt unbearably humid, and you wondered if you’d done the wrong thing.
“I’m not used to this.” He spoke out, his voice hoarse. He gently lowered you by his side so you could sit, your hands instantly pulling away from his so you could fold them on your lap, biting your bottom lip.
“Well, neither am I.” You spoke, with a hint of that earlier snark seeping in once again. Damn him for always confusing you with his actions.
Simon stayed silent for a while, looking up at the ceiling. “Had you noticed Lady Jane stealing some scones whilst the ball was happening?” He asked out of nowhere. You paused, an eyebrow raising before you decided to play along.
“Yes. Which was a pity because I had planned on borrowing some for myself as well.” You jested.
“You like them? Scones?” He looked over at you to meet your eyes, not smiling yet visibly softened by the sight of your own smile. You nodded wordlessly.
“I like most sweets.”
“I see.” Another silence ensued. “Would you wish to share this room with me tonight?”
“Huh?” You gawked at him, confused.
“Like a husband and wife does. As you had spoken before.” He reminded you, his finger brushing against yours before pulling away. “I could sleep on the couch perhaps.”
“No!” You protested, instantly covering your mouth in shame. “I mean… No. We can share a bed and keep our distance.”
He nodded, yet neither of you stood to get to either side of the bed. Neither of you moved, simply stared at each other, as if trying to figure the other out. As if it was the first time you both were truly glimpsing inside of each other.
“I’d like to kiss you again.” You mumbled, voice tinier.
And so he did, pulling you close to him as his lips met yours once again, this time much more firmer, impassioned in a way you hadn’t seen him before. Your body felt weaker as you fell on his bed and he continued kissing you, leaning down to savour your taste. You feared he’d devour you, or maybe you yearned for it.
“Have you kissed many girls like this?” You breathed heavily as he pulled away, your eyes glimmering as you stared up at his face. He couldn’t help but smirk briefly for a second, shaking his head.
“No. I’ve only kissed one woman in my life.”
“Had you touched her too?” You spoke shakily. His fingers moved some stray strands of your hair away from your face, lingering on your cheek for longer than what was necessary.
“No.” Simon spoke, his voice lowering. “It was when I was no older than fifteen, having gotten my first taste of wine, drunk out of my mind and having walked into a pub. I was an angry kid, confused by my father’s actions.”
Your heart aches for him. You had a vague idea about what had transpired for the late Duke, but seeing Simon open up to you like this was not only rare but also special. You wanted to cherish this moment forever.
“Thank you for telling me.” You leaned up to place a small kiss on the corner of his chin where a cut resided, cherishing the way his eyes had closed upon that, as if basking in your touch. His hands lowered and paused, before resting on your waist, your arms looping around his neck so you could keep him close, even if selfishly.
“You are a curious one, aren’t you?” The warmth of Simon’s hands on your waist was undeniable despite the dress acting as a barrier between you both, your skin aching to be caressed by his fingers. Though despite confessing those thoughts, you wordlessly nodded. “Asking about who I’ve touched, who I’ve kissed,” His right hand slid down, just resting at the side of your hip, nothing that would be considered immodest, yet. “Are you asking if I know what my hands are meant to do, where my lips are supposed to kiss?”
The thing about Simon was that it was often hard to figure out whether his tone held any amusement, yet you could sense some in this very moment, a hint of teasing to provoke you. And it was working. His eyes flickered over to yours and seemed darker, his pupils dilated, his lips parted and oh, how you wanted to kiss those lips once again, over and over until you’d go mind and so would he. You leaned up on your elbows, a smile adorning your lips. “Well, do you?” You fired back.
And he smiled, brows furrowing a bit in feigned offence. “Yes. Yes I do. But it was a long time ago. So don’t think for once that I would even spare a glance at anyone while being married to you.”
“Simon…” You swallowed, watching his face lower so he could press a tentative kiss on your jaw.
“Is this to your liking?”
“Yes…” You breathed out, giving him the acceptance that he needed, his lips pressing another kiss, this time on the column of your throat as you tilted your head back. His fingers toyed with the strings of your dress, his eyes widening at the way the fire illuminated your neck, your skin unmarked. He desperately wanted to do something, kiss and bite over and over, but not now. Not like this, when you were still winding down from the argument earlier, not when he had spent the last three months acting like a ghost, avoiding the singular person who had let him experience warmth amidst the coldness of this mansion just from her presence alone. The books lying, the soft humming he’d occasionally hear, the presence of someone in the house — a man like Simon was undeserving of such domesticity. He had never allowed himself to feel anything for you, not once, though all was in vain with you underneath him, your eyes sparkling as you looked at him, as if he’d hung the moon.
To have someone you mistreated look at you with so much reverence hurt.
Simon had no excuses, no words that could undo the longing and pain you’d felt ever since this marriage had ensued. In all honesty, he should stop this now and let you go to your bedroom, let you forget that tonight ever happened so you both could go back to your own routines.
But he couldn’t.
“The gods really took their sweet time with you, huh?” His words were strained as he kissed right beneath your collarbone, his fingers undoing the strings of your dress. “May I?” He looked at you for permission.
You were breathless, and he’d barely even done anything. Your skin burned in the best way possible, his kisses feeling just so right. “Yes… Yes you may.”
Simon had to hold himself back from groaning shamelessly, gently sliding your sleeves off, and then the torso of your dress, enamoured by the rise and fall of your chest. “Quite the complicated dresses you ladies have.” You laughed at that, bright and carefree, and his heart did something silly as he busied himself with untying your bralette. Your braced yourself, feeling the cool air brush against your breasts though his eyes remained fixated, as if in awe.
“Beautiful.” His heart ached, his sweet wife bared in front of him, an angel that had been sent so he could redeem himself. He lowered his face so he could kiss your nipples delicately. You bit your bottom lip, a soft whimper still managing to escape your throat at the way his mouth enclosed around your right nipple and his eyes peered up to watch your face, the way your brows were furrowed rather adorably. He huffed, purposefully nipping on the sensitive bud, enjoying the way you shuddered. He couldn’t help it, biting the things that looked so utterly sweet. He supposed it was in his nature.
He lowered the dress until it was pooled around your waist, his mouth beginning to worship your midriff, pressing tiny pecks on your stomach, moving up to kiss the undersides of your breasts before focusing on your naval again. All you could do was lie there and breath shakily while he treated you as if you were the altar he’d been seeking, goosebumps forming on your skin. “Tickles. But… I like it.” You spoke breathlessly, your hand gently cupping the side of your face, holding onto him as he hummed and angled his head so he could kiss your palm.
Your legs visibly shook, heat pooling deep within yet you were too focused on him to feel any sort of embarrassment over it.
Simon didn’t respond, partially because he was long drunk on your reactions, and because the guilt weighed down on him heavily and he knew this was no atonement. He felt selfish, and you were so oblivious of that. ‘My poor heart’, oh how he had neglected you. A strong man yet a coward when facing someone who could love him.
His right hand slipped beneath your dress, tiptoeing against your inner thighs which quivered at his touch. “Have you ever touched yourself here?” He asked rather shamelessly, earning a scandalised gasp from you.
“What are you implying– No, I have not!” You hissed, blood rushing to your face. You didn’t mention that you had certainly tried to after reading a particular erotic novel that had left you all hot and bothered, yet you had ultimately failed at orgasming because, well, no one really teaches you that.
He chuckled at that, unable to resist, especially at the flustered face you wore. “Would you like me to?” He asked, his voice still light yet more serious.
You simply stared at him for a few seconds, before nodding, lips quivering before you smiled. “Yes…” Because you wouldn’t have it any other way.
“If it ever gets too much, tell me and I will stop.” The genuine concern in his tone made your heart ache. Who was this Simon? Was he the one who he had always been behind the walls he had built? Was he being tender out of pity after seeing you exclaim and stress yourself out over him tonight? But before you could torture yourself any longer over this thoughts, his fingers traced the hem of your underwear, causing your muscles to stiffen momentarily. No man had ever touched you there before, you had never contemplated over someone pleasing you yet here your husband was, resting between your parted legs with your dress all hiked up, his fingers gently beginning to slide your undies down to your knees. You were unconsciously holding in your breath, eyes looking up at the ceiling.
“Relax.” Simon’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts and your eyes met his once again. His eyes slowly lowered, his lips parting as he took in the sight of your folds, all slick with your wetness, a clear sign of your arousal. Though he didn’t tease, not wanting you to feel self conscious. He could hear the blood pumping in his ears wildly, his chest feeling heavy. You were just so perfect.
His fingers gently parted your folds open, your hole clenching around nothing as the cool air brushed against your bare skin, your clit puffy when aroused. Gently sliding a single finger up and down, he gathered some of your wetness, his mouth on the brink of salivating like some damn mutt.
Gently pressing his thumb against your clit, he registered the surprised whimper that escaped your throat, your legs tightening around his sides. It all felt new, electrical, his thumb rubbing your clit in a precise and firm manner that made your abdomen tighten with the sudden wave of pleasure running through you. It felt good, yet you couldn’t voice it because your mouth was occupied moaning, biting down when you felt something prob at your entrance, his finger circling around it experimentally.
“Will it hurt?” You blurted out, voice small. Simon stilled at that, brows furrowing momentarily before he placed a soft kiss on your knee that had been pulled up against him, his touch meant to comfort.
“No. And I’ll stop if it does.”
You hummed softly. His finger was notably thick as it pushed inside your pussy, the stretch not burning yet feeling unfamiliar at the same time. You inhaled sharply, though his free hand gave your thigh a squeeze, an inaudible reminder to keep your eyes on him and so you did. He eased his finger inside you, his breath hitching as your walls tightened around his finger, the heat almost unbearable. When he noticed your muscles relaxing, he began thrusting his finger in and out of you in a steady yet modest pace, twisting his finger inside your walls.
Simon soon added another finger when he noticed your eyes staring at him with unmasked need, making him stifle back a groan of his own as his fingers rubbed your sweet spot while thrusting into your pussy, squelchy noises lingering in the air yet none of them made you embarrassed in the slightest.
His thumb busied itself with rubbing your clit, amplifying the pressure building within you. Your walls clenched around his fingers desperately as a trembling moan left your mouth, your hips bucking forward and attempting to grind against his hand.
“Fuck.” He cussed under his breath, enamoured by the sight of you chasing pleasure through him, grinding against his hand for your own use. It riled him on in the best way possible.
“I think… I think I am close.” You confessed, your body writhing as the pleasure reached the brink of overwhelming you. Simon’s pace didn’t waver, his fingers curling inside your pussy. He could feel your clit pulsating underneath his thumb as he firmly rubbed it, your wetness smeared on his hands.
You didn’t last any longer, reaching your peak with a startled whimper as the pleasure exploded deep within you, causing you to unravel on his fingers, your body convulsing. Simon rubbed you through your orgasm, riding it out until you fell on the bed, all shaky while trying to catch your breath, your skin feeling as if it were buzzing. Simon pulled his fingers out, an evident smirk blooming on his mouth to find his fingers all pruned and covered in your cum.
“You did great, love.” It slipped through his tongue so effortlessly, love. As if that word had been reserved solely for you. Although you barely registered it, your head melted into mush after your orgasm, lips parted. “Tired?” He asked, his voice turning softer.
You nodded wordlessly, eyes slowly peering at him bashfully, a giddy smile now present on your face. “This felt unlike anything I’d read about before.” You slurred, earning a chuckle from him, full of fondness.
Simon helped your dress off you fully and spent the next few minutes cleaning your inner thighs with a wet towel, a Duke turned to a lover. Your eyes had closed amidst all this, and you’d been lulled to sleep by the exhaustion filling you up. Simon dressed you up in one of his shirts and guided your sleeping body to lay properly on his bed, your face buried in his pillow as you slept peacefully.
That night Simon barely slept, simply stared at his wife and thought of every moment that led to this.
You hadn’t seen Simon the morning after, or the next day, even the day after that. It was cold silence, as if the night shared between you two hadn’t existed. You had been distraught and confused the morning you woke up on his bed with no signs of him except the shirt that you were. Now? You were trying to go back into normalcy.
It was hard to discern whether that night meant anything to Simon. He’d looked so different, a rarity displayed on his face, grimness replaced by fondness, but for only a single night. It hurt you in more ways than you’d like to admit, making you wonder if perhaps you were the problem. Maybe seeing you undone before his eyes had made him consider something else. Frowning to yourself, you shook your head and grabbed a book about flowers you've been meaning to start.
If he were to remain indifferent then so shall you.
Simon remembers his wedding day with you so vividly. Grand, noble, perfect — it had been so well orchestrated by both of your families. You’d looked unreal in your wedding dress, a hopeful curious smile having adorned your face when you’d glanced at him. You had always given him a chance since the first day he’d stumbled across you amidst a family meeting, and he’d always made sure to shut down each opening you’d find.
You were dangerous, a softness he had not once experienced in his life. Softness he didn’t deserve — a so-called perfect Duke who spent his leisure time beating people bloody until the pain soothed his nerves and consumed him wholly, until he was exhausted enough to forget about everything.
Yet he wasn’t able to forget you, never. It was frustrating, how your face always lingered in the back of his head, how your eyes had captivated him and began to stare at him even in his dreams. Were you haunting him?
There was a brothel situated in the more dangerous parts of the town that Simon often frequented. Behind the brothel lay a fighting arena which was ran by a close friend of his, no formalities needed. This was where he let out his steam and every frustration that otherwise plagued his brain. Simon walked through these doors carefree, most people already aware of the Duke’s presence among them but choosing not to speak on it. Good.
“Simon.” Johnny’s voice came from behind him. There he stood, John Mactavish, cleaning one of the glasses neatly, a pleasant grin present on his mouth. “What’s got ye all brooding?” He prodded.
Simon didn’t bother replying, taking off his cloak and shirt with a grunt, cracking his knuckles.
“Let me guess, it’s the duchess.” Johnny’s tone took a more teasing approach as he stepped closer.
“Yes.” Simon sighed and finally met Johnny’s eyes. “I’ve been avoiding her.”
“What’s new?”
“Not like that.” Simon hissed, fingers clenching into fists. “She showed vulnerability I’d never seen before. She trusted me with something sacred and now here I am, seeking some pain like a madman, not talking to my wife.”
Johnny stayed quiet for a long time, as if the dots were finally connecting in his head, his expression turning from a smile to a scowl, and onto a curious grin. He didn’t know whether to punch Simon or laugh. “Ye fucked up proper big this time.” He chose to shrug.
“As if I don’t know.” They both walked towards the fighting pit, some guys already punching the hell out of each other. “She makes me feel things I was fully intent on not ever experiencing. But she… she’s radiant. Sunshine.” Simon ran a hand over his face, his eyes looking devastated. “She deserved to marry a man who’d recite sonnets for her, who’d spend his entire day worshipping her and showing her how lovely she is. Me? I bask in politics and blood. I am no lover.”
“Fucker.” Johnny punched Simon’s shoulder firmly. “Ye ken that’s bullshit. I’ve seen the way she looks at ye, always in awe. She doesn’t think of ye as if ye’re some lost cause.”
“Because she hasn’t seen me like this.”
“She’s no fool, Simon.” Johnny rolled his eyes. “She knows.”
And that’s what stung the most, because Simon knew that you were aware of his whereabouts, knew whenever he reeked the slightest of alcohol or looked exhausted. No matter how much his avoidance attempted to hide himself from you, you always ultimately won in this game you both partook in.
Johnny and Simon finally went into an empty ring, standing opposite to one another. Both men got into position, legs apart and fists raised. Johnny looked like he was right where he belonged — playful yet strong — whereas the usual sulking Simon looked disturbed.
“C’mon, Johnny. Give me your worst punch.”
And a loud thwack! rang through the place.
It was past midnight, and you roamed these halls like a tortured spirit. With a lantern in hand, the fire flickering peacefully within, you strolled the mansion’s gardens, the cool night air brushing against your cheeks, your nightgown ruffling. This was your sanctuary for tonight, your mind at peace for once in this rather tumultuous week. There was no Simon here, no thoughts about being a failure, no thoughts about that night.
Just you and the stars.
Simon never spoke of it, but he was fond of flowers. The gardens were beautifully adorned with a diversity of flowers, and you adored running your fingers through them and kneeling down to smell their scent. Your favourite were the bushes of red carnations carefully placed nearby one of the statues. Their position made it possible for you to assume that they might be Simon’s favourite, though you had certainly perceived him to favour the more gloomy ones. Red carnations — admiration and longing — everything you felt for Simon, maybe even more. Did he feel the same?
Were you seriously thinking of Simon again?
It was hard not to, no matter how many times you’d mentally scolded yourself over it.
Walking through the stone-covered pavement, the sound of your footsteps gentle, you stiffened up and froze upon hearing another sound join yours. They were loud, uneven, as if someone were stumbling to walk before you heard something falling hard.
Confused and concerned, you walked forward to find the source of the noise, only to find your husband kneeling in pain by the front gates of this mansion, his head hung low while his breathing wavered, heavy. You simply stood still for a moment. It was as if the world had fallen silent, and everything around him had blurred as your eyes wildly focused onto Simon’s dishevelled state. It wasn’t unusual for you to see bruises marred on his skin, you simply hadn’t caught him right after returning from whatever hellhole he’d frequent.
And he looked so much worse tonight. His lips were bleeding, a gash present on his nose bridge. He looked as if he was in agony, as if he’d crawled out of a nightmare he’d purposefully fallen into. Self destruction.
“Simon?” You finally found the strength to speak, though your voice came out strained.
“Don’t.” His voice was all the more broken, and you were in no mood to listen to his orders, not tonight. You couldn’t stand seeing him like this.
“No.” You said firmly and walked over to him, falling to your knees beside him so your hands could cradle his face and examine his wounds properly. You noted that his knuckles were split too, yet he didn’t seem to cradle his chest. Still, you’d have him checked wholly, no matter how much he’d protest.
“Is this what you do? Escaping this place to purposefully get beaten up? Do you not put up a fight?” You rambled in panic, quick to embrace him. He was trembling, stiffening as soon as your arms swung around him. He couldn’t recall the last time he was embraced.
“It’s nothing you should be concerned with.” Yet he still let his head rest on your shoulder, your scent soothing his nerves.
“You’re wrong. I will be worried about anything and everything related to you.” She confessed, and a choked groan escaped him, as if he’d been holding back for far too long. “You’re not drunk, are you?”
“No.” His hands gently held onto her arms, attempting to control his trembling. “Don’t stop holding me.” A plea, not an order.
And you obliged, your arms tightening around him. “I have ignored your bruises and wounds constantly yet I have always worried for you. I don’t like seeing you so… so much in pain.”
“It helps, the pain and all.” Simon spoke after a long pause. “I had assumed that the fighting would keep my head numb and distracted but I was so, so wrong.” His hands moved up to cradle your face, and you didn’t mind that his fingernails had dried blood underneath them. You watched him, your eyes equally as pained as his. “You plague my body and soul and I’ve been the utmost neglectful as your husband. I shouldn’t have left that morning while you were still in my bed. I’m a coward who’d wanted to kiss you awake yet was too consumed by my own flaws, as I still am. So I fight. I fight to punish myself yet I still refuse to converse with you.” A choked laugh left him, quivering, and your heart tore. “Just how ridiculous is that? A useless Duke, a worthless husband. My father would be laughing at me, my mother would be disappointed.”
You stayed silent, because those words rang true and he’d hurt you. Yet you never perceived him as a coward or a failure, and had never even paid mind to those parents of his who solely cared about their class and political unions rather than their son’s happiness, much like your own parents. Had you two always been two birds trapped in the same cage?
“Why now?” You asked, feeling his breathing fan your neck, your fingers long having found themselves in his hair, running through them. “Why must you confess this all now?”
“Because you had been vulnerable to me when I had no right to witness it. You showed me warmth and affection. To I, who had never felt such feelings before.” Simon pulled his head back, the moonlight illuminating his face, showing the way his eyes were glistening, his face torn and exhausted.
“We must get you cleaned up.” You hurried to stand up, but he pulled you down once again to him. Your breath hitched, but you felt yourself melt into his arms.
“On our wedding day, I’d seen our parents talk as if they had won a game of chess and it infuriated me. But through this, I got the chance to get to know you more.” You spoke quietly, pressing a soft kiss near his lips. “I don’t hate you, Simon. I don't think I ever could.”
You both stayed on the grass for a while, the moonlight shining upon your both, your hearts beating in sync.
“Do you like red carnations?” You asked after a while.
“Yes. How did you know?”
“Guessed.” You smiled.
Simon had agreed to getting checked and bandaged properly by one of the royal doctors, who’d scolded him for his recklessness while you stayed behind and attempted to suppress your laughter. The doctor was an elderly, having been there for Simon since childhood. It was a soft and endearing bond.
Having gone to separate bedrooms as usual, you had struggled to sleep the entire night, Simon’s words replaying in your head alongside the last three months of distance.
You two even had breakfast together the next morning, though it had been far more quieter and awkward than you both had expected. Perhaps it was hard to change routine after three months of avoiding one another.
“I have a meeting this afternoon in order to discuss the distribution of some estates.” Simon stopped you when you were about to enter the mansion’s library, his hand grasping your elbow gently. How odd, you both seldom told each other of your whereabouts and activities. You froze, before a smile cracked on your lips.
“Will it take you long?” You asked, innocuous.
“No. I should be back by this evening. And… And then maybe you’d like to spend some time together?” Simon’s bruised fingers curled up into fists as he looked away, not awkward but… shy by this newfound feeling? You amused yourself with that thought.
“Of course.”
Simon had indeed returned earlier than expected, as if he couldn’t tolerate being in those meetings.
“I can’t stand the arrogance of some of these people.” Simon grumbled after he freshened up, sitting down on an armchair beside yours. You both were in the reading room, the fireplace crackling in front of you both. You were wearing your nightgown, loose by your shoulders, a half-finished book laying on your lap.
“You have never been good at hiding your dislike for them.” You couldn’t help but giggle a bit, turning over to face him. He looked softer like this, a simple loose shirt and some pants, his hair messy and damp from a shower, his eyes somewhat tired yet not stern and indifferent like always — warm.
“I thought so.” He huffed. “I had… I suppose I missed you this afternoon.” His voice dipped lower, almost like a hushed whisper.
“You suppose?” You whispered back, sinking back into your armchair, wishing that the soft cushion would just suck you in so you wouldn’t be so flustered in front of him. His words consumed you wholly and reduced you into a happy puddle.
“Don’t hide from me.” Simon insisted and rose from his armchair, walking over to you and standing above you, his hands gently embracing yours, pressing them against his chest. Somehow that made your blood rush onto your face even wilder, your body impossibly heated up as a tiny whimper left your lips.
“You know what you’re doing, and you’re intentionally teasing me over it-!” You choked out, but Simon simply tilted his head as he looked at you. He wasn’t smiling, but his brows were drawn together and his eyes staring at you with fondness that was threatening to outflow.
“I fear I am unaware of what you are talking about.” Simon lowered himself until he was on his knees right in front of the armchair you sat on, his hands letting go of yours. He stared up at you, before pressing a gentle kiss on your right knee, doing the same to your left.
“What are you doing…?” You hated how shaky your voice was, as if his presence alone had melted you.
“Worshipping you as I always should have.” He mumbled against your knee, his lips trailing down as he pressed a kiss on your calves by hoisting your legs up on his shoulders so they were raised. The motion caused your nightgown to ride up, though he spoke nothing of it, busy with his hands caressing your legs up and down. Blood rushed to your face and you couldn’t hide your smile, trying to sit up properly, your hand reaching down to cup the side of his face.
“I know the book that you’re reading.” He abruptly said, causing you to gasp, as if scandalised. Quite hypocritical, since this book was one of your own possessions,
“What…?!” You sputtered out. The book on your lap was an erotica that you might or might have not been aware of, though the name clearly suggested a much more softer romance. What bewildered you more was that Simon was aware of it. Has he been checking your collection out? Has he read this book? “Did you read it…?” You cautiously asked, trying to remain neutral although you were quite literally dying inside.
“A little bit.” Simon spoke calmly, unfazed. “Apologies for going through your books without your permission. I was merely curious about your… tastes.” And there it was, a grin sneaking past his lips. Tease. You whined in protest, just about to lightly shove him away when he grabbed your wrist, tilting your hand so he could press a kiss on your palm.
You remained quiet, not trusting yourself with your words. His hand pried the book off your lap and set it aside, shuffling closer so your legs were draped more comfortably on his shoulders, allowing your hand to rake through his hair. “Well, I was just trying the book out. You know, just curious.” You jested, your giggle causing him to laugh a little as well.
“I’m sure you were.” You had just noticed that Simon’s eyes had darkened, pupils dilated, staring up at you in awe, his lips parted. His cheeks were flushed, and he looked so utterly lovesick. You swallowed, heart skipping a beat.
“May I kiss you?” Simon asked, you confirming nod causing him to rise and cradle your face tenderly in his hands. “My sweet duchess.” He whispered before his lips met with yours.
You lost yourself in his lips, his mouth moving against your gently with no rush whatsoever, as if wanting to savour your taste. Your lips parted once his tongue probed yours, your arms finding themselves wrapped around your broad shoulders. Moments like this, with him leaning down and your hands mapping out his shoulders, made you realise how big he was. How strong. The thought made your stomach feel all giddy.
His teeth nipped your bottom lip and you couldn’t help but gasp against his lips, hands clinging into him in desperation once he broke off the kiss. It felt short even though it wasn’t, and your lips ached to be met with his over and over until it was maddening. You panted softly and stared at him, your eyes somewhat glazed, lips swollen.
“Simon-“ Your words were cut off by him kneeling before you once again, his hands positioning your legs over his shoulder, his hands trembling. It was as if his composure was shattering, the elegance of his movements long gone and replaced by something that could only be described as something between greed and longing, perhaps both.
“I want to make you feel good, love. Tonight and every night from now on, if you’ll allow me to.” He spoke breathlessly, pressing a kiss along your thigh, nipping on the soft skin solely to feel you shudder beneath his mouth. You bit your bottom lip and simply revelled in the sight before you at the moment — Simon kneeling for you, his mouth eager to worship you wholly.
“And I’d very much like that…” Your words come out as a whimper, hips bashfully lifting to help him lift your undies from underneath your dress, letting it pool by the ground as he slides the hem of your nightgown upwards.
The warmth from the fireplace felt unbearable beside his warmth overwhelming you, his touch caressing your inner thighs as he leaned his face closer between your legs. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen you bare yet this felt much more different, more charged. His breathing fanned against your pussy, slow and deliberate, his eyes admiring your slick folds. You’d never, well you’d thought of it, but you’d never had any man kneel before you with his mouth watering to devour you. You’d assumed that if anything were to transpire tonight, it’d be you pleasuring him. Your fingers met his hair once again, gently guiding his face closer.
“You look so beautiful, as you always do. Though seeing you like this, soaked and needy all for me? It does things to me.” Simon’s lips caressed your clit, his tongue darting out to lick a strip against your pussy. You shivered from the sensitivity, a soft content sigh escaping your lips. Your hips bucked against his mouth as he began to lick up and down your pussy steadily, his hands gripping your thighs to keep your legs parted.
He groaned against your pussy, unrestrained and aching, progressively getting messier as his teeth lightly scraped against your puffy clit, not painful but testing, earning a surprised squeak from you, your fingers unconsciously tugging at his hair. He seemed to be liking that way too much, letting you pull his hair to your heart’s content.
His lips soon enclosed around your clit, feeling it twitch from your arousal as he gently sucked on it. The pressure around your bundle of nerves made your legs tighten around his shoulders while you pushed your head back.
“Simon-!” You moaned out his name, your face all heated up. The noises of his mouth practically slurping as he sucked on your clit was undeniable and loudly obscene, but you couldn't find it within yourself to care if anyone were to hear it, too lost in the pleasure.
The pressure began building in your lower abdomen, your eyes on the brink of closing shut. He must’ve realised it with the way your hips needily twitched, his eyes flickering upwards, hungry. “I’m so close… Feels so good I can’t-“ You incoherently babbled, wanting to say so many things yet unable to.
The pressure builds and builds with every suction of his mouth on your clit until you reach your peak, the pleasure washing over you in waves as a final blissful noise leaves your mouth. You fell limp on the armchair, trying to catch your breath while Simon licked up your release from your pussy, humming against your skin. When he pulled apart, his chin and mouth were glistening and you couldn’t help but be flustered and surprised, a giddy smile somehow blooming on your lips while he grinned back at you.
”This was… This was amazing.” You breathed heavily, arms sluggishly raising as he embraced you, face burying into your neck.
“I suppose we should retire to my chambers now?” His question was laced with desire and you nodded, giggling as he effortlessly lifted you up in his strong arms, your arms wrapping around his neck as he carried you through the halls and towards his chambers, the maids long having retired to their quarters. Shutting the door behind him with one hand while the other supported you. He gently lowered you on his bed and helped you out of your nightgown, your eyes watching his every movement intently.
“I want more.” You blurted out and he paused. “I want us to become one. I want to feel every inch of you and you of me.” You continued, breathless. You knew he wanted this too, his eyes were borderline wild and his hands trembled as nightgown met the floor and you laid in front of him naked, squirming a bit. His jaw tightened as he gently got on the bed and above you, letting your hands cradle his face.
“Are you sure this is what you want?” He asked, as if he didn’t deserve you. You frowned and nodded, leaning up to press a small kiss on his lips, feeling him melt under your touch instantly. Amidst your kiss, your hands travelled down and began unbuttoning his night shirt, your fingers brushing against his collarbone before travelling down to his chest, your breath hitching as your fingers mapped out the pecs and muscles. He didn’t stop your exploration, instead encouraged it by helping you toss his shirt aside. You pulled back from the kiss to stare at his torso properly, freckles adorning his shoulders, some old bruises present along his chest and sides. You wanted to kiss each and every of them so desperately so you could replace the pain with the affection you harboured for him.
“All I want is you.” You whispered quietly, feeling him travel down to gently kiss along your neck and collarbone, feeling your pulse beating rapidly beneath his lips, a comfort for him. His hands roamed over you before gently grasping your breasts, his fingers playing with your erect nipples, pressing kisses on both. Simon is painfully tender in each kiss and caress, his eyes constantly meeting yours.
Your hands met his shoulders as you gently pushed him down to lay flat on his bed, earning a confused grunt from him as you straddled his lap, your hands just an inch away from his pants. “Is this how you wish us to be?” His cocked an eyebrow, lips parted in awe.
“Yes.” You nodded, hands beginning to undo his pants. He was about to help you but you shot him a light glare, causing him to huff and simply watch you as you tugged his pants down alongside his briefs, your breath audibly hitching. “My goodness.” You marvelled as your fingers nervously caressed the length of his cock, and some anxiety suddenly settled within you. His cock was beautiful, angrily flushed and slicked, hardened up for who knows how long, clearly pent up. You feared that it’d break you, not metaphorically.
Sending your sudden change, Simon’s hand gently grabbed your wrist, guiding your hand to rest on his chest so you could feel his heart beating beneath your fingertips. “We don’t have to do this tonight.” He gave you a way out, yet you were too eager to feel his skin against yours, too busy realising your feelings for him to back down.
“No, I want to…” You unconsciously nibbled on your bottom lip. “I-I must confess that I have thought of doing this with you for quite an embarrassing amount of times.”
Simon smiled at that, his cheeks flushed underneath the dim light in his chambers. “So have I. Something we have in common then, among other things.”
You couldn’t hold in your laughter, so light and carefree. His heart skipped a beat with a noise that dangerously sounded like a restrained growl, he positioned you properly on top of his torso and let his hands grip your hips, firm yet not too tight, though he wouldn’t mind seeing his marks adorning your skin. Just not tonight, not on your first proper night with him.
“Can you see me?” He asked, his brows furrowed and hair messy, lips parted and chest rapidly rising and falling. “I burn for you.” And so did you.
Your movements were rather timid, a result of your inexperience and the sight of him, your hips lifting up as he grasped his cock with one hand, guiding it towards your entrance. “Deep breaths, love.” He grunted as his cock pushed inside you, the stretch burning albeit you being properly wet beforehand, a gasp leaving you while your hand tightened on his pecs, fingernails unconsciously digging into his skin, scratching. You panted heavily, eyes squeezing shut while your hips sank slowly and slowly onto his length. He was ridiculously huge, and you wished to scold him loud and proper for it. Perhaps tomorrow. The thought left you giddy.
As you finally settled on his cock, his hands eased on your hips, thumbs caressing your skin to comfort you. You opened your eyes and looked down at him, already looking so dishevelled and enamoured equally.
Simon let out a groan at the squeeze of your walls around his girth. You were gripping him so tight, your insides warm, and his cock twitched inside you pleasantly. He let you catch your breath before you experimentally began to ride him, hands splayed on his chest. He rolled his hips upwards and gently thrusted inside you along your movements, your hips rising and falling, meeting his thrusts. You bit your bottom lip as the earlier sting soon dissolved into pleasure, a muffled moan leaving you.
“Eyes on me, love.” Simon groaned, and your eyes met his.
You were unable to speak, continuing to ride his cock, whimpering as his cock brushed against the sweet spot inside you, causing pressure to build in your abdomen. Your skin was tingling and it felt like your body was on fire, his cock soaked with your wetness, squelching as you fucked yourself on him, so close yet so far.
Fatigue won you over and your movements became discoordinated. A frustrated whine left you as you tried to continue riding, though it just became sloppier and you eventually collapsed on his chest, his arms circling around you.
“I’m sorry, my stamina is just so…” You rambled when embarrassed, wanting the earth to swallow you whole, though he simply kissed the top of your head, his cock still nestled in you.
“Don’t be.” Simon couldn’t help but smile at that moment, finding you and your distress somehow adorable. His fingers cascaded through your hair for a few seconds before he gently shifted you both around so now he was the one on top, his hands on each side of your head. You gazed up at him longingly, blood rushing to your face.
“Let me do all the work now.” He pressed a kiss on your forehead which had a thin sheen of sweat covering it, your head nodding. He had momentarily pulled himself out of you but with your legs now carefully wrapping around his waist and his hands finding themselves on your waist, he realigned his cock towards your pussy, pushing in gently.
You moaned breathlessly as he began thrusting in and out of your pussy with firm strokes, your hands gently holding onto his shoulders, bracing yourself. The stretch felt borderline delicious, his cock splitting you as your hips bucked to meet his thrusts. It was surprising how easily his cock seemed to be hitting your sweet spot over and over, applying pressure that made your eyes roll back, as if he’d already memorised every inch of you.
He moaned alongside you, and every noise he made sent an unexplainable fire within you.
“Oh-!” A gasp escaped your throat when he leaned down to press his forehead against yours, your faces so close. You could feel the damp strands of his hair brushing against your skin, and your fingernails dug into his back as he kept ramming into you relentlessly. You ached, but not because of his thrusts but rather the care that was evident in his eyes, your hearts beating as one.
One of his hands snuck between your bodies, fingers finding your clit, rubbing it in circular motions and causing you to whimper.
Every tear and every argument, every stolen glance and awkward talk had led you to Simon Riley.
“Kiss me…” You spoke shakily and his lips instantly met yours, his mouth swallowing your moans up. Heat coiled deep within you as the pleasure coursing within you heightened up, and you could feel your orgasm approaching, your teeth biting onto his bottom lip gently, earning a muffled groan from him. His fingers stayed put on your clit, feeling it throb, clearly showing how close you were.
He pulled apart from the kiss to whisper into your ear, his voice hoarse. “I am close… I can pull out if you wish me to.”
Countless lessons from your mother about ‘receiving the seed’ and all that rushed into your head, and while you were aching to feel him inside you, you knew you both could try again. Later. The thought of a ‘later’ alone filled you with joy and with a laugh that was mingled with a moan, you nodded. “Yes, please.”
With his other hand gripping your waist firmly, his thrusts stayed steady, his cock twitching inside you and soon you reached your peak, his rubbing not ceasing, guiding you through your orgasm as your folds spasmed around his cock, gushing with your release. Your mouth went slack as you leaned your head into the pillow, panting heavily.
Simon gently pulled his cock out of you, his hand giving it a few pumps, a rather lewd sight that you watched with such fascination as he emptied himself over your stomach, his come spurting out in thick white ropes, painting your skin. You had to bite your lips to hold back another moan, shameless.
He rolled over and laid down beside you, his face tilting so he could look at you, watching the face your skin was glistening and your eyes were flushed, lips parted. You looked so content. Simon, always the one to pull away from any sort of physical touch, reached out to you first, his arm wrapping around your waist to pull you closer. “How’re you feeling?” He asked, his thumb rubbing your side, hoping you weren’t too sore.
“Good.” You giggled and looked over at him, your eyes wide and full of fondness, solely dedicated to him. Perhaps love even. You felt love, so much love in your heart, though you decided to confess it some other time and oblivious to you, he thought the same. Both of you laid there, foolishly holding back your feelings, husband and wife.
“A bit tingly actually.” You smiled and reached your hand up to gently cradle the side of his face, watching the way he leaned himself into your palm, nuzzling into it. Like a pup, almost. “And gross.” You teasingly poked the side of his lips. “You’ve made such a mess on me. How, well, uncharacteristic of you. I always saw you as someone who preferred some cleanliness.” The momentarily concern in his eyes was far too amusing for you, until he realised that you were simply messing with him.
“Fine, fine, Your Grace. You win.” He sighed, buried his head into your shoulder. “We’ll have you all cleaned up. But for now, let me hold you like this, love.” The way he spoke the last word, lazy with exhaustion, made your heart skip a beat and you nodded wordlessly, letting your fingers move up to stroke his hair tenderly.
“Promise me you won’t leave tomorrow morning.” You spoke, thumb brushing against the scar on his brow.
“I will never leave you again, I promise it to you.”
You hadn’t realised when you’d fallen asleep in his arms and he’d gotten up to clean you up gently, before joining you back again, not letting himself let go of you. Never.
With autumn approaching, another ball rolled in. The Ton sure did love the parties, the gossip and the drama of it all. Simon, well adorned in a tailored coat — the same shade of maroon as the dress that you wore — stood in front of you at the entrance of your mansion while the carriages rolled in, the sounds of horses snorting growing louder,
“I’ve plucked this for you.” He held a singular red carnation and tenderly slid it behind your right ear.
“We match.” You smiled, unable to contain your joy as your hand placed itself onto his arm.
“We do.” He turned so he could properly face you, his gloved hands holding your face. “I will make sure that you leave the ball happy tonight, and I shall spend the rest of my life doing the same upon every event, however minuscule.” He took an oath. “I adore you in ways words fail to express.”
“And I, you.” You leaned up on your tiptoes and he graciously leaned down, making it easier for you to press a soft kiss on his cheek. “Shall we go then?”
“Indeed.” He took your hand and guided you to the carriage.
You both rode off to the ball, your fingers occasionally brushing against the red carnation plucked behind your ear, your other hand still held by his, refusing to let go.
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