Hello!! I’m Mare, I’m 24, and I’m fairly new to Tumblr (haven’t been on here since 2016). I made this blog to try my hand at writing fanfiction, most of my work so far has contained smut and has been focusing on Call of Duty content because I’m obsessed and feral for Price and Ghost.
I am more than open to requests and would love to hear your feedback on all and any of my work!! Get in my inbox I don’t bite ;)
Here’s the masterlist to all my work thus far:
🌸= f!reader 💕=fluff 💗= smut
💓=fluff with smut
❤️🩹= angst
Simon “Ghost” Riley
To Be Alone With You 🌸💓 AO3
Let Them Know Who You Belong To 🌸💗
Girl Dad! Simon Drabble 💕
Dark But Sweet (Part 1) 💕🌸 (Part 2) 💗🌸
Concupiscence (Part 1)💓(Part 2) ❤️🩹💗🌸
Captain John Price
Good for Me 🌸💓
Home is the Feeling of You 🌸💓
Never Let Me Go (Part 1) (Part 2) 🌸💕(Part 3) 🌸💗 (Part 4) (Part 5)🌸💗 (Part 6)💗
I never get personal absolutely anywhere on my social media, but maybe my anonymity here is what’s propelling me to vent. I’ve been in a 6 year relationship and these past 10 months I’ve felt like I’ve been through hell and back. For context, I moved cities because of a post-grad job (fun fact I’m a therapist lol) and came with my boyfriend. I have a master’s degree and I’m working towards licensure, that was the main reason I took on that job. My boyfriend has not finished his associates, he was supposed to and continue his education whilst working to be able to afford rent, and when we moved back in August he didn’t really do any of that until now. He finally got a job in December and works long night shifts. This has made him not really be present because he sleeps in and wakes up about 2 or 3 hours before going to work. That’s put a strain on our relationship. Up until recently I was the one making the most money, which wasn’t much because it was (on a good month) about 3k a month, and 70% of that would go to rent since he only handles utilities and groceries. Another kink in the relationship there. I’ve since moved to a different job because the one I moved cities for was absolutely horrendous with a boss from hell that honestly would’ve put me in some sort of ethical or legal dispute sooner or later, but the new job I’m in is remote and a significant pay cut as I re-grow my client load (another fun fact, pre-licensed therapists are severely abused financially by employers). I’m still the one handling rent and slowly getting into more and more credit card debt.
I’ve decided to move back to the city we’re from because not only is my new job based there, but it’s where my parents are at. I’m an only child and they’ve been having a really hard time being 4 hours away from me, and so have I. My support network is very limited, pretty much nonexistent because yes I do have friends whom I love, but I’m too closed off to reach out about this stuff (plus they’re the girlfriends of my boyfriend’s friends), so I pretty much only have my parents. I don’t get out of my apartment, all I do is work and couch-rot, I’m extremely lonely because again my boyfriend works long shifts and we spend 2 days of the week together even though we live in the same apartment. To top everything off, I lost my soulmate, my sweet orange kitty, to a very long battle with leukemia last month. Now y’all can see why I say I’ve been through hell and back.
In all these 10 months living with him, there’s been many fights, honestly a fight per month on average. Fights about finances, about him not pulling his weight with chores at home, about him not continuing his education. I’ve had to do a lot of heavy lifting and a lot of emotional (and financial) support for him, push him to do more and to take a load off my back for us to thrive more. TMI but our sex life is uh…pretty dead. This month or these past 2-3 weeks it’s been especially difficult because there’s been two instances of him lying/sneaking around. He rarely wakes up early when I ask him to, for the sake of us getting to spend more time together before he goes to work. But he decided instead to wake up early to go out with one of his coworkers to go grocery shopping with them…not for me. This caused a major issue obviously, almost broke up then because the topic of moving back home surfaced. Essentially, he’d rather stay in this new city and do all the things I’ve asked him to do, while I move back home. After much back and forth, he decided nvm I’ll go back home with you. This made me feel, in the simplest terms, as taken advantage of. I feel like I was not chosen, like I haven’t been in a long time, like there’s a lot of selfishness on his part for choosing a meaningless city over a 6 year relationship. This resurfaced today when 2 days ago he stayed out after work until 4-5AM to smoke weed. Mind you, I’m a woman home alone, in a city with no friends or family, spending every night by myself, and he didn’t see any problem with this until I told him so. It’s another instance of not being taken care of; feeling like I’m being taken for granted and like I don’t really matter. He once again brought up that he doesn’t feel right moving back to the city we’re from even if it’s with me, another instance of not choosing our relationship and choosing a city over it. We didn’t break up again but it felt close. I was the one asking for him to not leave me, practically begging for him to follow me back, begging to put me first and to stay with me. He didn’t break up with me, he agreed to stay with me and move back, give it another shot.
The reason I’m putting this out there is because I think I’d like some words of wisdom if anyone out there has any suggestions. If I was my own client, I’d be rooting for them to break off a relationship like this, but hey it’s hard to practice what you preach and I’m human after all. I’ll probably delete this, but I’d love to hear some advice or feedback or maybe someone who’s been in a similar position, or someone who sees all this from a different perspective; honestly, anything would help. If you made it this far into this stupid post, thank you <3 it means a lot that you took a moment to get this far.
cw: smut!!!! fluff, fingering, oral fixation, sucking fingers, time period gender roles, religious themes
You were left a gasping, shaking mess. Soiled, damp, and sticky, as your body went limp and your sweat-slicked forehead rested on Simon’s broad shoulder. Your eyes fell closed with tiredness, and your hand still rested with your fingers encapsulated by Simon’s panting mouth. Your remaining, deafened senses let you register the way his chest still rose and fell breathlessly as he basked in his own afterglow. Beneath you, you felt the warmth of the damp spot your husband’s climax staining his trousers.
The thoughts in your mind were drowned out, and all you could compute was the fact you’d exposed yourself in such a way to a man you’d only met hardly a year ago. It was hard to wrap your mind around the fact that yes he was in fact your husband, and yes your name was in his testament and half his assets belonged to you if anything happened to him. But you still could not believe that you had let your carnal desires make you act with such debauchery.
But oh, how your body tingled and buzzed with freedom and pleasure after letting yourself indulge in such a way. If God had not made you to feel this pleasure from the touch of a man, then why had he created you this way?
Simon stirred you from your thoughts when a loud pop of his mouth freed your fingers. You felt his plump lips kiss your fingertips, your palm, your wrist and forearm, then migrate to the side of your head. He inhaled the sent of your hair.
“Duchess,” he crooned, “everythin’ a’right?”
You nodded against his shoulder, then lifted your head to meet his gaze. Blown, glossy pupils made your sight hazy; a mix of the liquor remaining in your system plus the afterglow of your orgasm clouding you.
Your eyes met his and you scanned his reddened face, with an expression of concern and abashment. You couldn’t help but burst into a giggle.
“Oh, my darling husband” you cupped his face, still overcome with giddiness.
It was difficult to look at Simon for the next few days, when you had returned to your good conscience and your doubts had consumed you once more. You doubted yourself, feeling like you had made a grave mistake by allowing yourself to be so improper. At this point you were sure these back and forths of yours would madden you sooner than later.
You spent your mornings in bed grappling with the heavy decision of who you were supposed to be. Were you supposed to be the lady your mother had raised you to be: proper, dutiful, modest? Or were you supposed to be the self you had slowly been discovering and unraveling into since being betrothed to Simon: indulgent, sensual, primal, carefree?
When you would cross paths with Simon throughout the day, at first he had a small smile curling at the corners of his lips, like he was oh so eager to see you ever since that night you’d bore your all to him so freely. But that smile turned into a furrowed brow of confusion the more he saw you advert your gaze or speak all nervous and overly cordial. The man was evidently puzzled, and you knew it was because of your sudden change of heart. You’d be lying if you said there wasn’t a pang of guilt in your chest when you saw him, after all, he had been perfectly candid and honest about his feelings and intentions. As far as he knew, you had reciprocated the sentiment just a few days ago, so what’s changed now?
You stood in front of the grand mirror in your bedroom. Your Abigail had just exited after helping you get dressed for the night. You adjusted your evening gown, straightening the fine primrose silk skirt and fixing your bustier underneath. There was a dinner party tonight, an intimate gathering yet elegant all the same; your husband was having his colleagues over to your joint estate, so of course you were eager to impress.
You reached towards your vanity, fetching the bottle of bergamot perfume to sprits at your collarbones. Once returned to its space on your vanity, you took your set of pearl earrings, one of many that Simon had gifted you and you had yet to debut, and clipped them to the lobes of your ear.
Your hair remained unruly and undone, still. Your hair was a process you preferred to do on your own and to your liking rather than let your maid do so for you. As you brushed the boar bristle brush down your locks, you heard a knock at the door of your bedroom. You called out to grant them access.
Simon made has way through and across the room. His pace was nonchalant and unhurried. His hands were dug into his trouser’s pockets, and he scanned his surroundings as in he was new to the space, maybe feigning aloofness. You didn’t really pay him any mind as you were preoccupied with untangling your hair, still watching yourself in the mirror.
He stopped just a few feet from you, still not saying a word. The seconds passed and quietness remained between the two of you. Puzzled, you finally turned to look at him, craning your neck to meet his face.
“Yes?” You inquired, doe eyed and clueless.
Simon stayed stoic and quit for a beat longer; it was difficult to decipher what he was thinking, and it had been a while since he’s been this imperceptible to you.
“You’ve been avoiding me again,” his voice rough, callous. It hit you in the gut to hear his words, so you chose to back away.
“Not sure what you mean, darling,” you turned away as if not caring, returning to brushing your hair.
Simon called you by your name with a stern and emphatic tone. He stepped closer to you, standing behind you like an overcasting shadow.
You startled, pausing your movements entirely like a small animal realizing they’d just become prey.
Your throat bobbed as you swallowed hard. You moved your eyes from your reflection to Simon, looking at each other through the mirror in front of you.
“You’re ignorin’ me again,” he spoke, “n’ you give me no clarity as to why. Have I vexed you in any way?” His tone softened at the inquiry, filled with earnest, maybe even hurt.
You opened your mouth to speak but hesitated, unable to find the right words. Your gaze softened and unfocused, and before you could even realize you felt the warmth of tears roll down your cheeks. You inhaled a shaky breath, and before your hands could reach your face, the back of Simon’s hand reached to gently touch your tear-stained cheek.
His voice was low and gentle, almost pained as he spoke by your temple, “C’mon, love… tell me what’s the matter.” It was almost pleading.
You hiccuped, feeling as if you could hardly contain yourself as your tears ruined your rouge and flowed like a stream.
“I just—“ you began, your throat in a knot, “I’ve never done this before, Simon.”
“Done what, love?”
“This! I’ve never been a wife, I— I’ve never been a woman,” you sobbed unfiltered. “I’m s’posed to be a lady…s’posed to be proper n’ poised. But I can’t resist these urges, my body refuses to, like it acts on its own, my mother’s teachings be damned! I shouldn’t even be cursing like this, I’m meant to be a lady who’s prim and modest.”
Simon stayed quiet as you cried, letting your confession flow unfiltered and untethered from your lips.
“I don’t know who I really am anymore— I was taught to be the perfect wife, God-abiding and dutiful, and I feel so…so hedonistic as I become possessed with desire when I’m around you, Simon, and worst of all I’ve never felt such overwhelming pleasure and such an euphoric feeling as I did that night with you…that’s the most difficult part to admit!” You clasp your hand over your mouth as if to shut yourself up, quietly sobbing beneath your hand.
Simon shushed you softly like a scared animal, his thumb wiping away your tears on each cheek. He took your hand in his and laced his fingers into yours, resting your hands together against your heaving torso.
“I couldn’t ask for a more perfect woman, my love,” his cheek pressed against your temple, gentle words and hot breath next to your ear, “what’s the point in holdin’ yourself back from bein’ your unadulterated self?”
“I hardly know what that is,” you scoffed, “I can’t decide what version of myself is the correct one.”
“Why not both?” Simon’s fingers curled at your chin, lightly motioning your head to face his. “Why not embrace each side of a whole?” His lips pressed against your forehead, the bridge of your nose, the apple of each cheek.
You breathed in and out shakily, “how can I do so when both sides are so imperfect—“
“Imperfect,” he chuckled, and your cheeks reddened. “Look at y’self, dove” his hands squeezed your shoulders tenderly, then caressed up and down your arms as you turned back to your reflection. You both observed what stared back at you.
“Look at how gorgeous my lovely wife looks in her pink silks,” he grinned lightheartedly, and you couldn’t help the sly smile that tugged at your lips.
“It’s not pink it’s primrose,” you corrected.
He responded teasingly, “Primrose, of course, my mistake,” and a laugh rumbled behind you. He planted another kiss at the top of your head, taking a beat to smell the scent of your hair.
“And this lush mane o’ yours,” he smoothed his hands through your hair, collecting it behind you gently into a twist and draping it over your shoulder, “bet the mares are envious o’ you.”
“The mares?!” You gasped, feigning insult, and Simon’s laughter thundered behind you. It filled your heart with warmth every rare occasion he’d let himself be human and show you his unadulterated self.
You felt his lips press against the exposed skin of your neck, leaving a warm trail of kisses against the column of your neck and the slope of your shoulder.
You closed your eyes and sighed a breath of relief, holding your arms over his own as they snaked around your torso. Your fingers searched for his and laced together as his hands rested, large and safe, over your tummy.
Your head lolled back, eyes still closed and basking in the feeling of his lips on your skin. A hum in delight escaped you, the simple sound letting him know your appreciation. A wordless thank you for consoling me.
He rested his chin on your shoulder, squeezed you tighter as he looked at your reflection in front of him.
“There’s no angel in the heavens more perfect than you, Mrs. Riley.”
Your eyes fluttered open and you caught his loving eyes and scarred smile staring back at you. Heat pooled in your chest and you felt whole in his embrace.
“If you say so,” you said bashfully, but couldn’t help the smile that crept on your face.
“Course I say so,” he scoffed, straightening his posture behind you. His hand found its way to delicately touch the dainty pearls clinging to your ears. His fingers ghosted past them to your jaw, then your chin, and tilted your face to meet his. His lips pressed against yours, still feeling experimental even though it wasn’t the first time. You kissed him back with delight, your palm against his cheek.
When he pulled back he gave you another look, scanning your face for a beat.
His lips moved to speak but was interrupted by a knock at your door, your butler Mr. Kinglsey entered to announce the arrival of your husband’s guests. Simon nodded in his direction as a silent acknowledgment and dismissal.
“I’ve got to finish my hair!” You scurried out of Simon’s arms and to your vanity. Your hands scoured through your clips and hair pins, throwing your unruly hair up as you hurried to style your hair.
Simon sat on the edge of the bed behind you but you paid him no mind as you were too preoccupied with more urgent matters. He sat there quietly and patiently, entertained by the way you fussed.
Once the mission of your hair was completed, you powdered your face and touched up the rouge your tears had smudged, dabbing the leftover color on your lips as the final touch. You twirled around with a sigh of relief and approached your waiting husband, taking his hand in yours and giving him a light tug.
”C’mon, we shouldn’t keep them waiting!”
Simon was charmed by you and it was plastered all over his face. His fingers laced with yours as you eagerly dragged him along with you out the door
Priceghost “inviting” f!reader into a throuple. Inviting being a very liberal term to use because really it was Price fancying the new recruit and thinking his beloved Ghost would be just as thrilled to have her. Little does he know, Ghost is insanely possessive and jealous of his Captain, so this new bird coming into disturb his peace is the last thing he needs. He’s trying his best to like you, for Price’s sake, he’s just having a hard time sharing. It becomes a tug of war for Price’s attention between the two of you, and Price is elated because now he doesn’t have just Ghost mouthing at his balls as he kneels in front of him, but he’s also got your pretty mouth and dainty hands toying with his cock. Both of you fighting to be Price’s favorite toy while he gets to just sit back and watch with delight.
in lieu of the mw4 trailer, here’s rapid fire priceghost hc’s I have because my husbands oughta just kiss n make up:
Price is in control and absolutely dominates ghost, no matter if he’s top or bottom.
Their dynamic is borderline puppy play. Price is the handler, ghost is the loyal hound eating from his hand.
Ghost has been head over heels devoted to Price since the millisecond they met, since back when he was just Simon.
Ghost fell faster, but Price fell harder. But at the same time I kinda want to entertain the notion that Price loves Simon, yes that’s his right hand man, but Simon adores, cherishes, is infatuated with, devoted to Price.
Ghost is insanely jealous and protective of Price. He’s jealous of Kyle as much as he loves him, because Kyle is fresher and sharper just like he was back in his sergeant days, and it breaks his heart seeing Price even just praise Kyle.
Price has had Ghost quite literally crawling across the room just to rest his head between his thighs.
Price knows Ghost gets jealous and it only spurs him on even more to be malicious and go out of his way to praise the sergeants, and he makes sure Ghost knows that he knows.
*sigh* Price saw Simon cry once back in their Lieutenant-Sergeant days and that’s the number one image of Simon he’s got in his mental spank-bank. Something about younger, smooth-faced Simon flushed red and snot-nosed crying (for whatever reason honestly) makes him so pathetic it makes his balls heavy. He’s been chasing that sight ever since, maybe that’s why he’s so damn mean.
This one goes both ways (à la Challengers/Y Tu Mama También), when Price fucks a girl Ghost will go out of his way to fuck her too. It’s a way to fuck his Captain without admitting it to himself. Price will do the same with any girl Ghost fucks, except he’ll be less sneaky about it, might even outwardly tell him.
Despite Price being evil, he does have his occasional tenderness when he’s with Simon. He shows it in his own ways (insert that gif of him shoving/patting Ghost hehe) They don’t always just fuck, sometimes Price is gentle and adoring. He knows nothing riles Simon up more than his praises and words of affirmation. After all he’s gotta give his dog a treat to keep him loyal.
Skills: weapon mastery, sharpshooter, mechanics and motor skills (especially bikes), martial arts, close quarter combat, parkour, flexibility, recon
Costume: black tactical 2-hole balaclava; charcoal high-neck combat compression shirt with armored tech protecting her torso; body armor’s thick enough to be bulletproof and thin enough for flexibility and aesthetics (DIY by her of course); black cargo pants for mobility; lightweight tactical combat boots for stealth and protection.
Gear: utility belt, gun holster, holster for her sai on her back (sometimes exchanged for a holster carrying more firearms when missions call for it), thigh holster for knives on both legs, hidden knife sheath under boot; at times carries a utility bag on her bike for sniper missions.
Appearance: pale and freckled skin; healed scars scattered on her body where her armor failed her; muscular, toned, yet romantic build (phat ahh bih with hip dips yum); blonde curly mane of hair; she wears it in a high pony-braid freed through the top of her mask; off-duty she’s usually got her natural hair in a voluminous mane; she’s got foxy amber brown eyes and plump pouty lips; when not in costume she’s got her mechanic jumpsuit on with a tank top, or clothes that accentuate her curves; height is about 5’6-5’7.
Personality: she’s assertive and charming, it’s easy for her to banter back and forth; she holds her own (has big dick energy tbh), sassy, and can sometimes be aloof with strangers mainly because working at the shop, she’s gotta let the men that come not to take her as just a pretty face; in combat, she’s aggressive yet playful, and at times can get quite brutal and lacking restraint.
Background: works at her father’s body shop; he’s long retired to live a quiet life with her mother away from Gotham’s chaos. Mercy grew up in Gotham herself, and witnessed the excessive and unforgiving crimes every Gotham resident has the misfortune to come across; despite her parents wanting her to finally get away from the city with them, she refuses to leave because she feels she has a mission to fulfill: cleanse Gotham till its last criminal is dead in a ditch. Mercy doesn’t align with the Bat’s no-kill moral code (she aligns with Jason) because she’s experienced many friends and loved ones actually die at the hands of Batman’s naivety and neglectful crime-fighting ethics; friends have perished at the hands of a criminal that’s escaped Arkham for the nth time, or been at the wrong place and wrong time in the midst of combat, and she can’t help blame yet be motivated for her own vigilante agenda by this non-lethal rule.
Don’t think about knight!simon who’s been sworn to be princess!reader’s guard. he’s been your (very tall) shadow lurking behind you since the moment he was sworn to you. the man’s prolific as a fearless beast around the kingdom, he’s protected you like a hound able to kill with just a glare. yet he is kind to you, handles you gently like a delicate tulip in the hands of a giant. he spares few words to you but when he does it’s of devotion and gentility. it should be no surprise with all the proximity and sweetness between you two that he’s made a special claim to your heart. you, being the more assertive of the two, have cornered him into secluded parts of the palace to sneak licentious kisses. you take the lead and he follows loyally. your kisses sloppy and untrained. it should also be no surprise to you, when your loyal knight confesses he’s never laid with a woman before because of his oath of celibacy as a young squire. of course you as a lady never have either, but you were not as clueless as sir Simon, having had your few instances of exploration here and there. Simon was utterly clueless and inexperienced, making him unbelievably shy and bashful to your advances.
the first time you had him in your chamber you were careful with him, asking him multiple “is this alright, sir Simon?” and anticipating his eager nods before proceeding. your hands were slow and inquisitive as they glided through his body, feeling the muscle shielded by his armor, and you watched how his face reddened and his breath stuttered through dry parted lips.
it started quite innocent; your knight sitting at the edge of your bed with you straddling him, skirt of your dress hiked up around your hips, simon’s armor discarded on the floor and leaving him only in his gambeson and trousers. you ground yourself against the knight’s clothed erection, hard and warm against your own saturated core. your hips rolled in no particular rhythm, hands on his broad shoulders to stabilize yourself. his mouth was on yours, agape and panting and every now and then he’d kiss you tongue first and messy. he didn’t know what to do with his own hands; first they were planted at each side of him clutching the blankets of your bed, then they experimentally held your gyrating hips to find a rhythm of his own, and then you took it upon yourself to place one of his large hands to paw at your breast through your dress. you moaned and keened at the pleasure you chased as you rubbed yourself against his cock, and simon below you was a scarlet-faced whimpering and breathless mess.
the two of you could hardly contain yourselves, practically moaning in harmony and making poor attempts at shushing each other by swallowing one another’s moans into your own mouths. it didn’t take long for simon to cum, and it took you cupping your hand over his wailing mouth with a soothing “shhh” against the back of your palm to contain the lust-drunk man. you followed close, though, with a few more rolls of your hips against his now dampened trousers you came, shuddering and choking on your own curses and prayers to the gods, and simon held you in his hulking arms as you slumped breathlessly against him in the afterglow of your orgasm.
But yeah don’t think about that at all…
really want to fully get into the daredevil fandom mainly because of bullseye and frank castle but I gotta admit the first season of the original show is a hard watch. any tips on how to power through it???
Army Dreamer - Chapter 4 - Regency AU! Simon Riley x f!Reader
C/w: smut below the cut!!!! masturbation, voyeurism, overstimulation, dirty talk, alcohol use, time period-related gender stereotypes, period inaccuracies.
You stood there wrapped in his arms. Delicate like a rabbit in the jaws of a wolf.
His hands large enough to engulf each side of your waist, held snug against his torso in a grasp that squeezed the wind out of you. His mouth moved with yours as it lead the searing kiss. His lips were plush yet coarse as they pressed against your velvety ones.They moved to pry yours open, gently yet with urgency, as a wet tongue prodded for permission into your mouth. And you allowed it, of course you did. Your welcoming mouth let his tongue explore; his saliva mingling with yours as it met the tip of your own tongue. And you mimicked his movements back into his.
It made Simon bellow like a beast; a deep grumble in his chest vibrated against your own as he hummed with delight. And it only spurred you on in return. His hands snaked around you, holding you more firmly, tighter against himself as if wishing to meld your bodies together if close enough. Your hands moved from his shoulders, sliding up as if on their own, to lace your fingers into his hair. Dainty digits tangling into locks of tarnished gold. Your nails scraping his scalp involuntarily; another bellow from the ravenous man.
Your body burned, chest heaving against him with an uncontainable tightness. Suddenly, you became more aware of your bustier, your corset, your chemise and stays. Their friction against your body, pesky layers feeling like a barrier between you and your husband. You wished to rip them off—no, you wished your husband would rip them off— as if your body begged for carnality.
The sound of wet lips moving against each other and the pants coming from you and Simon as you kissed were the only sounds in the study. You were breathless and so was he, only coming for air between kisses. His lips against yours as if unable to last more than a second apart from one another. There was hunger in the way he kissed you, in the way his hands held you as if a lion digging its claws on its pray as it bit into supple flesh.
Your skin reddened, you felt the skin of Simon’s neck and nape heat up. You felt the wetness and aching pulse between your legs and— oh, you felt your husband’s member tightly confined and hardened against your body. You rolled against it, involuntarily yet instinctively, and Simon just about came undone.
Not a bellow but a growl this time, as he spun around with you, leading you against the edge of his bureau behind you. You braced yourself with your hands gripping the wood, a gasp escaped your lips when you broke free from his mouth. But he was on you instantly, hands desperately moving from your waist, to your hips, to one of your thighs as he hiked it around his hip. Another gasp from you against his mouth.
The sound of your panting breaths and your fighting lips now met with that of the fabric of your dress being rustled up by Simon as he aimed to expose the opulent skin of your leg. His palm laid on the skin of your thighs, your stays and stockings be damned. A firm, callused grip on the pillowy flesh. His touch was searing, how indecent the position you found yourself in. Legs practically spread open with your husband’s painfully hard cock nestled between them, pressed snug against your clothed mound with only the ruched fabric of your dress as a barrier between them.
You moaned, audibly and obscenely into Simon’s mouth.
“Christ,” he hissed in response, fingers bruising your thigh, body pressed further against you. You held onto his biceps, clutching the sleeves of his shirt. His lips clashed against yours again for a moment, harsh in another kiss before breaking away to hold you in his gaze. His movements slowed and you froze in anticipation. His hand moved up higher, higher. Glossy dark eyes looked into your own, blown pupils not breaking eye contact as his hand slowly, painfully made its way closer and closer.
Take me, you thought to say, make me your woman.
The sound of a knock, “Mr. Riley?” the estate’s butler announced from the other side of the door, “Mr. Price is here to see you sir.”
You scrambled out of Simon’s grasp, slipping down from the bureau and onto your feet planted on the floor as you hurried to straighten your bunched up dress. You felt the heat of embarrassment flooding from your chest to your face. Simon called out to the butler to wait a moment, but to no avail as the slow creak of the massive door signaled its opening. You could barely look up from the sight of your hands flattening the wrinkles of your dress, but you caught the glimpse of Simon adjusting his cravat and raking his fingers through his hair from the corner of your eye. You heard him grumble unintelligibly, but evidently in protest.
The next sound you heard was that of your heels clacking as you hurried your pace in the direction of the opening door, to escape any further embarrassment and the awkwardness of Mr. Price intruding at such a moment.
Despite your hurry, you couldn’t make it past the older man, whom stood blocking the exit you so desperately sought. You curtsied clumsily with a stuttered “M’Lord”, and rushed past him. Your eyes never adverting from the floor, fists with a harsh grip on your dress to help yourself not stumble as you practically ran out of the room.
You didn’t catch Price’s face, but you felt a critical gaze from him in the back of your head. Finally, you escaped.
You missed out on the sly smirk that tugged at his cheek that he gave Simon, but didn’t miss the gruff chuckle from the older man that echoed before the door clicked shut.
You basked in the afterglow of the kiss — your first kiss — throughout the day. Simon was held up meeting with Price all day, so it was all for you to process alone.
You felt your kiss-bruised lips, tender and plump. The image of Simon kissing you, the sensation of his lips so vivid and irresistible. It haunted you.
It wasn’t until after dinner when you, Simon, and Price emerged from the study. There was a certain tension between the two but you never thought twice about anything related to your husband’s business endeavors; just an ex-military man with investments, that’s all, nothing to wrack your brain with, is what your mother would say, anyway.
You watched them as Simon escorted Price to the entrance of the estate, posture tall and assertive, not relaxed like you tended to see him. There was a different air to him when Price was around. As they stood at the entrance, they spoke in hushed voices, Simon’s brow knitted as he hummed in response to Price’s words before dismissal.
Without you expecting it, your husband turned his head and you were met with his eyes, followed by Price’s and Simon’s index and middle finger signaling you to come.
Your body jolted for a second, then straightened up and curled a small, polite smile around the corners of your lips as you walked towards the men.
Simon extended his opened palm to you, and you placed your hand in his. “Mrs. Riley,” he began, “If anything were to ever happen to me, John is the man for you. I owe it all to him and my last favor to ask him is to take care of you in my absence.”
You froze for a moment as you moved your sights from Simon to John, and back to Simon. You chuckled lightly, “Oh, Mr. Riley, what a silly thing to say,” but you were only met with Simon’s stone expression. He looked back at John.
“Mrs. Riley, you can always count on Mrs. Price and myself,” he assured, comfort laced in his tone, “Your husband does owe me many favors, but this would not be one of them, it’d be my honour, ma’am.”
You looked at him dumbfounded, but nodded nonetheless. Simon’s hand squeezed yours.
Price bowed his head to you, you curtsied; his hand shook Simon’s and bid him goodbye with a pat on his broad back. You watched him hop on his carriage, and the crack of a whip was the final farewell.
The house was engulfed in incandescent candlelight. You had had your dinner and your bath, dressed in your slip and lounging in the comfort of the cushions sprawled on the floor in front of the fireplace. You read your book, but truth be told you were only staring at the words absentmindedly.
Your mind had gone from being occupied with the events of earlier today, to the exchange between you, your husband, and Price hardly hours ago. If anything were to happen to him, what could that possibly be? Was Simon ill? Was he in danger? Were you?
The sound of shuffling feet emerging behind you stirred you from your thoughts. Simon, in just his linen shirt and trousers, rounded the sofa onto his armchair with a decanter of whiskey and pair of glasses clinking.
A heavy sigh came from the man as he slumped in the chair. The sound of the liquid pouring into a glass, then followed by another, flooded your ears. You craned your neck to look at him behind you, a glass was held out to you as he gestured it to you.
You sat up to face him, giving your husband a polite decline to his offer.
“C’mon, love,” he insisted gently, “won’t tell a soul.”
You huffed a smile and gave in, taking the crystal whiskey glass from his hand. You peered down at the amber liquid, swirling it experimentally, then brought it to your nose as you inhaled. The scent was arid and it stung your nostrils. Normally, you indulged in a glass of gin or wine. If your mother were to see you drinking such a manly liquor she’d collapse.
You pressed your lips to the rim of the glass and took a sip. Immediately, your face puckered; as the liquid washed down your throat, the burn made you exclaim with a disgusted grunt. “Bloody hell, that’s poison!”
Your husband chuckled wholeheartedly, taking a sip of his own. Unfazed, indulgent sip.
You continued to drink little by little. Maybe the second sip wouldn’t be as bad.
It was quiet between the two of you. Simon was pensive as he finished his glass, ready to pour himself another. You were hardly a quarter through your drink, but liquid courage filled you enough to ask:
“What were you referring to with Mr. Price? As in, what did you mean by if something happens?”
“I meant, if something happens, you have Mr. and Mrs. Price to care for you,” he took another sip, not looking at you.
You scoffed, “Well, what could possibly happen, Simon?”
He shrugged. You stared at him, expectantly.
“Part of our arrangement was that you’d treat me as your equal, sir,” you stated firmly, “as such, I’d like to know information pertaining to my husband and I.”
Simon took a beat, exhaling through his nose. “As I’ve shared with you before,” he began, without lifting his eyes from his glass as his fingers toyed with the rim, “your husband’s work in the military wasn’t exactly that of a pen pusher, my lady. Price, McTavish, Garrick and myself — we got ourself into dirty work. The arrangements made with Price and his missus are in case that dirty work comes back to haunt me. To keep you safe if m’not ever ‘round.”
He finally looked up, brown eyes holding your own. You stood there pensively as you processed his words, then gave a nod of understanding.
“Is the lady in agreement with this arrangement?”
“The lady agrees only if her husband intends to prevent such things from happening,” you pouted. Simon scoffed a laugh and brought the glass to his lips once more, “yes, ma’am” he said into the cup.
You took a sip yourself, not able to withhold the smirk that crept on your lips.
You giggled with Simon when the topic changed. Your cup barely empty, while Simon was maybe on his third. To take down a giant like him it would take about a barrel. You, however, were tingling and fuzzy all over. Tipsy, your older sister called it, whenever she’d have one too many cups of punch at the debutante balls.
You felt airy and light. The distance between you and your husband has absentmindedly been closed throughout the night. You sat on a cushion on the floor at his feet. He was relaxed and off-guard as he sat on his armchair, drink in hand, like a king on his throne. A crooked smile plastered on his scarred lip. He seemed blissful.
You closed your eyes, sighed contently. Your head lolled to the side and rested on Simon’s knee.
“I liked you kissing me today,” you said, without second thought.
The wood of the armchair creaked under the pressure of Simon’s grip. He was stock still. Your head, resting carefree on his knee. You, in nothing but your slip. He did not respond, his mouth suddenly dry.
“I had never been kissed before,” you continued, voice hushed and eyes closed, “not even at our wedding.”
You giggled at the notion of your wedding day, what felt like millennia ago by now. That day, when all the two of you had done was sign documents and formalities. You would not have believed anyone that would’ve told you you’d be in Simon Riley’s arms, squeezed tight and suffocated against his lips. Your whole body set alight.
Your hand scaled up your body thoughtlessly. Feathering your own fingers from your thigh, to your hip, along your torso, and across the skin of your chest exposed by the loose collar of your slip. Your fingertips skated over your skin, caressing yourself till goosebumps crept all over you.
Simon watched every move like a cat.
You hummed, and opened your heavy eyes. You shifted to sit back on your haunches; kneeling in front of Simon, in between his opened legs. One of your hands trailed up from his ankle, up his shin, past his knee but hardly to his thigh. You watched his face close, catching the way his jaw clenched and his temporal bone flared at the gritted teeth.
Your other hand did its own exploring of your body.
“There’s other firsts I’ve never had,” you confessed, voice low and almost a whisper. It was as if your brain could not catch the words before they exited your mouth; unfiltered and unchecked.
Your hand caressed down from your chest now, snaking its way under the bunched hem of your slip. It reached between your thighs once it disappeared, feeling at the bare wetness down there between your open drawers. Your mouth agape at the sensation, breathy moan emanating from it; Simon’s jaw went slack as he watched, practically drooled.
“Never t-touched myself before,” you held his gaze as you explored your folds, blown pupils meeting each other. Your fingers rubbed at the slick middle of your folds inquisitively, roaming around to see where it’d feel best.
Simon shifted in his chair, his fist around the whiskey glass made the crystal crunch as if at the verge of cracking the fragile material. He felt the warmth of your palm on his thigh and it drove him mad. Much worse as he watched you touching yourself so shamelessly. Naughty thing, speaking of innocence as you put on a show like this.
“Will you teach me how to, husband?”
Simon swallowed hard; swallowed down the pathetic moan that almost escaped him. He nodded like a fool, hissing out a stammered “y-yes…” in response.
You looked at him with your big doe eyes, glazed and enrapturing him. Your movements didn’t stop, but you nodded at him back as if letting him know ‘go on, tell me what to do’. You weren’t fully exposed to him, but just the sight of your hand out of sight, the implication of where your fingers were rubbing and caressing at, that’s what made Simon’s blood rush to his cock.
“Feels…wet there, love?” He breathed.
You nodded affirmatively.
“How wet?”
“Soaking”
Fuck
”Go on and take your first two fingers, love, n’ tell me what they’re feelin’, yeah?”
“Feels like velvet…feels moist and warm there.”
“Rub back n’ forth there, pretty— at the softest bits.”
You nodded again, doing as you’re told. Your index and middle finger rubbed along the inner folds of your cunt. The sensation felt like a tease, as if not at the spot that was truly just right.
“F-feels like a tease,” you protested, and Simon chuckled breathily.
“I am teasin’ you love,” his voice was soft as he confessed, “wanna take it slow with you.”
You pleaded, but didn’t change your movements till you were told to.
Simon sat up and leaned forward, the hand with his glass draped over the armrest, the other with his elbow resting against his knee as it reached forward to hold your chin. His thumb pressed at your bottom lip, eyes watching the way the plush flesh shifted under his touch. Then his gaze shifted to yours whole face when he said “Find that sweet spot for me, sweet’eart, you know the one.”
You did know; the spot that pulsates whenever you see him drenched in sweat from outdoor labor; that quivers when he so much as brushes past you or holds the small of your back to lead you ahead of him; that ached and throbbed when he took your mouth in his.
Your two digits rubbed at your clit. A firm enough pressure that made you gasp, and Simon knew then that you’d found the right place.
“That’s it, lovie,” he crooned. “Slow circles over ‘er, hm?”
You did as you were told. Slow circles over your clit. Small whines exited your parted lips. His thumb caressed them once more. Your hips had a mind of their own subtly rolling at the pace of your fingers.
“Do it how you like it, lovie. You know best,” his voice was hushed and gravelly. His gentle tone only egged you on. You closed your eyes and nodded again.
Simon’s hand on your chin shook your head lightly “Uh-uh, eyes on me, pretty.” Ever so obediently, your lashes fluttered open and you watch Simon recline back on the armchair. His hand left your face to adjust himself in his trousers. A groan rumbled in him.
You searched for the right rhythm, the right pressure with your two fingers until you found it. Just right, your body did know best. You ground your hips down onto your own fingers, disparaged moans oozing out of you.
The sight of you drove Simon mad, he could barely keep it together as he watched you and he could just tell you were getting yourself closer and closer to the edge. Strings of praises were chanted by him, “that’s it, love, that’s it,” and “doin’ so good, almost there.”
Your moans grew louder as the pace and fervor of your hand increased; collecting your own slick in your palm to smear against your core for an easier glide. Your hand on his thigh squeezed the broad muscle and that made him nearly snap.
He took your hand from his thigh into his own and cupped himself through his trousers. “Hah, fuck,” you cursed at the feeling of the thick, hard mass under your touch. He squeezed his hand over yours against his cock. You felt it yourself, experimentally, and his clothed cock jumped against your palm, making you gasp.
“This is what you do to me, sweetheart.”
Simon bit his lower lip, fighting back the devilish smirk your innocent gasp brought onto him.
Your palm snaked over his trousers, rubbing against the mounded fabric concealing his engorged member. His own hand engulfed yours as you pawed at him. He pressed his hips up, rutting against your hand, losing himself nearly as much as you were.
Your moans practically became yowls like a cat in heat at this point, fucking yourself against your fingers; clit swollen and sensitive. A pit in your stomach was forming, a foreign feeling as if you were about to break.
“S-Simon…I’m… I-it feels so—“ you stammered, hardly knowing what to describe.
”You’re almost there, lovie, go on,” he panted, “Let yourself go, s’alright.”
With a few more strokes of your fingers, you felt the cord in your belly snap. Your body tensed, mouth opened as you choked on sobbed moans as you orgasmed, head lolled back and eyes shut tight.
Your fingers slowed their pace until they stilled as you came down from your high. You panted, chest rising and falling.
Simon’s eyes drank the sight of you, so lost and hedonic. Cock painfully swollen, he let out a shuddered breath and hissed a curse, “fuckin’ Hell, love.” What a sight for sore eyes.
You took your hand from between your legs, examining your two fingers. They were covered with an unfamiliar liquid. Your thumb rubbed against.
You took your hand and raised it up to Simon, as if automatically. Two glistening fingers raised up to his parted lips. You didn’t even register what you were doing.
But, oh, Simon took them so eagerly. Like a holy communion. He opened his mouth and pressed his tongue against the underside of your fingers, closing his mouth around them and sucking.
He hummed in delight, like how you would at the taste of a delicious dessert. His eyes were glossy, brows knit. His hand held yours as he sucked on your fingers, savoring your liquids.
You could’ve orgasmed a second time just from the sight and sound of your whimpering husband delighting in the taste of you.
He took your fingers out of his mouth, and kissed your finger pads, your palm, the back of your hand.
“Ah, fuck,” he cursed through gritted teeth “c’mere, duchess, c’mere.”
You squealed as you were lifted off your knees, gently yet firmly as Simon effortlessly propped you on his lap. You straddled him with one leg on each side of him; the same way he’d taught you how to ride a horse.
But Christ, not even a saddle could shield you from feeling his hardness under you.
Simon hardly gave you time to think, though, with his mouth being on yours. His tongue licked into your mouth hungrily. His hands roamed all over your body; one scaling up your back, the other squeezing the plump flesh of your thigh.
You wrapped your hands around him, bracing yourself otherwise you’d just melt. The wetness between your legs replenishing with the way he kissed you and pawed at you so ravenously.
You reached down between the two of you in an attempt to undo his trousers but he stopped you. Another kiss pressed to the back of your hand, then he placed it at his cheek. “Not yet, love, save it for later,” he chuckled breathily before trapping you in another kiss.
You felt the warmth of his skin under your palm, rubbing your thumb against the puckered scar on his cheekbone. His prickly stubble — which to you looked like flakes of gold in the sunlight — was abrasive and contrasted your smooth fingers. He was so rough around the edges on the outside, yet he kissed you and held you so tenderly.
His hand wandered from your thigh, caressing higher under the hem of your gown, as if hesitating. “This a’right?” he asked in almost a whisper against your lips.
You nodded, “Please.”
Two fingers caressed your mound, only ghosting over the delicate skin there. They were much larger than yours. He pressed in further, at the slick folds of your cunt. Back and forth, back and forth. Hovering over your entrance without intruding, just collecting the moisture.
You clawed at his shoulders, eyes shut tight. Your fingers had felt good earlier, but Simon’s felt amazing. So foreign and just what you’ve been aching for for what’s felt like centuries.
His other hand was sturdy on your back, splayed wide and supportive as he got to work on you. You keened, back arching, when he pressed onto that delightful spot in your cunt that drove you mad. You moaned loudly into his mouth and he relished in it.
With the pads of his middle and ring fingers, he rubbed those tight circles he had instructed. Something about the rougher, calloused skin of his hands, though, felt vastly different from your own.
He played you so expertly, making you see stars behind your closed eyes. He kissed at the column of your neck and jaw, keeping a steady pace and just the right amount of pressure on your clit as he aimed to make you cum once more.
Your moans grew more obscene, shameless as your hips moved in tandem. You felt Simon’s breath against your skin as he praised you for doing so good, for looking so beautiful, for being so perfect.
His skilled fingers had your reaching your limit much quicker, plus the overstimulation of having just orgasmed moments earlier. The tightness in your stomach reached its peak when you felt him mouthing at your clothed nipple. His lips encapsulated the perked nub through the sheer fabric of your gown, teeth lightly scraped it and made you jolt, the wetness of his tongue transferred through the thin barrier of fabric. You mewled at the combination of stimulation between your breast and your pussy. The magma in your core bubbled closer to eruption.
You couldn’t think, your brain was empty and only focused on the way Simon made your body feel. His pace quickened, fingers slipping with how soaked you were. You clawed at his shoulders, a hand clenched onto his unruly hair at the crown of his head and he whined. Your back arched, almost there, almost there, almost there, until you crumbled apart once more. Thighs tensing and shaking, body quivering and all announced with a shameless, unadulterated moan that surged from your chest and out your mouth.
Simon’s hand on your back was the only thing holding you from falling apart. His hand on your clit slowed down, helping you ride your high. You panted, eyes slowly fluttering open in a haze. You felt liquid running down your inner thighs. Once your eyes opened, you met Simon’s brown puppy eyes gazing back at you, pupils blown and eyes glazed in adoration. You leaned down and kissed him tenderly with kiss-swollen lips.
As you kissed him so casually, the realization that you two had not addressed your kiss earlier that day hit you. But did you need to speak on the matter? You relished in the fact that Simon wanted exactly as you did, in his own words he fantasized about making you happy, about truly having you as his beloved wife. And here he was true to his word, indulging you like this, letting you indulge in yourself and your whims. Your knight had shed his armor.
You both broke from the kiss breathlessly, taking a moment to just stare at one another. You scanned his face, hand easing from the grip you had on his hair and coming to caress his reddened lips. He brought his hand up to your lips as well, fingers still wet with your essence. He prodded lightly and you opened up. His fingers welcomed in by your tongue and you tasted yourself on him.
