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geltears · 29 days ago

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Fallout

John Price x wife!reader OC

Summary: John Price faces the fallout with his wife after missing his youngest child’s birth.

Warnings: NSFW, angst, smut, porn with plot, barley a lactation kink¿, makeup sex, talks of divorce, mentions of child birth, domestic arguments, not edited.

——————

A ringing took over John Prices ears like it had many times before. It was the same high pitched squeal he heard after a close call near one of Soaps explosives or when he’d cracked his head off the side of an armored vehicle while in a brawl.

His icy blue eyes were unblinking and fixed on the brown carpet underneath his military grade dusty boots. Hunched over he had his elbows resting on his knees and hat placed on the side table next to him. The noises around him seemed to be drowned out by this ringing as John’s brain tried to work out what he had just heard.

“John?” Finally the voice who had now repeated his name for a third time broke through.

Lifting his head up John’s gaze fell on the woman who sat in front of him. She was medium build with black springy curls and tan skin. Dr. Valdez was staring through her thick rectangular glasses expecting a response. John only stared at her blankly, no emotion peaking through which the doctor found unusual. With a measured sigh she shook her head and glanced down at her notes, then back up at the man dressed in camouflage cargo pants and a fitted beige quarter zip.

“Your wife just told you she thought about leaving you. And you have no response?” There was the ringing in his ears again.

Hearing those words come from your lips had to be his mind playing tricks on him. But now, hearing your couples therapist repeat it; that meant you had truly uttered those words. That you, the love of John’s life, had contemplated leaving him.

Glancing from the corner of his eye John could see you wiping your nose with a tissue, unable to look in his direction. John’s ears tuned in again and he could hear your sniffles and choked breath as you tried not to sob. It was then that he realized his lack of response might only be hurting you more. So he tried to come up with anything to say.

“What is there to say?” John unclasped his hands for a second, unintentionally dismissing the truth you had just so painfully shared.

“There should be plenty to say. How does that make you feel, John?” Dr Valdez asked only for silence to envelope the room. So she continued.

“Your wife is crying. She’s clearly very upset and just told you that you missing your daughter’s birth was so hurtful she thought about leaving.” Hearing this again was testing John’s patience.

John felt blindsided, ambushed. How could he talk about this when he had no time to process it? How could he talk to you about it with a stranger involved? It felt like an invasion of privacy or a breach of trust. It was all too much and part of him knew he deserved to be held accountable but the other truly resented you for even thinking that way. In this heart wrenching moment John felt you were trying to hurt him just as much as he hurt you as payback. Although this was far from the truth.

“You don’t need to keep saying it.” John snapped back, unable to hide the nasty look he had cast at the therapist.

“You’re upset?” Dr Valdez asked.

“I’m-“ John paused, biting his tongue before it betrayed him. He was angry, feeling spiteful and wanting to say something equally as hurtful.

“Yes, I’m upset.” With a frustrated sigh John sat up straight, ran his right hand down his face, then leaned back into the couch you were both sitting on.

“Could you explain what you’re upset about?” These questions were driving John mad. Wasn’t it obvious?

He felt pushed to have his thoughts figured out so quickly. What he wasn’t understanding was this was an open conversation to talk about things. He wasn’t on trial or needing to have the perfect response. The therapist was here to facilitate a clear line of communication between you two since you hadn’t been communicating at all on this subject.

“Y/N wants to leave me. Are we going to act like we didn’t see that coming? She’s always hated my job because it gets in the way of. . . Life, I guess. I knew it would amount to her leaving so yeah, I’m upset. I’m upset because I thought I’d have more time before she walked away.” Showing his hurt and emotion was hard for John, so like always he lead with anger.

“See it coming!? That’s a bullshit response and you know it John.” You snapped at him utterly offended and with big tears in your eyes.

Never once in your entire marriage did you show a single sign of wanting to split up. John saying this only added to your hurt, like you were some heartless woman who had one foot out the door this entire time. As if you had some blame to take in this situation when in actuality he was the one to put work above you and your daughter’s health and well being. For John to say you would be the one to leave was beyond hurtful.

To you John was the one who left and he left often to potentially get blown up halfway across the world. You stayed home and took care of your family. And when he came home you took care of him, supported him, loved him with all your heart. But it wasn’t enough to keep him home for the birth of your daughter.

“Now, let’s keep the profanities out of this. John’s sharing his feelings and thoughts. That’s what you’ve been asking for, right?” Dr. Valdez put her hand out signaling you to calm down.

“Yeah, but not like that.” You blurted out.

You had just shared the most vulnerable aspect of what John missing Lily’s birth did to you. For the first time you had truly contemplated if your marriage would survive. Talking about it here was suppose to help you feel better but it had you feeling even more wounded by John’s response.

“Let’s allow John the space to say what’s on his mind so we can work through this together. He’s had very little time to process what you just told him.” She stopped you but you felt yourself bristle up and reacted how you expected John to, with anger.

“No. He left me 9 months pregnant and only gave me five minutes to work through it before he was out the door. I always have to put up with his leaving and sometimes theres no return date. He doesn’t get to have all this time to figure things out, it’s not fair.” You took a steadying breath trying to stop yourself from bursting into tears or throwing the decorative pillow next to you at John.

“I’m going home.” You stood from your spot on the opposite end of the couch as John. Wiping your eyes and tears streaked cheeks you walked across the room to the door and exited without glancing back.

“See what I’m dealing with.” John motioned to the door and looked at the therapist. Dr Valdez looked at John completely unimpressed.

“I don’t think that’s helpful.” She shot down John’s snarky comment.

“Well, I should go after her.” Clapping his hands against his knees John stood and grabbed his hat.

“John, can I give you some advice, not as a therapist?” Dr Valdez asked, also standing. John nodded not really sure how she could help. In his opinion these sessions only stirred up more trouble for him at home.

“Love her through this. If you wall up or get angry now it’s going to push her away and build even more resentment. Then she really might leave.” Patting John’s shoulder he looked down at his feet and then nodded.

You leaving was the absolute last thing he wanted.

John exited the office and went down to the parking garage where his truck was. To his surprise you weren’t there. Walking over to the opening that looked over the surrounding area John spotted you walking down the street, well more like storming.

“So bloody stubborn and proud. She’s going to walk home.” John spoke to himself in utter disbelief.

Blinking a few times John scratched the back of his head before he hopped in the truck to go get you. He rehearsed what he should say to try an convince you to get in. John knew his hard headed wife could be even more stubborn than him at times so it would be a challenge to get you to ride home with him.

Pulling up next to you John rolled down the passenger side window to get a better look at you.

“You really going to walk the whole way home?” John called to you but you didn’t bother to look at him.

Functioning from your emotions wasn’t how you normally worked. You tried your hardest to be reasonable and rational especially around John. He was a man who didn’t tend to function from an emotional place unless anger decided to rear its head.

You were consumed with anger and felt yourself reacting in a way you normally scolded your husband for. But for once you didn’t feel like being introspective. Your hurt was deep and raw enough you finally didn’t care how it affected the great Captain Price. He missed your daughter’s birth. That was a fact and there was no easy fix. You were allowing yourself to not hide how damaging it was for him to put work above you over and over. Now it had truly gone too far.

“Darling, please get in. We don’t have to speak. It’s getting late and I don’t want you walking home in the dark by yourself.” John pleaded with you. His eyes continued to glance at the road as he slowly followed next to you.

“Oh so now you care!” You snapped, eyes filled with a fiery rage John wasn’t accustom to.

“Of course I care. Please get in.” John asked again trying to be as sweet as possible.

“No. I don’t want to be around you.” You continued to walk down the street getting odd glances from passerby’s as you were being followed by your husband’s truck.

John let out a frustrated huff at how stubborn you could be. Pulling over he threw the car in park and swiftly got out and went after you. Jogging down the street John watched you from behind storming in the wrong direction from home. Grasping you lightly by the elbow John took a step back as you whipped around and stepped toward him like you were ready to fight.

“Don’t touch me! Don’t touch me ever again!” You hissed in his face. John had his hands by his shoulder silently telling you he meant no harm.

Without a word he dangled the car keys in front of you as a silent offer. You watched as the silver keychain he bought you when you were dating shone in the street laps warm glow. It was a silver dog tag with both your names and your old anniversary date from before you had gotten married; he had it custom made. The memory of him giving it to you and how loving and sweet the gesture was made you angrier. That man back then would have never left you in the lurch. But this version of him, that stood in front of you had, and it made everything hurt all that more.

Snatching the keys from his large hand you pushed past him and went over to the truck. It felt just that you got to drive home and John was left to walk. To you it was a punishment and what he deserved. So you got into his truck and left him there. Maybe being left behind would have him feeling a fraction of the abandonment he left you feeling all those months ago.

——————

Walking into your bedroom John found it empty to his surprise. The kids were already tucked in and asleep when John arrived home hours later. It took him over two hours to walk all the way home and it gave him time to think; but more importantly it gave him time to cool off from being mad.

Checking the bathroom John found it empty too. Quietly John exited your room and went to check Lily’s nursery thinking you must be nursing her. Opening the door John’s chest felt strange. It felt like a void opened up seeing you asleep on the floor of Lily’s nursery. You had found an old sleeping bag and took your pillow with you. Lily was sound asleep on her tummy with her bum in the air. She looked like a little ball in her cream colored sleep sack.

This moment felt similar to John offering you the car keys. He would much rather be the one to sleep on the floor while you got to sleep in a comfortable bed. Much like he willingly chose to walk home and give you the truck instead. To him maybe the little digs and punishments would add up enough that you could forgive him. Or maybe it would help him make peace with what he had done.

Slowly coming into the nursery John crouched down and went to pick you up like he had a hundred times. He had carried you to bed more times than he could count from the couch and this felt no different. As soon as his hands began to slip underneath you, you startled awake. It happened so fast but you pushed John off of you causing him to loose his balance and plop back on his bum. You were puffing out ragged breaths clearly startled and eyes wide. John expected the normal barrage of apologies from you for startling like that but they didn’t come. You had always been jumpy.

“What did I say about touching me.” You quietly hissed trying not to wake up your four month old.

“I was going to carry you to bed.” John said simply, not making a move to stand up.

“If I wanted to sleep in bed I would’ve locked you out.” Again another venomous remark.

“Why are you sleeping in here then?” Dumbstruck John asked.

You two were both speaking in a hushed tone as you sat on the nursery floor.

“Because you may have left me all alone but I got the most beautiful baby and I just want to be near her.” You wanted to say these words with just as much anger but it fell off half way through. Saying the word ‘baby’ had you breaking, the words becoming shaky.

Lily had become your comfort through the abandonment John left you with. For months instead of acknowledging your hurt you poured love into your new addition to the family. She was perfect and had done nothing to deserve her father missing her first moments in life. So you overcompensated with love and iced John out.

Casting your eyes down to your lap your fingers curled into the nylon of the sleeping bag. Clenching your teeth tightly the hot tears ached behind your eyes and spilled down your cheeks.

“I’m sorry.” John went to wipe your tears away but stopped himself.

Not touching you was going to be hard. You had already been avoiding his touch for the last four months but now it was outright not allowed. You had been putting pillows between you both at night claiming you needed them for your back. Little attempts to peck your lips were avoided and John had only gotten the corner of your mouth but mostly your cheeks. You stopped cuddling on the couch and even turned him down to watch movies or television together.

Sex was completely off the table and the few times John tried to initiate it you told him your stitches were still healing; although that hadn’t been true for months. The lack of physical intimacy both sexual and non was what pushed John over the edge and had him finally agreeing to couples counseling. Not being able to hold you at night when he could hear you quietly crying or lace his fingers with yours as you walked down the street with your kids was torture.

“Should I leave you here then?” John asked as you continued to lightly cry into your hands.

“Please.” You croaked out.

John felt his own eyes begin to ache from how heavy his heart was becoming. Slowly John stood and made his way to the door. Stopping before he shut it behind him John took in the sight of you. Crumpled on the floor in front of your babies crib and crying into your hands. It broke his heart. All he wanted was to take this hurt away from you and he hated himself for being the one to inflict such heart ache on to the woman he loved most in this world.

“I love you.” John voice quivered as he spoke. Tears coming to his own eyes as he shut the door behind him not able to stay and wait for you to not say it back.

——————

“Are you sick daddy?” Evelyn asked from where she was sat at the kitchen table. She had an entire pancake on the end of her fork that she was eating bite by bite not wanting to put in the effort to cut it.

John had finally appeared much later than usual for breakfast. He had sat awake almost the entirety of the night. Television, reading, his phone, nothing helped get his mind off you sleeping in your youngest room. John eventually turned the lights out and laid down to hopefully force himself to sleep. To his dismay he ended up staring at the ceiling with his mind racing until 6am. By the time he finally fell asleep his alarm clock went off an hour later and he hit snooze until 8am.

John didn’t know if you would want to see him at breakfast so he chose to shower and try to stay out of your hair for as long as possible. Walking into the kitchen he saw Jj and Evelyn eating pancakes like they did most Sunday mornings. You were by the sink washing up with Lily in a baby carrier napping against your chest. John tried to give you a soft smile but it was obvious you were refusing to look at him. Coming over to you John came close but not enough to make you uncomfortable.

“Darling? I really think we need to talk.” John spoke softly so you could only hear him.

“About what? You leaving again?” Your words cut deep and you meant for them to.

“Dad’s leaving?” Jj asked seemingly distressed by the notion.

“I’m not leaving.” John was quick to set the record straight.

“If you need space I can stay at Sam’s.” John whispered to you.

Hearing that had you quickly looking over to your husband but he was already walking toward the backdoor. Him wanting to stay somewhere else had you instantly regretting being so hurtful. You didn’t want him gone or out of the house, but you understood why he thought that since you were using him as a verbal punching bag. You watched as he slipped on his shoes, grabbed his keys, and headed out.

“Where are you going? Can we come?” Evelyn asked John who gave her a genuine smile. It had been awhile since you saw that happy side of him.

“‘Course you two can. Finish up and meet me in the truck.” With a kind smile he turned to you and you watched that charming smile flatter. John nodded as a way to say goodbye and headed out the back door.

“That was weird.” Jj looked at you funny as he grabbed his plate and walked over to the sink to put it there.

“What was?” You asked giving your son a smile although you just wanted to curl up and cry.

“Dad didn’t kiss you or say bye.” Jj was as perceptive as always, picking up on the subtle things no matter how hard you tried to hide them.

“Did he not?” You feigned ignorance trying to make things seem like they were no big deal.

“Mum?” Jj asked coming closer to you and slipping his hand into yours.

“Yeah?” You asked seeing his father’s eyes as he looked up at you.

“When are you and dad going to be normal again? Or is this what happens when people have babies?” Jj asked in a hushed voice. He didn’t want his sister noticing the odd behavior he had been witness to the past few months.

“We’re working on it. But don’t you worry yourself.” There was no point in lying to your son. He was too perspective for his age and he would be able to tell if you lied to him; and that wasn’t a way to build trust.

It hurt you to your core that Jj had picked up on the turmoil between you and John. The fact he thought it might have something to do with having a baby made you wonder how long he had noticed this fissure.

“Okay.” Jj smiled softly, gave you a hug, then kissed Lily on the cheek.

“Bye mummy!” Evelyn ran up to the sink and put her plate in and then was running to the back door with Jj.

——————

“Where’s your dad?” You asked Evelyn and Jj as they came through the back door.

“He said he had to help Gaz with something.” Jj said as he kicked off his shoes.

They had been gone all day, even missed dinner. It left you alone in the house with just Lily. You thought John had taken the kids to spite you but it dawned on you that maybe he was giving you time to focus on Lily. After the previous night and you sleeping in her nursery it would make sense you might want some time to cherish her.

“Oh.” You whispered to yourself.

“Did you eat?” You asked watching as Evelyn bounced over to you.

“Yep! Daddy took us all around London today! We had so much fun!” Evelyn squealed. Hugging you around the middle then placing the fancy little red shopping bag on the counter.

“That’s from daddy.” She smiled hugging you again.

“Wished you could’ve come mum.” Jj smiled waving for Evelyn to follow him.

“C’mon, we promised dad we’d brush our teeth and go straight to bed.” With that reminder both your kids gave you a hug and kiss and went on their way.

“Goodnight mummy! Will you give me a kiss when you come upstairs?” Evelyn asked from halfway down the hall.

“Of course.” You called over your shoulder inspecting the little red paper bag.

It was finely made and had to be from an expensive store based off the quality. Opening it up you saw a ruby red square box sitting at the bottom. Taking the shiny expensive looking box out of the bag you slid the top off. Inside was a decadent sticky toffee pudding and you quickly grabbed the bag to check if it had a store name, and it did. It was the bakery you and John loved back when you were dating and living in that decrepit old flat. You were both so broke at the time you could only afford to stop there on special occasions or that time you won a raffle at work for free dessert. What caught your attention was that John remembered what you always got even though it had been almost ten years since you last went there.

The gesture was just as sweet as your first bite of that dessert. It had your mind replaying memories of times long past. Launching your sticking toffee pudding into the near by river was the memory that stuck out the most. Those days of a young lieutenant John Price so madly in love with you it was palpable at times. It turned the dessert bitter on your tongue. You missed those feelings and that kind of young love, how that man back then would have done anything for you.

——————

It was later than John ever came home. So late in fact you had given up and assumed he was staying somewhere else for the night. Him not telling you this had you wondering where he was sleeping and then feeling uneasy about him not coming home. The idea he was cheating crossed your mind for a second but then you felt like an idiot for even thinking that. John would never and you knew that.

But never before had you two been in a position like this. Where you admitted to him you thought about doing a trial separation because seeing him after he missed Lily’s birth was too difficult for you. You ultimately decided against it, loving your husband too much to ever be without him. Now you were still left with that hurt and had no way of truly dealing with it. Wondering now if telling John had caused him to go seek comforter in somebody else’s arms.

You had thought about it. Not cheating but being held and making love with the man John was before he hurt you this deeply.

Him giving you this space had you feeling strange. You’d realized how mean you’d been since your counseling session and wondered how he hadn’t gotten upset with you. It was hard because you were so hurt that you kept pushing him away with your actions and words. While he continued to be kind to you and love you through this. But all you wanted was to feel close to John again.

Laying in bed and staring over at his empty side of the bed it felt similar to when he was deployed and you were truly alone. The memories of your past hard times coming to mind and how they didn’t compare to this. You craved those days and the man John was before this happened.

You wanted to be held by your lover again. To be kissed by the man who chased after you to ask you to be his girlfriend. You wanted to be the mess of a woman you were the night he dropped to one knee and asked you to marry him. These moments were seared into your memory and when you thought of them and the hard times you were facing in those days they seemed to fade away and be replaced by this true sense of love and being loved.

Your mind continued to wander finding itself hooked on the idea of what it felt like to be loved like that. To be held tenderly in strong arms and shown physically how deeply John adored you as you made love. You missed that. It was ever present in those days of first dating, right after he proposed, and after you were married. You couldn’t remember the last time you two made love like that and when things had devolved into only having sex. There was no shame in it but you missed feeling cherished like that more so now because things had become so loveless.

You heard your bedroom door creak open quietly then followed by near silent foot steps as John came in. Sitting up you flicked on your lamp to see John looking at you in surprise. John was convinced you would be asleep by now which is why he came in at all.

“Where have you been?” You demanded to know.

“I wanted to give you space.” John looked tired and you picked up on how he didn’t answer the question. You watched as he tossed his wallet on to his dresser and then rooted through it to grab pajamas. Soon he was heading for the door.

“Where are you going?” You asked again.

“Sleep on the couch.” John didn’t bother turning to look at you as he tried to leave.

“Wait.” You spoke abruptly.

Turning, John saw you staring at him with those big bright eyes he’d fallen madly in love with over a decade ago. You looked different than you had earlier, it seemed the anger had finally left you.

“I want you to kiss me. Like you did when you asked me to be your girlfriend.” It was embarrassing, to ask your husband this and part of you wondered if he even knew what you meant by it.

Your request had John stilling. An uncertainty clutching his chest as to why now you wanted him. It had been so long since he last kissed you, fully kissed you like he meant it. The idea of getting to do that again had John speeding past the alarm bells going off in his head and ready to feel you under his finger tips again.

John slowly came over to your king sized bed. Kneeling on it, he made his way to you and crowded your space. Taking his right hand he laced it through your hair with confidence, his fingers tugging at the roots and pulling your head back with little force. It was possessive, like he was of you at that time in your lives. John pressed his lips to yours firmly and held you right where he wanted and yours moved along with the same hungry intention. It felt familiar and tasted of your past desire for the young Lieutenant. Your lips slotted together and moved in tandem as a heat began to build between you both. It was desire that started to flood your veins and it felt addictive in this moment. You felt young again for a second and wanted to chase after that feeling and leave behind who you were.

Pulling away John looked at you closely, trying to figure out what was going on in your head.

“Now kiss me like you did when you asked me to marry you.” The words were just above a whisper and John’s mind wandered to the young woman you were that early morning.

You had been crying because you so desperately wanted a family with him but he had been on the fence about having children, thus keeping him from proposing. John remembered how he planned on proposing the following week but ditched his original plans because in that moment he knew you couldn’t wait another second on his account. He loved you so much he wanted to wash those tears away and he did. He dropped to one knee in a puddle and asked you to be his one early morning in the misty rain.

John didn’t kiss you this time. He leaned in close and hugged you like he had done that early morning. Holding you close John felt that young woman in his arms again and just like then you began to cry. Only this time it wasn’t because you were excited to start a family and life together. You were mourning the loss of trust and wishing you could go back to these moments when life didn’t seem all that bad compared to now.

John slowly pulled away to wipe your tears but you didn’t give him the chance. Wrapping your arms around his neck you kissed him desperately. Pulling him closer you were soon lying on your back with John hovering over you, tears still streaming down your face. It took him off guard to have you making out with him and pulling him in to you with lustful intentions. Breaking away John was surprised to see you chasing after his lips.

“Darling, we’ve gone from me not touching you to this. Are you sure?” John was a bit breathless as he asked. Apprehension was taking over not sure how things had changed for you so quickly. He wanted this, craved your body but mainly he longed for your love.

“I want to feel you again. Like we use to. Before everything fell apart.” The admission made John’s heart still.

This was you coping. Not what he thought it was. John was hoping you were reaching out to him because you missed him and wanted his comfort as the man he was today. But you wanted reminders of the past, something to pacify you tonight to hopefully make the pain go away.

“I-I’m going to go sleep on the couch.” Slowly John slipped from your arms and got out of bed. He could see the devastation in your eyes immediately, not being use to rejection from him.

“Please, John.” You sat up clutching your comforter to your chest. Pleading eyes were fixed on your husband as he slipped out of bed and grabbed his pajamas.

“What you’re asking for isn’t something I want. I’m sorry.” Apologizing felt pointless in a moment like this.

Rejecting your advances now of all times felt cruel but John couldn’t go from how you two had been to shagging like you did when you were younger. It was a way to ignore the now and drown out what was going on in your lives.

“Please.” You begged again, desperate to feel anything besides the crushing weight of abandonment.

“I want to be enough now. And we’ll get there eventually. But let’s not do this thing where we pretend. It’s only going to hurt more.” John admitted to you not able to give you what you wanted.

It hurt just as deeply as everything else did to hear that.

“Okay.” Nodding your head you reached over and turned off your lamp, the room now shrouded in darkness.

“I love you, John.” You spoke with certainty as your bedroom door opened.

“I love you too.” And with that your door clicked shut.

——————

The smell of fried onions was what woke John up, the sound of sizzling soon followed. It’s was a symphony to John and it culminated in the familiar feeling of being home. But then his mind caught up to him and he was soon reminded of the turmoil in your marriage.

Taking a centering breath John tossed off his blanket and got up from the couch. He was dressed in black sweat pants and a blue athletic t-shirt. He took the time to fix the couch back up to normal and put his blanket back in the chest that sat on the right side of the room.

John wondered what you were making this morning and if you would be making enough for him. Yesterday he didn’t want to test the waters and decided to go out early to eat. It was nice having the kids tag along for the day it made everything feel a lot better.

Walking into the kitchen he expected to see his family all sat at the kitchen table ready to eat but he only found you at the stove. Instantly John thought you let the kids sleep in. To John’s shock he watched as you turned to look at him with a shy smile. You weren’t ignoring him anymore.

“I made your favorite.” Your eyes fell to the plate in your hands and John saw you had made a full English breakfast for him.

“Thank you.” John’s words were barely audible, a tight lipped smile gracing his bearded face.

It was strange feeling this uncomfortable around one another. You attributed it to your inability to treat John with love and care and instead allowed your anger to get the better of you. John didn’t know what to expect from you. It was like emotional whiplash constantly and he was exhausted but that wasn’t going to stop him from trying to fix things.

“Where are the kids?” John looked around and then back at you.

“My dad took Jj and Evie for the day and Lily’s with your sister.” Your eyes scanned John’s face trying to read any emotion he might show you, but he stayed stoic.

“Calling in all the favors.” It was an attempt at humor but you both awkwardly stood in your kitchen.

The silence was deafening and you wanted this weird tension to end between you two. It almost felt easier being angry because seeing how uncomfortable you made John was causing you to look inward at your actions. And you could see how horrible you’d been.

“Eat. We can talk when you’re finished.” It felt forced but you pushed your hands out and offered John the plate of food. It was your lame attempt of winning him over which you knew was far from enough.

John wasn’t particularly hungry but no part of him could reject you for a second time. Nodding a silent ‘thank you’ in your direction John took the plate and sat down at the kitchen table. He quietly ate and watched as you cleaned up the kitchen, the both of you staying silent.

Eventually he had finished his food and you were now sitting at the kitchen table together. With two cups of tea and a plate of biscuits between you both you tried to make this as comfortable as possible.

“I’m sorry about last night. I’m embarrassed for the way I acted.” You opened up the conversation having been plagued by your behavior. The anger was easier for you to stomach than being desperate for sex and being rejected for having impure intentions.

“Don’t be. You wanted to forget for a moment. I can understand that.” You could see the pain in John’s icy eyes. He was a clever man and it was no surprise he had figured out what was going on last night without having to talk about it.

There was a long lapse of silence that you tried to fill by taking a sip of your tea. John sat silent looking off into the distance while he stirred his tea.

“I’m still so angry at you and I don’t know what to do about it. I don’t know how to move on or forgive you.” Instead of beating around the bush you decided to get straight to the point.

“You can be angry at me for however long you need. I’ll always regret my decision and be sorry for leaving you in such a vulnerable time.” John couldn’t get himself to look at you.

The shame he felt reached down to his very core and he didn’t think he was deserving of forgiveness. The hard truth he realized on his walk home yesterday was that you had every right to leave him for what he had done. Any sane person would have. But you were still here and he didn’t understand why.

“Why did you do it? I know worked called and they said you had to. . . But why? Why didn’t you say ‘no my wife’s due any day’?” It was a question you had been asking yourself and you racked your brain endlessly wondering why John didn’t push back on his orders.

John stared down at his hands, scared the truth would only upset you more.

“Please tell me John and be honest.” With pleading eyes you begged for John to be honest.

“I thought we had time. Your due date was far enough away I thought I could make it back. I thought. . . I thought I could make everything work out and wouldn’t lose my job and still be there for you. . . Clearly I was wrong.” You could hear the pain in John’s voice as he admitted his intentions. How he thought he could have the best of both worlds but ended up failing you.

“Your jobs that important.” It was meant as a question but came out as a statement. Because this was fact to you.

“I can’t just not show up. You know that’s not how this works.” John tried to reason only to be given a nasty look.

“That’s bullshit and you know it. What happens when I need you or the kids need you and work comes up again? You going to leave us all in the lurch?” The meanness was coming back as you felt anger spike your veins.

“I don’t know.” John practically blurted out feeling under pressure. He normally functioned well under pressure but this wasn’t the kind he was use to. Having to answer to you about how he failed and abandoned you was becoming too much.

“You don’t know? John that’s not good enough.” You pushed even more watching as John seemed almost panicked to have the right answers.

“I promise I’ll make things work, you just have to trust me.” John hated the way you looked at him. The trust from before was absent and he felt desperate to have your loving gaze back on him.

“I don’t know if I trust you like that anymore.” You couldn’t look John in the eyes as you told him that. Hearing that made his ears ring like they had when you admitted to thinking about leaving him.

“Let me build that trust back up. I know I can’t do it in a day or even a year. But please, let me show you because that’s all I can do. It’ll just take time.” Hesitating to take your hand John pushed past being uncomfortable about touching you. So he took the risk and lightly took your hand. It felt nice to not be pushed away and you willingly held his hand too.

“Time.” You nodded being able to stomach that this might be able to fix itself with John’s efforts and a ticking clock.

“I’ve missed you. I’ve missed you so much and I want you to hold me and love me with everything you have. But from one moment to the next I go from that to being so hurt and upset I could throttle you. It doesn’t feel fair to pull you close and then push you away.” This was the biggest thing you had been struggling with in your journey to forgive John.

“And that’s why you wanted to separate?” John asked, having never heard the true reason. It hurt him to even admit to himself you had those intentions.

“I thought about it because I didn’t want to be around you at first. But then I realized having you gone was so much worse. I was hurt and was trying to figure out anything to make myself feel better.” As hard as it was to have this conversation it was long overdue. You had been avoiding talking about it for months only bringing it up in couples counseling.

“Did you really consider it?” John asked his hand tightening in yours.

“Yeah, at the start before you had come home I did. But then you held Lily and I knew in that moment I couldn’t do it. I needed you just as much as she does.” Pressing your lips into a firm line you willed yourself to stop crying. It seemed that was all you could do most days now.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I ever put you in a situation like that. You went through it all alone and I should’ve been there. You must have been so scared.” The words came tumbling out as John tried his damndest to hold himself accountable. It was all for your sake and he was ready to truly hear what his absence had done to you.

“I was.” You admitted and finally broke into sobs.

——————

“Dads suppose to be here.” Jj grumbled as he tied up his cleats. You were crouched in front of your son with Lily on your hip while you gave him a pep talk before he joined his football team for his match tonight.

“Focus on the match. You’ve still got me and your sisters in the stands.” Ruffling your son’s hair he rolled his eyes and jogged off towards his team to do warm ups.

With a heavy sigh you made your way back to Evelyn who was playing with your phone in the bleachers. She had roped the man sitting next to her into helping her with the phone game. You awkwardly apologized and reminded your eldest daughter not to talk to strangers. She cheekily asked how she was suppose to make friends then. You took your seat and plopped Lily in your lap as you waited for your son’s championship game to start.

John had been roped into another assignment at work and was off to God knows where last week. It was tough having him leave, it had those old resentful feelings cropping up again but he was very understanding about them. Giving you space when you needed it and showing you love when you asked. Jj was extremely upset because he knew his dad would miss his big match. To your surprise John promised he’d be there before even checking with work. You didn’t believe him but you weren’t going to tell anyone that.

“Fuck, sorry, excuse me. Sorry.” John’s voice stuck out amongst the chatter around you.

Your head snapped in the direction of his gravely tone and you saw John making his way to your seats. He was still dressed in his military attire; beige cargo pants, and a fleece army green quarter zip with a collar. He had ditched the hat showing off how his hair had gotten a bit longer and his beard was starting to get over grown.

“Didn’t save me a seat?” John’s smile was bright as he pointed to either side of you because there was no room for him amongst the other spectators.

You could only blink at him, words caught in your throat. John was right you didn’t save him a seat because you didn’t think he would make it. It didn’t seem to upset him there was no seat. John simply picked up Evelyn who squeaked and hugged him and plopped her in his lap so you could all sit together. Evelyn introduced John to her new friend and the two men hit it off once they realized they were both Liverpool fans. You sat there quietly playing with Lily’s hair. Your heart thumped loudly and you felt your heart swell that John was sat next you, his broad shoulder bumping into you every so often as he chatted.

“Didn’t think I’d make it?” John leaned over and whispered in your ear. He then placed a welcoming kiss to your cheek.

You could only smile at him in surprise, your head nodding, confirming his suspicion.

“Good, I’ll keep proving you wrong.” With a cocky grin John turned his attention to the match that was just beginning.

It was hard to keep your eyes on your son’s game when you had John sitting next to you. Continuously you were glancing at him and a few times you brushed your hand over his forearm or thigh to check if he was real. You wanted to scream out in joy that he made it but also keep yourself from getting to excited because if he disappointed you later it would hurt more.

Jj was ecstatic when he saw John at the end of the match. Babbling on and on about winning and if John saw how well he played. It made your heart swell to see your husband cheer Jj on from the stands and walk with his arm around the young boy as you all made your way to the cars. Jj asked to ride with John to the restaurant he chose and you all headed out.

John took notice to your soft gaze on him all of dinner and the little comment you made of wishing you had all taken one car. To him that meant you wanted to be around him and that was a step in the right direction.

Once home John helped with the nighttime routine and got the kids down to bed easily. Soon enough he was showering in your bathroom leaving you to your own devices in your shared bedroom. Listening to the sound of the shower you looked through your pajama drawer trying to figure out what to wear. Normally you threw whatever was easiest on but tonight you wanted to feel pretty. Because tonight you found yourself craving John like you use to. The only thing holding you back was how he had turned you down the last time you tried to initiate sex.

Taking out the silk night dress you knew John loved you slipped into it and ditched your bra and panties. Taking a moment you admired how the powder blue fabric looked amazing on your skin and the white lace spaghetti straps and bottom of the skirt accented the piece nicely. It was on the short side and came down to just above mid thigh and cinched at the curve of your figure.

The sound of the shower turning off had you quickly dashing toward the mirror. Pulling your hair out of the ponytail you had it in, you quickly played with your hair to make it fall in a way the framed your face nicely. Taking a deep breath you nodded at yourself finding the bravery to try and seduce your husband after five months of keeping him away.

Stepping out of the bathroom in just his boxer briefs John was ready to settle into bed and hopefully get to hold you as he drifted off to sleep. To his surprise he found you lounged back on his side of the bed in that little nightgown that drove him mad.

With wide blue eyes John’s gaze wandered up the exposed skin of your legs, admired your pert nipples through the silk fabric and the settled on the shy smile gracing your beautiful lips. He didn’t bother speaking because he knew you weren’t doing this to forget like you had before. You were laid out in front of him for the man he was now not who he use to be.

“Are you sure?” John checked in not wanting to read too much into things and make sure you were okay with him making advances toward you.

“I miss you. All of you. And I want you.” And with that response John was smiling softly at his very beautiful wife.

With that confident walk where his hips swayed you giggled lightly as John came over to you and crawled on top of you. You wiggled down the bed so you were lying flat with your head resting on his pillow. John hovered above you, hands on either side of your head and admired the way you stared back up at him. He had slotted one thigh between your legs and ever so gently leaned forward so the taunt muscle pressed against your pelvis giving you the option to grind down if you ever so pleased.

Lacing his finger through your hair John took in your features with care. He took notice of how time had aged you like fine wine. The wrinkles in your skin were barely present and they had amounted to cute laugh lines from the times you had shared together. Your eyes were just as bright as the day he met you. Moving slowly John focused on your plump lips and finally pressed his own against them.

It felt like sticking a fork in a wall socket.

Your whole body reacted as electricity shot through your veins. He tasted of younger years that had aged deliciously. No longer did you crave that young Lieutenant but were desperate for the man he had become. Your lips continued to move in tandem a heat building between you both. Pressing your hips skyward you ground your cunt against John’s bare toned thigh. The muscle was the perfect soft yet solid thing to press yourself against. The wiry hair of his thigh only added to the erotic pleasure that was building in your belly. Groaning softly John pulled away from the slow yet searing hot kiss to look down between you two.

“No knickers?” John breathed, his right hand coming down to your thigh and pushing the silky blue fabric up to pool above your hips.

The sight of your bare cunt grinding against his thigh had John ready to bust almost immediately. It had been five months since you two last had sex and it was finally occurring to him just how pent up he was.

“Fuckin’ Hell.” John muttered.

You watched as John continued to scan your body and you felt his apprehension. It made John seem stiff and unsure yet the way his eyes devoured you made you feel beautiful beneath his wandering eye. You knew instantly he didn’t want to push too hard too fast. So you helped him. Slipping the straps of your gown down you slid the fabric so it was now pooled around your waist, leaving your breasts exposed. They were full and larger from breast feeding and you knew how much John loved this part of having a baby. With a guttural groan John’s mouth was back on you. Hairy face shoved between the valley of your breasts and he sucked and nipped at the supple flesh. A light gasp was pulled from you feeling John suckle at your nipple.

“I need you John.” You whispered and your very attentive husband was springing into action.

Pulling away with a pop from your right nipple you watched John swallow the nectar he’d gotten from your full breasts. John’s hand grasped your hips and pulled you down the bed. He moved to be between your things and finally graced you with the sight of his pretty cock. It stood tall and it had been so long you swore you forgot how massive it was. John had tossed his boxers to the floor realizing this was the first time in a long time you admired his naked form. Leaning forward John positioned himself over you and locked eyes, searching yours for reassurance. He wanted you more than anything but did not want to make you feel that you couldn’t back out now.

“I’ve missed you. Please, John.” The breathy words had a small smile dusting John’s rugged features.

With matching love struck looks you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him close. His arms slid under your shoulder blades and hugged you his burly chest. The action had John slowly sliding in to your sopping wet warmth. Your velvety walls parted for him and wrapped him up just like you did in your arms. The stretch felt other worldly, a mix between pain and pleasure while your body adjusted to the intrusion. You could feel John’s cock head nudging at the deepest parts of you sending a shiver up your spine.

“You’re so beautiful.” John groaned into your ear. Settling his weight on you your bodies now flush together. The pressure of your lover above you and his body molded into yours was the perfect comfort as his hips slowly pistoned in and out of you.

“I love you. I love you so much. Fuck, you feel so good.” Your breathing was picking up as John spoke.

You couldn’t form words with the breath being pushed out of you with each slow measured thrust. It was sensual the way John moved. Earnestly trying to get as deep as possible while holding you tenderly, a focus on your pleasure and having you impossibly close. So close he could feel you under his skin, coursing through his veins, John wanted to be smothered by you.

“I love you. I absolutely adore you, darling.” Feeling John’s hot breath against your ear added to your desperation. His lips were kissing your neck, teeth every so often nipping at your earlobe.

The wiry chestnut hair of John’s chest rubbed against your breasts and his scratchy beard was leaving your skin raw on your shoulder and neck. His much large frame dwarfed you making feel small, safe, protected in his capable hands. It felt amazing having his muscular body pressed against you, you could hardly focus on his hips bucking into you. The pleasure was there but the comfort of being in John Price’s arms and feeling so loved was truly the better feeling.

John was mesmerized by the way you felt beneath his finger tips. How your finger nails scratched down his back, squeezed his ass when it felt particularly good for you. He thought he would only last a minute or two with how long it had been. But feeling you pliant beneath him, hugging him, holding him as close as physically possible, loving him in the most intimate way was intoxicating. You felt amazing around his cock but nothing compared to being loved by you in this moment.

He had missed you. From your touch to the way you smiled at him. Feeling how your love was returning to your marriage in a physical way was more of a relief than getting off ever could be. It meant John had done right by you. And that was the better feeling, now you shared that wrapped in each other’s arms.

“You’re mine? Always be mine?” The normally possessive statement became a question tonight. It was a plea for you to never leave and you both knew that.

“I’m yours. I’ll always be yours.” The confession had John’s lips crashing into yours, devouring your soft moans.

John’s pace picked up the both of you becoming desperate and losing yourselves in the pleasure. Pulling away only slightly a thin strand of saliva connected you as John rested his forehead against yours. With an adoring gaze you two stared into each other’s eyes both feeling the tension build and build until you teetered on the edge of your climax. You loved the way John’s pupils ate up almost all of the gorgeous icy blue of his eyes. While John was lost in your bright eyes that had become hooded with pleasure while his hips moved faster and rougher.

“I’m so in love with you.” John confessed as if it were a sin to feel that way.

“John, oh fuck. God, I lo-” the words caught in your throat and you wanted to tell him you loved him too. But with the perfect snap of his hips rubbing against your clit for this long you finally came. Gasping and muscles tightening you moaned John’s name and chanted it like a mantra.

“Darling-“ John grunted, a shaky breath forcing itself from his lungs. You both maintained eye contact as you felt a warmth flood your quivering cunt. John’s body shook as his orgasm tore through his body, months of pent up sexual tension flooding into your pretty cunt. So much filled you it was leaking out of you with John still fully sheathed inside of you.

Catching your breath John settled against you making it hard to breathe, but you didn’t mind. Rubbing your hands up and down his back he squeezed you closer. Soon enough you both were lightly laughing and John was taking you with him while he rolled on to his back. With legs intertwined you soaked in this moment together never wanting it to end.

“You know I’ll always love you.” After speaking John placed a kiss to the crown of your head.

He loved this feeling of having you resting against his chest, sweaty and worn out from making love after so long. You both laid in the sticky mess you created and there was a silent communication after a shower you’d be changing the sheets. A year ago John took a moment like this for granted and after everything he would be cherishing you a lot more.

Playing with the tufts of hair on John’s bulging pectorals it felt like a daydream. You didn’t think you two would get to a place where you could enjoy each other again let alone make love. But here you were listening to the steady rhythm of his heart and feeling cherished in his strong arms. Having John show up and keep his promise was the first step toward healing. You thought back to how he told you it would take time and he was right. It left you excited to see him continue down this path for the sake of you and your family. Some may call you foolish for being so hopeful but maybe this was how trust was built.

“And I’ll always love you.”

——————

“Why are you so happy?” Evelyn was giving you a bratty look as you set out a huge breakfast for your family.

“Just am.” You smiled at the young girl who gave her father a funny look.

“What?” John asked around his fork as Evelyn looked at him skeptically.

“What are you so happy about?” She turned the question on to her father. You and John shared a look knowing exactly why you were both so happy.

After last night you woke up in the middle of the night and coaxed John awake for another go. Only this time you sat atop him and showered him with your love. Then this morning was a lot less about love and a whole lot more about getting your back blown out; but you weren’t complaining. In fact you egged John on to go harder the whole time.

“I’m happy to be home.” John fibbed. It wasn’t an outright lie he was truly happy to be home but his chipper mood was truly due to you.

“Yeah right! You’re way past normal happy. You’re Liverpool just won a match happy.” Leaning closer Evelyn narrowed her eyes trying to pick John apart. He could only lightly chuckle and go back to eating his breakfast.

“Well Jj did win his match last night. Can’t I be happy about that?” John asked, quirking an eyebrow at his very suspicious daughter.

“Mum and dad are just getting on, leave it be.” Taking his fork Jj tapped the edge of Evelyn’s plate to get her to stop staring.

“They’re always getting on what are you talking about?” Giving Jj a confused look she turned her attention to you.

“Mummy tell me.” Evelyn pleaded.

“I think you’ve had too many pancakes and they’re going to your head. Your dad and I are just happy today. Isn’t that a nice thing?” Your comment didn’t seem to persuade your oldest daughter. In fact it seemed to light a fire under her and she needed to know the reason why.

“You’re both big fibbers and I’m going to figure out why you’re so happy! Did you get one of those coupons in the mail again for half priced icecream!? That made daddy really happy once!” Evelyn’s guess had you snorting out a laugh. The coupon was John’s excuse to take you all out for icecream and to his dismay it ended up being expired.

“No I didn’t get a coupon.” John chuckled deeply now wanting to go check the mail to see if maybe he had.

“Okay, then was it. . .” Evelyn tapped her chin as she tried to think of another reason.

“Baby Lily did something cute!” Jj tried to guess but Evelyn clicked her tongue and shook her head in disapproval.

“No, that’s too obvious. It has to be. . . Auntie Sarah’s going to watch us so you two can go on a fancy date and smooch!” Pointing her finger at John, Evelyn’s statement felt more like an accusation.

“Not a bad idea.” John winked at you.

“I’ll give her a call.”

~~~~~tag list~~~~~

@exhaustedpotat0 @glitterypirateduck @ivymarquis @crazymela @what-0-life @boredfairy4 @hihhasotherfixations @stephanswhxre @shanjisan @k4es @luvleywrites @kita03-0 @midwesternwitchery @aleynaleia @suckerforbassist @misshoneypaper @theaonlax @blackstar9005 @tooterbutt @havoc973 @maladaptivedaydreamingbum @freshlemontea @cosmoscoffeee @sae1kie @ohworm-writes @ghostslittlegf @fanficwriterlover @arminarlertssword @faceache111 @azu21 @thirstyb-ches @nini-11-08 @sgtgarricks @kiki-is-hyperfixating @mayflysdie

#i’m not even a john girlie but this was amazing #fic rec #cod fanfic

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geltears · 3 months ago

Text

an eye for an eye | knight!ghost x f!reader

your husband bends to your will. men must learn from difficult lessons how far that bending goes.

type: a continuation of a hand for a hand, but can be read stand-alone (11.6k)

cw: 1600s au, dark!ghost, reader described as curvier/plus-sized, graphic depictions of war + violence, possessive!ghost, war-criminal!ghost, inaccurate historical settings probably, unprotected piv, cumplay, breeding kink, size kink, simon "i'd do anything for my wife no matter the devasting consequences" riley (18+)

Your husband has an insatiable appetite. Such a big man he is; he towers over you, so much so that you must tip your head back always to look up at him. You had to make many arrangements in your house to accommodate his hunger–a pantry stocked full of eggs and less fabric for your skirts.

Your house isn’t like others. Neither you nor Ghost have ever lived in luxury. When he showed you your home for the first time, you had shaken your head–you didn’t believe that such a large place was supposed to be yours, and even now, sometimes you feel like a stranger, out of place when the maids ask you what you want for supper or where you’d like to take your afternoon tea. You don’t like the fuss, the asking, the women that curtsy when you come near, concentrated over the creases in your skirts or the loose thread of your sleeve or the wispy hairs that fall out of your braids. You are told all the time that you must behave like a duchess, that you must poise yourself with your new title and your new money, and you must do the things that duchesses do–but no one says the same to your husband.

He is still allowed to sleep in the barracks. Lick the blood off his gauntlets. Polish his sword in the dirt. He’s still allowed to be everything that you cannot be anymore, he still lives the life he had before.

He still kills; and he is still very, very good at it.

Your queen told you in a letter that the king is very pleased. Ever since your union, Ghost has been quite the conqueror. Bloodthirsty and very determined, your husband has been taking his men across the water. He is not any less impressive off land. Not even the pirates have tried to negotiate; they bend the knee or taste the salt water. You breathe shakily when you read your queen’s letters—her praise for your husband’s conquests, how blessed your family will be and how valuable you are to the crown, how grateful she is that Ghost is no longer a fiend in court but rather a little more polite and a little quieter.

All for your sake. Ghost’s name is now your own, and he refuses to embarrass you now that you have it.

You won’t lie; the bodies that Ghost has stacked since you’ve been wed do not scare you. He’s doing it for you. He has never said it out loud, never told you so, but you know it. He wants to show you what kind man that he is, what kind of soldier—you know he’s trying to prove himself worthy. If he killed a thousand men to have you, how many will he slaughter to keep you?

He sends you letters of his own. Not many, but he does send letters, and while Ghost seems to be ineloquent and entirely too brutish, he has quite the voice when he writes.

To my wife,

The sun falls quicker here. I’d like to come home. Tell me of your day, and I will tell you of mine. There were a fleet of ships that came to meet us at dawn. When we sank three, they begged for us to spare the rest.

I have you to think about now. So I burned them.

Simon

A poet, your beloved.

He signs his real name in his letters. Your eyes skim over most of it–you don’t even blink when he tells you what he does to them. Sometimes he writes in great detail about the screams of a hundred souls, the way burning flesh smells, the taste of dirt in a new place when you know it is finally yours. He doesn’t like having secrets. He tells you all his thoughts, even if they might scare you, because you are his wife, and he has discovered quite quickly that you have been cut from the same cloth.

Even when he is home, and he tells you these things all over again, he can’t help the way his cock hardens when you merely blink and ask him if he has added any scars to his collection.

Ravenous, naughty little duchess, and you are all his. He knows he picked well–he knows, he knows he wasn’t wrong when he saw you across the throne room hiding behind his queen, he knows now that he was right about what he saw in your eyes.

You do hate when he’s away. You’re not used to the maids helping you dress, and you secretly abhor the help. That is why when you hear the shuffle of your house early in the morning, your heart thuds in your chest knowing he’s home.

The staff get antsy when Simon is around. He is very good at keeping an estate for someone that has never had to or ever been taught to, but he leaves the responsibilities with you and only you every time he goes. He doesn’t trust anyone else to do it, and every time he comes back, he makes you sit on one big thigh as he teaches you something new that you need to remember for when he goes away. He demands much of those he employs, and they are eager to please him. Whether it is because they respect him or are afraid of him, you aren’t sure.

Perhaps it’s both.

You sit up as the bedroom door opens. You smile, big and wide and sleepy as he steps into the room. He shuts the door with his boot, slipping his hood off, and you sigh as he grips the clasp of his mask and unhooks it. He tosses it onto the floor, bare-faced, and as he makes his way towards the bed, he sheds the rest of his clothes until he’s completely naked.

You cannot stop yourself from the shaky breath you take. He is all muscle and fat, strong and entirely too scary, but it’s hard to focus on what he really is when he stands before you like this. He has fat thighs, big shoulders, carved muscle of intense labor around his middle and along his biceps. He has large hands with calloused palms and split knuckles, and your eyes meet his own as he comes closer. He’s so gorgeous, even with a face like that. He has a long scar that stretches from one brow to his lower jaw, another that cuts his nose and splits his lip, but those eyes are dark and lovely, and you can’t help the warmth that comes over you when he catches you staring at him, closer, right to his cock that hangs heavy between his legs.

Just as he begins to lower himself onto the bed, you hold out a hand, giggling.

“Simon, if you think you are getting into this bed without a proper bath, you’re mistaken!” You laugh, and he raises a brow.

“Mmm…” He smacks his lips together. “Tha’ right, my lady?” He clicks his tongue. “This is my bed. ’s oll mine. Every blanket…every pillow…” He grips your ankle from under the covers and yanks you towards him. “And every part of you.”

You giggle again, shaking your head, “Please, Simon!” You push him away with your toes. “They only changed the sheets yesterday. You’ll dirty them…” You flutter your lashes. “Will you bathe if I join you?”

He grins wide, licking over his teeth.

“Can’t refuse an offer like tha’.”

You hold out your hand for him, and he takes it gently. You watch as he brings your knuckles towards his mouth, and you bite back a smile when he decides to kiss each one, slow. He tugs finally, pulling you up, and you wrap your arms around his neck as he hoists you up into his arms. You would worry about your weight normally, but Simon holds you so easily, barely even a grunt as he wraps your legs around his middle. You don’t waste another second, cupping his cheeks in your hands and kissing him softly.

It’s never just a kiss with Simon. He slides one of his hands up your back, into your hair, and you whine as he tips your head back just enough to slip his tongue into your mouth. Simon doesn’t just kiss, he consumes. What he did to get back to you, the things he endured, the places he has seen and the bodies he has buried and burned and scattered across the places he now calls country, it’s always to get back to this place.

To you.

“How’s my boy?” He asks when you pull away. He carries you to another room, to where the tub sits, and he rings a bell by the door to call the maids in. You snatch a robe off a hook and cover him with it as he sits with you, but all he does is put a few fingers under your chin and make you look at him again. “Oi. Asked ya question, luv.”

Your lip wobbles a little, and you look away.

“I…” You wait until the maids have gone to fetch hot water to tell him. “I bled while you were gone. I…” You smooth your hands over the robe, distracting yourself. “I’m…I’m sorry, Simon.”

You close your eyes as he leans close, resting his forehead against yours, and you shake a little as he lets out a warm breath against your lips. He moves a warm hand over your soft stomach, cupping you there, and you lean your head back a little at the tender touch.

“It will happen,” he says finally, and your mouth opens to respond, but he sticks his thumb between your lips to shut you up. He doesn’t want to hear you blame yourself. If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s his, for not being here with you, for not be able to take care of you. You give in, suckling on the salt of him, and he grits his teeth as he watches you. “I know. Seen it in m’dreams.”

Simon has dreams. Lots of dreams, but he tells you that they are not dreams, they are glimpses into something that has already happened. When you asked if he was some kind of seer, the kind that the king used to have at parties, Simon doesn’t laugh.

He says the dreams are why he knows he won’t die. Why he is never afraid, because he knows somewhere behind his eyes what’s to come even if he didn’t see the entire painting of it. It is why he knew he would marry you; it is why he paid you so much attention, why he knew he would win his battles, why he always knows whose blood it is in his mouth because he has tasted their death before and relishes in the knowing of it all, in the certainty.

It’s never I think, it is always I know, and Simon is nothing if he is not the most honest man that you know.

So if he says you will have his babe, it is as good as truth. As green as the grass grows beneath his feet, as blue as his sky, and as red as the blood that is caked underneath his nails.

When the tub is filled with water, you let Simon sink into it first. You kneel beside it, picking up a glass of oil, pouring it into your palms before sinking your hands into his hair. It’s gotten longer since he left, in need of a cut, but you smile when he leans his head back into your shoulder. You can feel his content as he relaxes into you, and you admire his physique as you use the warm water and scrub the mud and grime off of him.

“I missed you, husband,” you whisper, and he only lets you massage his hair for a few more moments before he grips you by the wrist and tugs you forward, right into the bath. “Simon!” you laugh, “my night dress—oh!—it’s ruined!”

“Too far away,” he mutters, practically ripping the silk off of you as he tosses it besides the bath. “Mmm…” He cups your breasts with two big hands, smoothing his thumbs over your nipples, and you whine a little as he pulls at them just enough to make them stiffen. “Y’should be naked when I come home,” he says lowly. “I’ll soil y’r bloody gown next time, m’lady.”

You giggle, and he smiles. A real smile. As real as he’ll ever give anyone, maybe the only one that anyone has ever even seen. He has never shown his face in court, and while it angers the women and irks the men, you revel in the fact that all of this is only for you.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

You kiss him softly. The water sloshes, warm and inviting, and sometimes you forget your life used to be anything but joy. A year ago, you would not believe that you would be here, titled, wealthy, in a stone room lit by candles bathing with a blood hungry ghost.

A year ago, you trembled whenever he looked at you. You cowered when you heard his footsteps. What a stupid little girl you had been. What a fool. She had no idea what she could have, the kinds of things she could hold in her hand.

Real power wasn’t being able to command a room with your words. Real power was being able to say anything and have it be believed as truth. Real power was making someone look in one direction and have them see what you see, even if what you see isn’t real.

He lays you down in your bed afterward and eats. Your wet hair soaks the sheets, but you can’t seem to be really bothered as he fits your legs over his shoulders and bends you at the waist, his mouth suctioned to your clit as he eats you slowly. One of his hands is spread out over your tummy, the other you can hear making a squelch as he fists his own cock. It’s slow and methodical, and he slides his tongue between your folds firm, catching what dribbles from you on the tip of his tongue before he swallows it and leans in for more.

He has eaten you in nearly every room in your house. Frightened the cooks tossing you onto the dining table, given a servant a scare as he ducked under your skirts in the library, had the gardeners fleeing as he dropped you onto the grass near the lake and disappeared with a frenzy to eat your cunt during sunrise. It’s maddening, the kind of need that Simon requires, but it’s hard to refuse when you feel so warm and bubbly and happy after he’s finished. A pampered princess you are, never lifting a finger, only awake long enough when he’s home to eat until you’re full and cum until you fall asleep again.

Maybe that’s why you’re not pregnant yet. Simon likes to be here, between your thighs, mouth fixed on your wet pussy until he’s practically exhausted himself with a sore jaw and lax tongue.

He kisses you sloppy after. Licking into your mouth, practically spitting onto your tongue, wanting you to taste—tastes so good, luvvie, don’t ya see, yeah?—wanting you to know why he’s so eager to be on his knees all the time.

You sniffle, a little dizzy, shaking your head.

“’s not what I really want,” is all you whimper, and he nods, because he knows, he always knows.

“I know, luv. I know wot ya really need.”

“I must be broken,” you sob, cradling his face in your hands, and he shakes his head.

“Not broken,” Simon assures you. He speaks so surely that it’s hard not to believe him. “It wasn’t time.”

“You can’t see the future, Simon! You don’t know!” You cry, and he snarls a little, shaking his head again.

“You listen t’me,” he growls. You shake a little as he grabs your face with one hand, fixing your jaw under his grip as he holds onto you firmly. “Wot I say goes. Y’r my wife, so listen t’me, and listen t’me good. Y’r not broken. Not time. Say it back t’me.”

Your lip trembles, and he rattles your head a little.

“Say it,” he snaps, and you hiccup.

“It’s not time,” you whisper, and he plants a fat kiss onto your tear-soaked lips.

“Just need my cock, luv,” he murmurs. “Tha’s oll. Just need me t’fuck it outta ya.”

You nod, pressing your face to his, and he tuts, reaching down and spreading your legs wide to accommodate him between them as he lays over you.

“’s oll y’need,” he repeats, and you nod again.

You have to take another bath in the same morning; and this time, you weren’t able to walk there.

You like when Simon is home because it’s quiet. The only one that dotes on you here is Simon. The maids do not dress you or do your hair or moisturize your skin. It’s always Simon.

You smile at him in the mirror as you sit at your vanity. He has a brush in one hand, and he’s using it delicately to detangle your hair how you like. His hands are practiced and gentle, and when he finishes, he leans over you as he starts to part your hair to braid it. He did not have sisters, but his mother had him always do her hair after she lost the use of her hands with age. You don’t know where his mother is, but you assume she is not here anymore, because he never invites you to meet her.

He oils your skin. He slips the robe off of you, revealing your damp skin from the bath, and he slathers oil in his hands before using it to soften your skin. He takes his time, smoothing those big hands over your shoulders, down your back, along your arms. You tilt your head back when he warms your breasts, squeezing and fondling your tits. He murmurs in your ear the entire time, and he has to fuck you with his fingers to quiet you when he stops because just his hands on your tits has you wet all over again.

He dresses you, too. Helps you slip into your undergarments, fastens the cage for your skirts over your hips. He ties them skillfully, and after he layers your skirts over the farthingale, he gets you into your corset. It’s intimate as he does this. Even with your wide skirt, he comes closer, over your shoulder, and he tugs at the laces at your back, pulling it tight with firm grunts. You sigh when he buries his face into the crook of your neck, his hand skimming over your breasts as they sit nice and perky between stiff fabric and whalebone.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “Fuck, unnerving…the way ya look…”

You close your eyes, “S-Simon, please…I’m already dressed…”

He chuckles, “I know. I know.”

But when he has to leave again, you nearly come with him. You fasten his armor for him, help him slip each piece of leather on and click every piece of metal into place. You tie his cloak and slip his mask on, and you try and duck your head when you flip his hood up, but he catches you, tilting your chin up.

He huffs when he sees your face. Tears sliding down your cheeks, lips wet with them, eyes all glassy and red. He draws you up onto your toes, pressing his mouth to yours through the mask, and you hold onto him tightly, digging your nails into his chest armor and threatening to not let go.

“I want to go.“

“No.”

“Simon, let me go,” You gasp, begging, gripping his hood in firm fists and not caring that his armor is cutting into your front. “Let me go with you, I can’t do this anymore, I want to go, I can do it.”

You aren’t sure if Simon underestimates you. You think it’s more that he does not want you to see him in a place where he is most true. Where he wears the least of a disguise. He does not know he wears it the least with you, and that you have already seen his blood and how it curdles under his skin. You like it that way. You like him angry…and mean…and terrible. You like him when his sword is dirty and his armor needs polishing and his mind thinks of nothing else besides war. He should know this by now. He should know that you see him and see what he is even more than his king, more than his men.

He couldn’t scare you, even if he tried.

“War is not where women go,” Simon snaps. His tone is harsh, even for you, and you stiffen when he grips you by the jaw and rattles your head a little. “Especially not one like you, my love. War would eat ya, eat ya fuckin’ whole. Look at ya…” He huffs, deep, sliding that gloved hand down your throat to slip it beneath the neckline of your dress and fondle your breast with a firm grip. “Beautiful. Meant for my lips…for these dresses…meant to be held in my hands, not bleed from stray arrows, because tha’ is surely the least of wot they would do t’ya if they knew ya were my wife. Now ya will wipe these tears, ‘n see me off, and then ya will come back inside like a good girl, ‘n you will wait for me here until I come back.”

Your bottom lip trembles, and you scowl up at him. Not indifference, but frustration, and Simon doesn’t think it suits you.

“I’m sick of waiting for you, Simon,” you spit. “It’s all I ever do, wait. Wait for you to come back, alive or dead, I never know. And don’t say you do this for country, that is a lie.” You shove him backwards, but he barely budges when your hands touch his chest, a rigid wall that does not give. “You do it because you like it. You’re a bloodthirsty dog, and all you do is bend to our king’s will.”

A lie, but you tell it anyways, because you want something, and he will not give it to you.

“That is my duty.”

“Your duty is to me,” you snap. “Kings come and go, but I will not.” Simon stills. He glares down at you from behind his mask, and perhaps this might terrify his men, but that you are not. You are his wife, and you are protected by that title alone. The only man to ever lay a hand on you would not live to see another second, himself included. “Now you will let me join you, or so help me God, Simon, I will not be here when you return.”

You do not expect the full-bellied laugh that leaves him. His armor shakes with him, and you grind your teeth, narrowing your eyes. He uses his thumb to force his mask up, and then he cups the back of your head and draws you in for a sloppy kiss. You resist at first, but when he feeds you his tongue, you melt. You kiss him back, letting him draw you closer, and you sigh as he tangles his fingers into your hair and cradles you with those big hands.

There is nothing more to say. Simon neither confirms nor denies, but you taste it in his mouth, his devotion. Not wrong, not right, but just so–he has many responsibilities, but you are the only one that will remain the same. One day, his king will die, and he will serve another, but the space you have made beside him will never change. Even when you die, because he knows you will go before him, there will never be someone else to fill it. You and you only, the woman he found and made his, the one he demanded lest he kill his own country for it, it will always be you. Soft and sweet, you are, but the Lord knew Simon could only have one woman, and he made it be you; the one spitfire enough to defy her own king because she trusted his love enough for it.

Would you commit treason to save his life? Would you watch a king die if it meant your beloved lived?

Would he?

He thinks about what you have said when he takes his fleet across the water. He runs his tongue over his teeth behind his mask, breathing deep when he thinks about your proclamations of duty. Of change. Of what remains when other things move, of the kind of life that waits for him when he comes and goes with a king’s order. He thinks about how easily he is taken away from you, and he knows there is truth in what you feel. It is not really Simon that sacrifices, it is what he leaves behind, and that is you.

It’s never angered him before. He had accepted the fact, as early as your wedding day, that he would leave and come back, then leave again. It has always been the way of his life, come desire or not, so it bothers him that of all the things that surprised him in his life, it would be missing someone that shocked him the most.

Missing his wife. Missing the serene perfection of one woman, and the perfect place between her soft thighs. Every day that he finds himself between them is the best day of his life, he reckons, so now he feels bitter about staring at a freezing ocean amongst his men because he will go weeks without her.

Her. Her. Her.

He is bitter, yes, until he is not.

It comes in a letter from a messenger on horseback. They have been stationed in a foreign land for weeks now, watching slowly as the stone walls of a castle at their front crumples day after day from the stones filled with powder that ignite what is wood and break what is rock. The letter is sealed with wax, with the motif of a snake. It is given directly to Simon, whose name is scribbled in the letter, and when he reads it, he tastes ichor and smoke.

So the great phantom has come to seal my fate. I am not in the business of letting what is mine be taken. Even if you have brought your all, it won’t be taken from me.

I heard you have a beautiful new wife. I heard you paid for her in blood.

I shall do the same. I will hang your sword above our marriage bed.

Ghost is not someone that bends to the threats from foe he cannot look in the eye. Words are so empty. It is nothing like when he stands just a few meters apart from them, eyes fixed against one another, as they decide whether today they want to live or they want to die. The letter means nothing, but he’s surprised by the heat that bubbles under his ribs at the mention of his bride. He meant it when he said you were not meant for war, and that meant in this regard, too–nobody was allowed to talk about you, not like this, not ever.

When his king orders him home, Ghost crumples the note and tosses it into embers. He watches it burn, and then he orders his men to set to flame the ground around the stone walls.

So men like him can be goaded, it seems. His resolve is not as strong as he thought.

The weeks make you anxious. All you do is sit and collect dues and tell the maids which dress you want to wear and which you do not. It is peaceful and boring, and you wish Simon was here to make your days more exciting, but he is not.

His letters are the only things that keep you occupied, truly. He writes to you about war and loneliness, and you write to him about the mundane of domesticity and the ache he leaves behind. Sometimes, his letters come folded with pressed flowers he finds along the way, and you start to collect them, putting them away in small boxes or using them as bookmarks as you go through Simon’s library.

He has many books. His most loved books are those of war, of history, and you smooth your fingers over the pages he has dogeared and find comfort in reading the same words that he once did. You learn, as well. While in your studies as a girl, they made you learn arithmetic and the flowery bits of history and art, here in Simon’s house, you learn of strategy and weaponry and military tactic. Sometimes you disagree, and you write about these disagreements to Simon, and he writes back, pleased with your observations. He told you once that if you were a man, he would want you in that tent with him, beside him, deciding on which formations to take and when to strike. You responded saying that you could be that for him anyway. What did your sex have anything to do with whether you were right or wrong?

Simon agreed.

But I would never invite you here, dear wife. You have to understand that.

When your queen asks for your audience for dinner, you oblige easily; finally, you have something to do rather than add up numbers or sign a document on Simon’s behalf or read another fucking book.

You don’t want to wear all the costume your maids insist on, but you appease them after they repeatedly explain to you what your title means. With a drawn face, you let them tie your corset and layer your skirts, and you watch in the mirror as they braid your hair and drape large, obnoxious jewels over you. You grimace at the tiara they fit into your hair, and your elderly handmaid pinches your cheeks and tells you to put on a fair countenance, Your Grace, lest you make the Duke look ungrateful.

You bite your tongue from snapping at her. She should know that Simon would say nothing about your countenance; all he would do is fix whatever was bothering you until you smiled again.

You arrive early enough to have tea. Your queen is so excited to see you; she gushes when you meet her in the throne room, pulling you up from your curtsy so she can hug you tight, squealing. When you try to address her with a curt “Your Majesty,” she shakes her head, pressing her hands to your cheeks and giggling, “No need for formalities now. Call me Victoria.”

You hide your displeasure with a small smile. Now that you are no longer her lady-in-waiting, she allows you her name. Is it because she sees you more as equals, or because now you’re allowed to be somewhat of friends?

You must be some kind of friend. She sizes you up like you are one. She wears England’s colors this afternoon. A fire red dress adorned with gold accents, a dragon pin holding her shawl. She wears magnificent red and gold jewelry, but she’s looking at your dress, and you can see the slight twitch of her eye. You are wearing French lace, and she doesn’t like it. Or maybe she doesn’t like the color, the accents of navy blue and silver that you wear.

The skull motif that is woven into your tiara and printed on your coat and sewn into your dress. Does it insult her? That all your life, you wore nothing but browns and beiges and grays, were invisible to her, and now you represent your house, visit her as your guest, and bear an honorable name?

You were no one when you served her. Just a girl, no close family, no friends, just a distant uncle who gave you to the crown that hoped you could be of service. That was to be your duty for all your life–to serve the king’s wife until she wanted you no more or until she was gone. To cater to her every need and every wish, no matter the time of day or night.

Now you sit across her, more noble. Refined. Wearing a dress she despises, perhaps because she likes it more than her own.

Over tea, she gossips about the other ladies she has visit. You’ve heard this before, but you’ve never been included in the conversation. She talks to you, and she wants to hear your opinion, and you find yourself uneasy as you try to think of what to say. She is your queen, and you want her to like you. When you worked for her, you earned her favor by always warming up her jewels before she put them on, by making sure she had her tea ready in the morning at her bedside, by always holding the fan she so loved for when she inevitably had a hot flash. Now, as her friend, you weren’t exactly sure what to do. You suck in a soft breath and look at her, and then you purse your lips.

You think it best to agree with her. To be on her side. You might not be her direct servant any longer, but you still must fall under her favor. A queen’s favor can be just as powerful, especially if she occasionally has the ear of her husband.

“Well, that’s not very kind of her,” you say finally, and she laughs.

“No! She’s such a prude. I think her husband doesn’t sleep in her bed enough, if you know what I mean,” she winks at you. You giggle at that. “Speaking of husbands–” She pops another cake in her mouth. “How is yours?”

You reach up and tug at your necklace a bit, smiling nervously.

“Oh, uh…” You clear your throat, “He’s doing very well. I hear his latest campaign is quite the success. His majesty is very smart, heading for the east that way, I’m sure they will be victorious soon enough.”

Victoria smiles at the thought of her husband. His intelligence. She always used to talk to you about how many hours he worked, how she hated when he was away, how she wished he was home more so he could give her a son because she was so, so lonely.

“Wise words from the duchess, aye, my love?”

You jump a bit at the low voice from behind, and when you turn, you gasp, immediately standing and falling into a delicate curtsy. John Price waves his hand, coming further into the room, shaking his head.

“It’s alright,” he tells you. “Please, sit. You’re here as my guest.”

You stand and lift your head, trying to relax. You take a seat, smiling nervously, and Victoria smiles giddily at her husband. When he bends to kiss her cheek, she fawns, reaching for his hand and squeezing it before taking another piece of tart and eating it. John hums before motioning for one of the staff to fill your cup again with tea. He eyes you curiously, taking in your appearance. You sit up at that, performatively brushing off over the skull pattern on your corset. John runs his tongue over his teeth, smoothing a big palm down his wife’s long coils of hair.

“Since you’re here, I’d like a word, if that’s alright,” John says to you. His tone carries a little more authority now, and Victoria sighs, whining a little.

“John, please, she’s my friend. Can’t it wait–”

“That wasn’t a question, Victoria,” John bites. Her face falls a little. She swallows and tucks her hands into her lap. You’re reminded as you look at the slight wobble of her lip that there is no one truly above John Price, not even her. You keep your face neutral, but if you were invisible, you’d pity her.

What a shame her husband sees her as less than. How embarrassing. Your Simon would never. Your Simon waits until you finish speaking before speaking himself. Your husband kneels to take off your shoes, your husband tears your skirts to get a taste of you, your husband used his teeth to sever a man’s throat just to have your hand.

What did John Price do to get his wife? Who did John Price kill to have her hand? How many bruises did he earn around his knees on their wedding night from eating her out? As many as Simon, whose knees were black and blue by morning?

No, you suppose not. How unfortunate. How pathetic.

Victoria picks up her skirt and stands, pasting a big smile on her face. It doesn’t reach her eyes, and you can see the way her hands shake a little as she scurries off. She scowls as soon as she turns away from John, clearly annoyed.

“I’ll go check on dinner,” she says, but it is soft and unenthusiastic.

When she goes, the room falls quiet. At the nod of John’s head, the staff leave, and you keep still in your seat as John sits across from you, picking up one of the cakes in front of him and breaking off a piece to busy himself. He keeps his eyes on his task of cutting up the cake in small pieces, focused on his hands and how they work. You watch him carefully, steeling yourself.

You anticipate a conversation between man and woman, not a king and his lesser.

“Simon’s been away for some time. I bet that’s difficult for you.”

You straighten your posture, realizing what this conversation will be. By his tone, John seems to think you a bored, stupid housewife, perhaps. Uneducated. A woman, no thoughts in her head. You let your face relax, and you fold your hands in your lap. Maybe now is the time John should learn who you are and who you are not.

What you have become and what you no longer are.

“I do just fine, Your Majesty,” you say finally. You pick up a spoon and drop a cube of sugar into your tea, and you stir, picking it up to take a long sip. John is curious by your content. You have a quick tongue. “I could say the same to you, couldn’t I?”

John laughs. He narrows his eyes a bit at your clever response, taking a large bite of the cake and running a cloth over his beard. His eyes sparkle a little.

“So you know.”

“Know what, Your Majesty?”

“You know I gave Simon orders. And you know he didn’t listen to me.”

You purse your lips, but he sees the shine in your eyes. The lack of surprise. His face twitches a bit, and you shake your head. You blink slow, and it irks him to see you so calm. He is your king, and Simon answers to him, and you are his wife, so you must answer, too.

“I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about.”

“I could have your husband’s head cut off for treason for that, you’re aware, aren’t you?”

You tilt your head to the side. What an odd thing for John to say. What an odd thing for John to contemplate, since it would never come to pass. “Don’t be daft, my king. You wouldn’t want to do that.”

John slams his fist on the table, making the plates and cups rattle with his frustration, but you do not even flinch. You blink, stone-faced, and it makes his nostrils flare. He recognizes that glare, he knows it well. He has seen it before, stared it down many times in rooms just like this. Only now, he is not fighting for land, he fights for control of the one man that he has always been able to rely on. Simon has followed him into battles outnumbered by a thousand men, and only now he ignores an order? Only now he chooses something different?

“Now, let’s be civil, Your Majesty,” you say softly. You smile at him, leaning your head in your hand. “Is there something that you need from me? I have a feeling you might have encouraged this dinner just so you could see me in passing, so why don’t you just ask me what you wanted to ask me?”

John lets out a deep breath, leaning his elbows on the table, lowering his voice. He leans towards you, and you admire how blue his eyes are. John is quite a handsome king, but he does not captivate you. It has been a long time since John has tasted blood, and he lacks the edge that you crave dearly.

“I need him back here, is what I need,” John murmurs.

“My king, I couldn’t get him back here any more than you could, even if I wanted to.”

“Now who’s being daft?”

You scoff, leaning back in your chair. John is not a stupid man. He created a beast of a man, and he is trying not to poke it too hard. You shift, brushing down your skirts, and you let out a low breath.

“Why did he refuse?” You ask finally.

“What?”

“Why does he ignore your order to come back?” You ask again. “I can’t think of a lot of reasons why he would stay. So why did he ignore you?”

John clicks his tongue, smoothing a few of his fingers over his beard. He averts his eyes, looking out the tall windows, frowning a little at the grim weather. The weather is always grim here, but it irks him at the moment, makes him scowl a little harder.

“I was…informed that there was some sort of letter,” John explains. “Some threat.”

“I don’t follow. He gets lots of threats. And terrible letters.”

“Was about you this time, Your Grace.”

You close your eyes at that, shaking your head. Simon would never be so foolish as to be baited by baseless threats. He barely bats an eye when someone even in front of him draws his sword. He is so comforted by his ability to win, by his dreams and his visions that have not yet happened.

“That’s absurd,” you breathe. “Simon wouldn’t…”

John chuckles, but there is no humor there. “Wouldn’t he?”

“I still don’t understand what you expect me to do,” you roll your eyes, looking away. “Simon is…he’s not…he doesn’t listen. It’s why he’s good at this, isn’t it? He doesn’t really take orders, he’s…I…”

John has never complained before about the way Simon chooses to lead. Oftentimes, it is an order ignored that has made it so that he delivered another crown at John’s feet. Simon asks for forgiveness, not permission, and John has barely batted at eye at it. He sees Simon as some kind of distant son, but this refusal bothers him so?

John leans forward. “You need to understand something here, Simon is a rabid dog,” he spits. “And sometimes I let him off his lead, but this isn’t like anything I’ve had to deal with. I need you to call him back here.” He scoots closer. “England needs you to call him back here. To me.”

You narrow your eyes a little. England needs you to call him back? What kind of sick sense of patriotism is he trying to instill in you? John is stupider than he looks, to think a woman like you would show loyalty to country. You are loyal to your husband, and nothing else, because what has king and country ever really done for a woman like you except for dispose of you?

You wear Simon’s colors, not John’s, and you will wear them to your deathbed.

“If I do this for you, my king, then you owe me,” you whisper. He laughs again, no humor, and he picks up a goblet and fills it to the brim with wine. He drinks half before slamming it down onto the table, spilling it over his hand.

“Kings do not owe their subjects.”

“Quite right, Your Majesty,” you agree, picking up your napkin and dropping it onto the table. You stand, giving him a polite curtsy. “But I am not doing this as your subject.”

“Everything you do is as my subject.”

“You put your entire right to the throne on the back of one man,” you say softly. You are not accusing him, you’re reminding him of a truth. “Simon is why…he’s why your counsel still listens to you. He’s why your people are free from famine, why…why your taxes get paid on time, why your kingdom is still standing, no thanks to your father who wasted this place’s fortune on women and liquor.” You shake your head. “You have an eye for conquest, Your Majesty, but you lack the execution of any plan you conjure.”

You are not wrong, and John knows this, and it’s why he hasn’t spoken up yet or interrupted you. The man before, his own father, was a drunkard who spent all their money. He drank himself into the grave, and the only reason John stands before you now is because of Simon. A man who he fought beside, who he commanded, who once John’s duty became reality took up the mantle and finished what his father never could.

John would be in the next history book you read because of Simon, and it’s Simon’s name that will never be written. They do not bestow legacy to men who serve other men.

“Where…Where did you learn to speak to men this way?” John scoffs. “I am your king.”

You must have hit a soft spot. John is defensive now, and men only deflect and insult when they are cornered with the truth. They don’t like being held in front of a mirror.

“You are king because my husband made it so,” you correct him gently. “And Simon is a loyal dog, and that is good for your sake, because if he had any desire for your seat, it would be his.” You come closer, your heels sounding, and John glares down at you; but you glare right back because you are protected by your name and what you can do with it. John knows this, and it angers him, but he seems to have difficulty facing the truths of his own making. “But he is not your dog anymore. He’s mine.”

Your pen on paper is aggressive. You can tell because the splotches of ink are deep, bleeding black sinking into white as you put angry word to parchment. Not even a fortnight later, you are playing cards with Victoria, and you see Simon’s silhouette standing in the doorway, hood shadowing his masked face as he observes. When you look over your shoulder where John sits, and you meet his eyes, he looks away from you with a grim understanding.

Simon answers your call. Always.

At dinner, John is in better spirits. He drinks with a big smile, eats more than one plate, and he picks Victoria up by the waist to make her dance with him when he asks for the music to be played louder. Simon sits, fidgety, gloved hands moving in and out of fists as he watches you cut into your food and eat it with a blank face. He huffs beside you, his armor stiffening as he sits up straight, and you let your fork clatter onto your plate as you turn to glare at him.

“You were thinking with your cock, Simon,” you spit. “That is how men like you get killed.”

“You ‘ave no idea how men like me get killed because there are no men like me,” Simon growls. You roll your eyes, standing, and he grips your wrist angrily, tugging you close until you fall into his lap. You sigh, shaking your head, putting your hands on his broad shoulders and making him look at you.

“Maybe,” you whisper. “But I’m not wrong. It is how you’ll lose. You know better than that, Simon. To fight someone because they taunted you in a letter, it’s playing the fool.” You cup his cheeks, keeping his eyes on yours. “You don’t need me to tell you that, and yet here we are.”

He breathes slow, closing his eyes for just a moment. He thinks he came for this, just a little. For clarity. Reason. It comes from you in waves, and it’s comforting to hear. It is something he knew, and yet it only makes sense now that you have said it.

“I know,” Simon mutters. “I know. Y’r right. I’m sorry, luv.”

You ask him to apologize when he undresses you. You ask him to apologize again when he sinks into a hot bath with you. You ask him a third time when he is in your bed, a heavy weight between your thighs as he licks and sucks at the soft skin of your tummy. He begs, lowly, let me ‘ave it, and you will, but he has to say he’s sorry again.

“‘m sorry,” he breathes, sucking on your inner thigh, and you close your thighs around his head, forcing his mouth against your cunt.

“Again, Simon,” you whisper. “I wanna hear it again.”

“‘m sorry,” he slides a rough tongue between your folds, breathing shakily when he tastes the oil that he smoothed over your skin only moments ago. You taste so good, you smell so lovely, coming off of you like fumes blinding his senses so that nothing else but you makes any sense at all. When you open your eyes, you think about where you are, and you nearly come thinking about what you have wrapped around your finger.

Not even your king tells your husband what to do. Not even your king commands his men, they won’t listen, he’s not who they turn to when things go belly-up, it’s your husband, and your husband answers to you.

You weren’t sure about it until today. Seeing him when you asked him to come, it flooded you with something that hurt. You could tell from even so far away that Simon was salivating under that mask. You knew the only thing separating his mouth from your cunt were the other people around him (and they were not privy to seeing you naked).

It is such a thing to observe. John needed a lead on Simon when he was his dog. You need no such mechanism. Simon never strays, not with you. He sits proper when you ask, and he speaks when spoken to. He tears at unwanted flesh, and he comes when you call.

John cannot give him all that he desires. Perhaps he thought what Simon truly wanted was fame and fortune. Legacy. But like most things men do, John does not observe. He takes in only what is right in front of him, and he makes assumptions. Simon is not like other men. Fame and fortune do not matter. He does not care about legacy. What matters to Simon is what he can hold in his hands. The ground under his feet. The steel in his hand. The woman underneath him, spreading her legs, inviting him in.

You love Simon. You love Simon more than anything in the entire world, but it would be a lie to say that you are not at some advantage here. Simon is all-consuming. He is the pinnacle of duty and honor and everything that a man is supposed to be, but Simon is also weak. There is something that he wanted more than anything in the world, and now that he has it, he will do anything to keep it, and that makes him vulnerable. Subject to all kinds of new things. Revenge. Retaliation. Pain.

Manipulation.

Maybe you should feel bad about it. Maybe you should feel guilty, but it’s hard to feel anything like it when there’s a big bear of a man between your thighs slobbering on your pussy like dessert. It’s hard to feel anything but bliss when he’s tracing the letters of his name into your cunt and making you see stars and fucking you into the silk sheets like it’s the last time he’ll ever have you.

It is men who govern your world, and if this is how you must move in it, then so be it. You will not feel bad. You will not be sorry for doing what anyone else would do. John thought he could keep his hand there, muzzle his mutt, but you like him this way, and you’re certain John doesn’t fuck the way you do.

He’s mine.

It isn’t John that commands an army, it’s you; or maybe your cunt, but that belongs to you, too, so it is you, isn’t it? You’re the one that lets him inside, that whispers in his ear, that tells him things you know he wants to hear to make things move in your favor, so it’s you, right?

Not John. Not Victoria. Not their counsel. You. They have stepped on you your entire life. They have made you small and inferior and sad for all of your existence, and they gave you something feral knowing it could eat you alive, and now you are the hand that feeds, and they are forgetting that if they bite too hard, you have something that will surely bite harder.

A collar would suit him, you think. He would look so pretty. He already is, the terrible beast, prettiest thing you’ve ever seen (the necklace your drape over him does just fine, a pendant with his motif that you hope reminds him of you). You don’t care if people would say his face is quite ugly. It is, very much so, but you never see him this way. Whenever that mask falls, your stomach flips. He takes your breath away. His intensity, his raw form of love, the look on his face–there is nothing else in the entire world that will love you the way he loves you.

“You came back for me?” You ask. You have a leg tangled between his, and his fingers are between your thighs, a shadow of a smirk on his face as he feels the mixture of your cum and his. He grunts a little, and you tilt your head to look up at him, your chin on his chest.

“‘f course,” Simon mutters, and you kiss his chest gently, keeping your eyes on his.

“But not for John.”

He turns his head, looking down at you more intently, and he scoffs. You know it’s true, but you want to hear it, anyways. You want to hear Simon admit, unknowingly, that you are the tether.

“John is afraid, and I don’t listen to ‘im when he’s afraid. Makes bad choices.”

It’s almost adorable that this is what Simon tells himself. That he comes back for his own sake, and not for yours, even though they are one and the same, intertwined and inseparable.

“Simon,” you say softly, and he sighs, his eyes closing briefly when you kiss him gently. “You have to listen to your king when he asks you to come back. Making a…rash decision about war strategy is one thing, but…” You cup his cheek gently. “Make things easier for me, husband. If he asks you to come back, you come back.”

This time, at least. Just this time.

Simon snarls a bit, but you swallow it when you kiss him. You maneuver yourself over him, straddling his hips, and he grunts as you sink down on him. He swells hard again very quickly, releasing a deep breath as you give a slow roll of your hips.

“Make things easy for me, my love,” you whisper, and he leans his head back, putting two big hands on your ass and moving you with ease. “Appease your king, yes? For me?”

“Can’t say no when y’r pussy squeezes me like tha’, sweet’eart,” Simon groans, and you giggle, planting your hands on his chest and starting to move a little faster. You lean your head back, your mouth falling open, and you gasp when you sink down completely, your ass touching his thick thighs as you tighten around him. “Fuckin’ Christ–”

“I hate when you go,” you whine, digging your nails into his chest. He hisses, planting his feet on the bed, and he fucks up into you with a renewed fervor. “Hate when you’re not here, Simon, I-I miss you, miss this–”

“Nghh…fuck, I know,” Simon pants. “Can feel it. Feel you.” You squeal when he grips you by the waist and turns you over. He makes it seem so easy, tossing your weight underneath him, and your arms circle around his neck as you draw him closer, hanging onto him. “Y’r so fuckin’ pretty…”

“Simon–”

He kisses to devour. His jaw hinges wide to kiss you sloppy, breathing in the moans that you can’t contain. Simon always fucks so well, stretching your thighs as wide as they will accommodate so he can make room for the goliath of himself that he is. He suffocates, in a good way, and his cock never fails to stretch you for all that you are worth. Simon holds your jaw in place as he grinds into you, relishing in the wet smack of his hips against yours. The fat of you satisfies him. It makes him growl with delight when he grabs onto wide hips, your fat arse, the body that you hold that tells him you are fed and warm and content. It draws his grin wider, and it makes him drool thinking about having you again and again and again, until you beg him for reprieve and his heir sits in your womb.

Simon fucks for sport. He wants to see how stupid he can make you. He wants to know how long you’ll cry for, how fat he can make your tears. He wants to know how loud you will cry, how many times he can make you cum before you’re incoherent, he wants to know the extent to which he can use you that you will still be awake enough to say his name just one more time. Simon is not satisfied until he pushes your limits.

It is what a Riley does. They endure, and they eat, and they consume, and they take pleasure in the all-encompassing indulgement of things they have never been allowed to have. You are a woman, so he knows this will come easy for you. So often, he knows, women are not allowed to indulge at all, so he wants you to. He wants you to cry and moan and eat, and he wants you to do it bearing his name so that no one will ever tell you no.

Simon says no to kings, and they placate, or they die. His wife will be offered the same respect, and he’ll stand behind her with a sword to make it law. When you bear his children, he will expect the same of them–to give their mother utter devotion, lest they answer to his hand. There is no one above you, not God, not country, and certainly not blood. They will know what their father did to have you, and they will spill the same amount of blood to keep it that way. They will do it for you, and then they will do it for their own lovers, and if they don’t have the same sentiments, that love is not true, and Simon will not give his blessing.

Everything else is trivial. He knows this, understands it, because history repeats itself. It is cyclical, and you are right. Kings come and go. Sons die to other sons, fathers make bad decisions, and crowns are passed to bastards and back again, until lineage is merely spectacle and power changes hands often enough to lose generational merit. There is one thing that remains, and it is what you do while you are on earth, while you are standing on the ground you were born on. Even faiths change; when men find it suitable, they change the rules, and then you worship a different God, so Simon sees no point in staying loyal to any of it.

Instead, he is true to what he knows. To what he can see and what he can feel. With John, he remembers being a young man, fighting alongside him. He follows John, to an extent, because he knows what it is like to share blood with him on a muddy hill and take an arrow for him.

With you, time stands still. He saw you in a room, and he had to have you, and he brought nations to ruin to make certain no one would bat an eye when he asked for your hand. He saw you in a dream, too–he saw you laying in his bed of furs, wearing nothing but a tiara of his making, wet between the thighs because that is how it’s meant to be. He recognized you when he saw you that first time, and he doesn’t know how, but saying no to you, really saying no, will change that vision, and he couldn’t bear that.

Your voice echoes. You’re moaning, overstimulated, but he doesn’t stop. The hair around his cock rubs your clit too many times, and when you come around him, you’re a shaking, withering thing, back bowed and nipples pebbled. Your toes curl as you cry from the starry-eyed, hot pleasure, but he keeps moving, chasing something in the distance that he can taste, so close.

Yes, Simon ignored his king. Yes, Simon did not ignore you. Yes, Simon admits, he came when you called, and he doesn’t feel bad about it, he doesn’t care how it seems. He would do it again if he had the chance. John could give him the same answer as you in every timeline, but he will only move if the command comes from you, and yes, Simon knows it makes him a liability, but crowns come with costs, and this is the one John must pay.

Simon will fight any of John’s enemies, but he won’t fight fate. He won’t fight what has already been seen, and he won’t fight what he already knows will happen.

With Simon’s cock in your mouth, you can make him deliver on promises. Sucking on the girth of him, you can make him an honest man. Taking inside of your mouth what you can swallow, you can make Simon do your bidding, and it is a hard lesson that John learns.

“Do this for me,” you slobber against the underside of his cock, and Simon relents.

“Make me happy,” you say, swirling your fingers against your puffy pussy, and Simon kneels with an open mouth.

“Just this once,” you whisper with his cum on your tongue, and Simon seals his choice with his hands on your tits and the taste of himself in his mouth.

When you make eyes with John across the low lights of the throne room, he can’t help the way he admires you. You stand beside Simon, looking the essence of nobility and reverence in another intricate silver and blue dress. The train of your skirt glitters with delicate jewels hand sewn into the fabric, and the headpiece you wear adorns a skull insignia. Your corset has been tied just right, thanks to Simon’s hand, and your own fingers are clasped between his. Your corset and jewels are of exquisite detail–one of the newest designs from Paris, structured and elegant and accentuating every curve of soft skin.

You glow in the room. His wife must be wearing a dress just as expensive, probably more, and yet his eyes (and everyone else’s) cannot help but follow you. Your own eyes won’t leave Simon; you flutter your lashes whenever he looks down at you, big smile on your face, and even when there are people curtsying and bowing to you and giving Simon their gratitude between bites of cake and glugs of wine, your attention never really strays.

John feels inadequate in his own fortress; suddenly, red and gold sicken him, and England tastes sour in his mouth.

In a few generations, John’s house will likely fall. He will make heirs that will fail him, he knows this. In a few centuries, his family will not sit in the same place, but a Riley will remain right where they are supposed to be. Banners of blue and silver will always fly. If Simon does not make sure of that, then you will.

It’s what happens when you force women like you to their knees. When they grow up invisible, always in the shadows, forgotten and sold to the next man who will pay a higher price, it’s what you learned to do. It’s all you’ve ever known, to make the best out of something terrible.

Simon is the same, in that sense. You understand him in a way his king will never be able to. Simon has nothing, and neither do you, and Simon was stepped on and berated and tortured to the point of no return. It is why blood does not scare him and why death doesn’t come knocking. Time will be the only thing capable of killing him, and everyone that stands up to him learns that when they eat his blade.

In the quiet of the evening, Simon undresses you. He sits behind you on the bed, fingers pinching the bows at your back and unraveling them. He traces your corset, thumb circling over the skull pattern of the belt around the small of your waist, and he tastes something warm in his mouth at the sight of it. You look so beautiful–more beautiful than he’s ever seen you maybe, decorated in his colors and wearing his motif and sitting so pretty.

“You wanna know something…funny?” You ask quietly. Simon finds the ties of your skirts and starts to undo them. He grunts in reply; he might sound standoffish, but you know he’s listening. “John…John made it…he makes it seem like you don’t really listen to him. He implied that…in the face of adversity, you might only listen to me.” You put your hands on the front of your corset to keep it from falling. “Isn’t that funny?”

“Wot’s so funny?”

You swallow, looking down. Your hands fidget, and you take a closer look at the ring you wear, the delicate gold band he gave you not so long ago.

“I…”

“Mmm…might be right, innit?” Simon snickers after a moment. You feel him stand, and you look over your shoulder as he peels his mask off and grins down at you. He tilts his head to the side, and you smile back at him a little. “Do anythin’ for ya. Disobeying a king…” Simon cackles, tearing your corset off, tossing it onto the floor as he walks you backwards. “Ignoring one…” He shrugs, “Oll in a day, love.”

“He can hang you for it,” you whisper. “Cut off your head. Cut off mine.”

Simon lays you back on the bed, spreading you out, climbing over you. You blink up at him, and he leans down, pressing his forehead to yours.

“I would ‘ave seen it. I would know.”

He would have seen it in a dream. It would have come to him in a reflection in a pool of blood on the battlefield. It would have come to him, the voices in his head, he would have heard them amongst screaming, or perhaps in the void that he finds his mind in when he’s between your plush thighs.

You can’t help the smile that graces your face when Simon kisses the curve where your jaw meets your neck. It is fun, you suppose. Fun to control the tides that set the courses of history. It is fun and almost unbelievable that a king bends to the will of one man’s wife just because it solidifies his name.

You wrap your hand around the twine that dangles from Simon’s neck. It twirls around your fingers, easy, solid. Simon’s eyes are dark, and they are yours, and when you smile, so does he, because this is where you are meant to be, forever and always.

“What if I want more?” You ask. Simon hums, low from within his chest, and you run your tongue over your teeth. “Did you see that in your dreams, Simon? Hmm? Do you know what I’m asking for? What it is that I really want?”

Simon smiles. A dark one, with teeth, and you know he hears it. What more means for a duke and his duchess. What more means when you have all the money you could ever want, all the land you could ever need.

What more means when you have climbed your way to the stop and still desire more. More, more, more. There are not many steps left to climb. There are not many places left to take, not much more of the world that can really be yours, but Simon looks ravenous, and Simon looks hungry, and if you fuck him now, you’ll have him right where you want him.

When you tug on what hangs around his neck, Simon bends. Simon follows.

#big bad scary husband ghost #ella🌬

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