watching you kiss the sword of your lord husband before he struts off to shout orders from the back lines of whatever battle he’s spurred on that day. a gesture of good luck on the blood gutter simon forged to match the exact curve of your lips. a little dove with her mouth on the cold metal he made.
watching you grow more sad and frightened the longer time goes on without that lord of yours putting a baby in you. it’s not your fault he’s a weakling. simon’d get the job done. easiest thing in the world to stuff a dove full and wait for it to take. if the matter were in simon’s hands, you’d be on your third by now.
so, he does take it into his own hands. for your sake, of course. too long without an heir and people start to whisper. he sneaks into your chambers when your lord is off mongering and tells you he can give you what you want. and you play the shy and wide-eyed lady, but you’re not so demure once you’re bouncing on his cock. nails digging into the meat of his shoulders. begging for more, begging to be bred.
your stupid lord comes home to you barefoot and glowing, none the wiser that that’s simon’s pup inside you. he made sure of it. many times. and he can’t wait to do it again.
because how does the saying go? an heir and a spare.
he doesn’t even look up from his phone when he says it.
just sprawled across the couch, one arm behind his head, legs spread like he’s on a throne instead of a beat-up cushion that still smells like smoke and sweat.
“ya know, if you’re gonna walk around like that, you oughta be ready to get fucked.”
you freeze. halfway across the living room, wearing nothing but a big t-shirt and the tiniest pair of shorts you forgot you even owned.
“like what?” you ask, already feeling the heat crawl up your throat.
he finally lifts his gaze.
smirks.
“like a mouth-watering little tease,” he says. “jesus. i can see the crease of your pussy from here.”
you make a shocked sound—half gasp, half laugh—and wrap your arms around yourself like that’ll help.
he scoffs.
“don’t act shy. you bent over the fridge earlier like you wanted me to notice. ass all high, thighs squeezin’ together like you were tryna get off on the cold air.”
you open your mouth to argue, but he cuts you off, lazy and cruel.
“if i pulled your shorts down right now, you’d be wet already. bet your fuckin’ panties are stickin’ to you.”
you stare. breath caught in your chest.
he grins wider.
“c’mon. lemme see. won’t even touch. just wanna take a look. see if i’m right.”
his eyes drop, heavy-lidded and hungry.
“you do like it when i talk like this, huh? your nipples are hard.”
you cross your arms tighter, turn to walk away, but his voice chases after you—
low and amused and absolutely depraved.
“run off if you want. just know the second i hear that shower start, i’m gonna be sittin’ here jerkin’ off with the door open. loud. so you know what you did to me.”
John "keep it professional, sergeant." Price who insists on keeping his work and personal life strictly separated. Nevermind the fact he's married to his job and refuses to acknowledge the matching bands on your hands while on base. You make the mistake of calling him 'babe' during a meeting and get lectured about professionalism and safety for two hours. He loves you immensely, but he refuses to let it affect your jobs.
Vs
Simon "your callsign should be mutt lol." Riley who is just as married to his job but knows there's no way to keep it separate....this does lead to him openly flirting with you over comms and making wildly in appropriate jokes or groping you in front of others. You don't mind, but you swear he'll get written up if he tries to fuck you in prices office again.
The forehead touches started after hard missions- when you're both sweaty and stinking of gunpowder and blood- if you're lucky, not your own- Ghost tugs you close and taps his forehead to yours, goggles clanking, a fast tap that is gone quicker than you can react to it.
He keeps doing it, like a ritual, after he's counted heads and confirmed his squad is back home all together, you get a tug and a tap.
You start inviting it, too. Taking off your goggles and helmet when he approaches, tilting your chin up so he has to step into your space. It takes a moment longer, the touch lingering just a bit, impossible to see unless you're right inside it.
When you peel away your head wrap after one mission and find a split down your forehead, too small for stitches but too big to ignore, Ghost tugs you over to a bench, takes out a first aid kit, and calmly places the butterfly bandages in a line from hair to eyebrow. He holds your chin in his hand when he's done, eyes dark and unreadable under his paint and mask, and moves your chin down-
-and you hold your breath as he places a soft kiss on your forehead instead, lips gentle under the plate of his mask, his breath warm on your chilled skin.
"....be more careful, next time," he rumbles, so close you can feel his lips moving, and leaves you there with a pounding heart and flushed cheeks. He doesn't say anything else to you, just moves everyone out and back to base- but you catch him, stripping off his gloves, tired and worn down with everyone sent to their beds.
He's got scrapes on his knuckles the gloves didn't catch, and you lift his hand to your mouth, holding his gaze as you press your lips to his fingers, as gentle as he was, breathing warm over his skin.
"You be careful, too," you murmur, and catch his wrist, his throat, his cheek as he lifts the mask and finally gives you a proper kiss.
biting simon’s shoulder or bicep during missionary too hard, it leaves craters for indents. he plays with them, deep in thought when you finally fall asleep, before standing up to pad to the bathroom to stare at them in the mirror, genuinely tickled by your mark. he gets them tattooed on him; just the little nicks of your incisors and your canines, and shows it off to you so proudly. you don’t even remember when you bit him—you don’t even know it’s been a habit—so it’s become a little thing between the two of you. you, finding places to sink your teeth into, and simon staring at them with genuine heart eyes.
Simon who always insists that he isn’t built for love or commitment or stability and that his heart is blackened and cold and you should expect nothing but hurt from him and yet the moment he saw you for the first time he though to himself “hm. No ring.” And filed that information away safely for later processing
Simon Riley who fucks you raw in the bathroom of the local dive bar on a Friday night. You've had a few and so has he, no one complains when you're turned around in the stall bent over the back of the toilet, his fingers digging into the curve of your hips, jeans shucked down around your knees. It was a fight to get inside you, your body slowly catching up to your brain, spit slicking your finger tips as you swiped through your folds, begging, pleading. "Fuck me, just fuck me. Hard." You were looking for something, a distraction, an escape, and everything catches up just fine, pussy wet and ready for him by the time he's halfway buried.
He doesn't know your name. You don't know his. That's not what this is.
Although-
When his muscles start to tense and he's staring down at the curve of your nose, chin turned towards your shoulder, lip tucked beneath your teeth, poison starts to infect his blood, reducing cerebral blood flow, starving him of sense.
You'd look real pretty with his baby inside you.
He pulls out and yanks free from the condom before he can change his mind, sliding back home barrier free, nestling deep against your cervix, slowly battering his cock as deep as he can. You're babbling, bouncing against his hips on his dick, desperately trying to keep quiet, biting down on your forearm when he finishes hard, pumping you full of cum and sealing himself to the plush of your ass, trying to hold it, force it through to your womb.
You're not dumb though. You catch on.
"What- what the fuck?!" You jerk away, nearly falling face first into porcelain before he grabs you, meeting your rage with a smile, the happiest he's felt in a long time. No guarantees, but he feels good, optimistic, about his chances. He's got strong swimmers, he guesses, considering Tommy got Beth pregnant so fast. "What the fuck is wrong with you?!" You shriek, slapping your palms against his chest, trying to force him out of the stall but he doesn't move and you stumble inside, lurching to the side so violently he has to catch you with both hands.
Holding you like this, face to face, seeing your confused, distraught expression... it's a bucket of water. Cold, shocking reality.
Fuck.
He does what he does best, strategizes on the fly, and pats your hip, trying to shrug it off.
"Gimme your phone," he grunts, pawing for where it sits in the pocket of the jeans you're zipping. "Gonna give you a number."
"What?" You're staring at him like he has two heads.
"In case it took." The idea alone is enough to drive him mad, and he doesn't trust himself. Doesn't trust himself in either direction, two lines or none.
You look at the contact he's just typed in suspiciously. "John? That's your name? John Price?" He nods, and just when you're about to say something else, something angry or logical, something blatant that will expose his flaws and point out the truth of this situation, of what he's done, he turns on his heel and splits.
Leaving you alone with his cum in your pussy, and his Captain's number in your phone.
not that this man would ever take a vacation but you can't convince me this isn't john price on leave somewhere on the coast. his belly's softer because he's been eating whatever he wants lately. he bought short shorts to wear and invites you to ride out onto the water in the boat he rented. he calls you bunny and rubs sunscreen on you and invites you spend the night in his cottage a few ticks down from yours.
he lets you drink his whiskey and likes the way your nose twitches at the smell of cigar smoke he purposefully blows into your face. helps you ride his thigh after getting tipsy and then fucks you raw until you can't see straight.
the next morning, he wakes you with a tongue in your hole. then pops over to the shop to buy you a shit ton of pastries before hurrying back to feed it to you in the bed. hushing your sleepy whines with a peck on your mouth and nuzzle of your cheek in between each bite of the breakfast.
gotta eat up, bunny. he's got a day full of upcoming activities for the two of you...
saw this tiktok and thought of ghost... hnngg mechanic!simon who fixes ur car AND ur life after a quickie<3
https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZT6Mfdt4Q/
OH GOD YES (did I just write this instead of sleeping? yes. do I regret it? no.) link
Bent over the hood of your own car, feeling it purr — as opposed to the horrible clanking and groaning sounds it made before — was not how you thought this would go.
When you dropped the car off a week ago, you had little to no hopes for your well-loved vehicle. You completely forgot about it, though, the second you saw the mechanic. Tall and broad, the muscles of his biceps bulging through the sleeves of his shirt. Piercing eyes had appraised you, his expression hidden by the skull balaclava on him.
You'd shivered under his gaze, goosebumps rising over your skin, nipples hardening as heat filled your veins.
You might've imagined those eyes while touching yourself once or twice during the week...
You came in today, not really giving a fuck about the car, only wanting to see him. You'd almost melted at the sight of him, sweaty, those eyes of his looking at you like he was seeing you naked.
“She's all fixed,” he'd told you, turning the key in the ignition and showing you the now-smooth run of the engine. “Good as new.”
“Geez,” you'd said, surprised. The old hunk of metal had seemed a lost cause, and this man had revived it. Probably some sort of magic in those huge hands of his... “Maybe you should get under my hood, see if you can fix me.”
You'd meant it as a joke. He didn't laugh, and you'd stuttered to apologize.
He shushed you with a rough chuckle as he hooked a finger on the loop of your jeans and pulled you closer. “I'll give it my best.”
He's definitely giving it his best as he pounds into you. His cock is long and thick, veiny, and you can feel every ridge on him each time he thrusts in.
“Fuck, you're so fuckin’ tight,” he grunts, his body leaning down over yours, his chest pressing against your back. “You're takin’ it so well.”
You whine in response, eyes shut. Well? You're taking it well? You feel like he's up in your stomach from how deep he's fucking you. ‘Well’ isn't the word; you feel like you're barely able to fit him, let alone well.
God, he's huge. Everything about him is just so big.
He pulls back a little, leaving your back to miss the heat and weight of him. You don't get a chance to wallow in the loss as one of his enormous hands wraps itself around your neck and squeezes softly, making your mind go blank.
“Oh, my God!” you squeal, gasping, breathing coming a little harder.
He chuckles lowly. “You callin’ me a god, girl? I know I fuck good, but that's a little much, hm?” He leans closer, his mouth by your ear. “You should be embarrassed about how easy you are. Dirty thing, spreading your legs jus’ like that. Just ‘cause I talked pretty to ya.”
You whimper, pussy tightening around him, legs starting to shake. He's so big, he's so rough, he's so mean. God, he's so, so mean. And it's making you wetter.
He can feel it too. “Oh, it's like that, is it? You like bein’ a slut? Like getting used? Shoulda told me the first time you came here; would've saved me the trouble of havin’ to jerk off all week while thinkin’ ‘f you. Could've just been fuckin’ this pretty cunt instead.”
You can't think. You're mewling, pushing your ass back against his hips, trying to match his rhythm. He squeezes your neck tighter and you almost sob with ecstasy. Your nails scratch against the hood of the car, leaving little lines on the paint. You don't even notice.
“Don't do that,” he snaps, grabbing your wrists and holding them behind your back. “I'm gonna have to fix that now.” He lets go of your throat, his hand moving instead to spank your ass hard.
You squeak, squirming, a tight knot of sharp pleasure coiling in your womb.
He spanks you again, harder. “Hurts?” he asks when you whimper.
“Yeah,” you gasp, nodding weakly. It's a sharp pain that quickly dissolves into pleasure, and it's pushing you to a much-needed orgasm.
He spanks you once more. “Then don't gimme more work to do, girl. I need to have free time if I'm gonna imagine all the ways I could fuck you, hm?”
You gasp, shaking, tears of pleasure filling your eyes and then falling down your face, right onto the hood of your car.
Simon hears you sobbing and hiccuping, and he chuckles. “You need to come already?”
“Please,” you whine, body writhing. You can feel your orgasm is close, but it's just out of reach. “Please.”
“You beg so pretty. Lucky I'm in a good mood, or I'd have you beg me for hours,” he says, slipping a hand under you. His thick, rough fingers find your clit and rub it in quick circles to match his thrusts.
And that's it. That's all you need.
The knot grows tighter and tighter until it snaps, sending pleasure ricocheting through your body, making you almost scream as you come.
“Aw, fuck,” Simon grunts, grabbing onto your hips and slamming into you a couple more times, too hard and too fast and too deep, before he pulls out and spills ropes of warm, sticky cum onto your lower back.
You're shivering, breathing heavily as you slowly recover from the intense orgasm.
“I don't think it worked,” he says quietly, breathlessly, as he drags his teeth over your shoulder.
“What?” you ask, voice raw from all the screaming and crying.
“I don't think I fixed ya. You're just so fuckin’ dirty,” he teases, and you laugh, a little embarrassed.
“I'm...Well. You did your best,” you counter, glancing at him over your shoulder.
“Tell you what, girl,” he says, voice low, eyes wild. “I'm gonna fix up the paint you just scratched off the hood, and when you come pick the car up, I'll try and fix you again.”
“You think it'll work then?” you ask, body growing warm with desire once more.
“I reckon the more we try, the more luck we'll have.”
♡ please comment and reblog my work, it means so much to me and inspires me to keep writing
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John price who doesn’t want to make things official, tells you oh so sweetly that he wants to keep the relationship open, that you’re just friends even though you’ve rode him to sleep for the past three months.
So, you fuck his sergeants to prove a point.
Now he has to listen to all his men describe in vivid detail about the pretty bird they took home from the bar without bursting a blood vessel.
Simon Riley spitting on your pussy (+slight spit play)
He's so dirty about it. It's right before he puts his cock in you. He spreads your legs and leans down, holding your gaze before shifting his eyes to your cunt.
He spits on her, his cock twitching when you whimper about it. He pushes his cock between your folds, the thick head nudging your clit.
“Fuck, so pretty. Look at this pussy, all wet, hm? She looks so pretty with my spit on her, don't she?”
He rubs his cock back and forth between your folds, working you up even more. But then he pulls away and leans closer to you. He places his fingers against your lips. “Spit.”
You obey, spitting on his fingers, and he grins.
“Atta girl.”
He moves his hand down between your thighs and slides his fingers into you. You mewl, pushing your hips against his hand.
“Yeah, I know. I know. You're already so wet, but a little more won't hurt, hm?”
He pulls his fingers out of you and licks them clean. But it's not enough for him. He spits on your cunt again, right on your clit, and you squeak.
He rubs his thumb on your clit, using his spit as lube, and he presses the bulbous head of his cock against your entrance. He slowly pushes into you, groaning, feeling how tight and warm and wet you are, and he almost comes right then.
He fills you to the brim and then covers your body with his. He kisses your lips tenderly before grabbing your face in his hand, squeezing a little too tight.
“Open,” he orders, and smirks when you obey. He spits in your mouth, grunting as your pussy clenches his cock tight. He watches you, delighted, as you swallow it down, always so eager to please him. “That's my girl. Always so good for me, you make me so happy.”
And, God, you'd do anything only to hear those words from him again.
---
Taglist - if you wanna be added to my Ghost taglist, lmk 💛
Hes got thick muscles, layered under even thicker fat. Large and plush, and *big*. Then there's you, a small sea otter hybrid whos been courting him for weeks. Giving him shells and food that you cook.
Youre persistent, but for reasons you dont understand ghost refuses to reciprocate despite obviously liking you. So you ask him about it one day and he finally relents "look, I just dont think were...compatable. physically."
He motions between the two of you, emphasizing the sheer difference. You just shrug, smile up at him "id partner you either way, but...im pretty sure I could take you."
Ghost snorts, grins at you "uh-huh. Keep telling yourself that."
"No im serious! Cmon, at least let me try, big guy!"
Which leads to now, ghost leaning back on the shitty sofa in the corner of his office while you straddle his thighs. He gives a nervous chuckle, looks between his cock and you "don' think its gonna fit, doll. Things as big as yer forearm..."
You are quiet for a long moment, looking down at ghosts cock with narrowed eyes, sizing him up. Finally, you nod "I can totally do that. Meet me in my room, an hour after dinner."
Ghost does, unable to really focus through dinner while he mind runs wild with ideas of what you plan to do. He opens the door to find what will possible haunt his dreams for years to come. You, sprawled languidly over your bed and working a massive dildo in and out.
Its not the first one you chose, four others lay beside you, glistening. Ghost groans when he realizes that you literally opened yourself up for him with fucking dildos. Thats how big he is compared to you. "Fuckin' hell baby..."
His mind nearly goes blank when he kneels between your legs, pushing in oh so slow. There's still a stretch that had you gasping open-mouthed, and ghost bows over you at the snug fit. Still, you smile up at him the same way you do when you beat soap in training.
Simon is dominant, always on top. But every now and then, he likes to play with you, making you ride him just for his own amusement. He just likes to see you all wrecked because of him.
His eyes half-open as you rode him, his hands holding your hips, forcing you to move faster even when you had already said you were tired. It was just adorable to see you begging him to fuck you, to at least move.
“Si- Too much- too much-” You whimper for the thousandth time, a pout on your lips and tears in your eyes. His cock buried so deep that you couldn't even think.
What you got was a slap on the ass and a deep thrust, which made you clench around him and cry out loudly. The squelching sounds were so loud and obscene that it was all you could hear.
“You know you can do it, baby bird.” Simon rasps, one hand squeezing your breast and pinching your nipple.
Once you clenched around him once again, Simon knew you were close once again, and that brought a shit-eating grin to the bastard's face.
“So pretty doing all the work, mhm? Sweet pussy taking me so good...”
And you pathetically came once more on his dick, a ring of white cream at the base of his cock, tears streaming down your face as you whimpered like a bitch in heat.
“Give me one more? I know you can do it. Do it for me and I’ll give you what you want.” He almost purrs, thumb circling your clit, not even letting you calm down from the high, already wanting to overstimulate you.
Simon knew how to play dirty, and he never played fair when it's about his pleasure.