Latest Posts by jnsmeyv - Page 3

do u ever see someone elses headcannon for ur fave character and its like….. i completely respect that u have the right to that headcannon, i will not confront u at all and start needless bullshit over that headcannon…. but i will silently sit here and give you the sideways glance of the century

Saying your going to have shower sex with ghost is like giving a dog a slice of cheese with medicine wrapped inside. You let him wash your tits.... as a treat.

He gets to grab at your tits and paw at you all he wants while you soap up the washcloth. It's all fun and games when you're scrubbing his chest, letting him look at you and think maybe you'll start playing with his cock, but then you grab the shampoo and suddenly it's not fun anymore. He's getting soap in his eyes and trying to keep you from accidentally waterboarding him in an attempt to clean some of the grime off his face. Is this grease paint of dirt? Who knows but it's got to come off.

The backne on this man is severe. You gotta put topical cream on him afterwards. He pouts the whole time.

stop rping with ghatgpt. you should be rping with a bisexual internet woman u have a relationship that constantly straddles the line between platonic and sexual with. tyou're ruining the ecosystem

Wish you all a beautiful day with this lil sketch 💛

i need john price to put me in a chokehold and prone bone me. sorry

"Skeletá doesn't sound like Ghost" it's literally an album about the beauty of life and death and also demons and vampires fucking nasty, get real.

Waste Disposal.

Joe Bowler's 'painting study'

"si."

"doll."

"what's this flower called?"

simon looked at the billionth flower you showed in just twenty minutes, sighing. "im a soldier love, not a gardener." though he took the pink colored flower from your hands, and placed it in the small box you bringed, just to turn them into a sticker later and put it in your notebook.

"makes sense," you murmured. "though i thought you'd knew since you guys are always on the forests or mountains."

"we don't really have time to search which flower is which doll." he said softly, moving everything that was sharp in front of you, in the small forest you two discovered in your hike. you liked getting lost in nature walks with your husband, who was as useful as a swiss army knife in your eyes.

"shame." you murmured, holding his hand when you felt like you were stumbling. though you liked to be a little dramatic sometimes. as you both continued to hike, and pick flowers, you occasionally liked to touch big tree's. "how fast you can climb this?" you asked curiously, looking up at the big oak tree.

"three minutes, max." he said with a casual confidence that made you remember why you falled for this man. he could do anything, and it was impressing you embaressingly enough.

"wanna test it out?" you asked with a mischief smirk on your face. simon mirrored.

"what do i get in return?"

"a big kiss."

he started climbing that moment, finding bumps to step on or using his big knife to help him climb, going all in for a kiss. you chuckled as he sat on one of the sticks, looking at the time. "two minutes and a half, lieutenant!"

as if it was nothing, he jumped down from that tree, landing on his feet with a loud thud. "my reward." his hands immediatly reached out and you happily hugged his neck, giving him the biggest smooch.

the next time he returns from a deployment, he has a bunch of squished mountain flowers on his gear pocket, a few of them losing their leaves but it mattered to you nonetheless. because he thought the weird and rare flowers would look great on your little notebook, and you felt special that he remembered that while fighting for his life.

Can we stop using "still lives with their parents" or "unemployed" or "doesn't have a drivers license" or "didn't graduate high school" as an insult or evidence that someone is a bad person? Struggling with independence or meeting milestones is not a moral failing.

I can’t fall asleep when I’m excited so I would definitely wait for Simon to come home from deployment even if it’s at 3am. I couldn’t go to sleep even when he’s finally knocked out next to me snoring up a storm.

Felt. I'm like this, too, nonnie, especially when I have to wake up early to travel the next day.

As for Simon snoring, he snores loud enough to wake the dead (god knows how many times he's injured/broken his nose). Bonus points because he's a clingy gremlin koala so a Blanket Named Simon covers you and not only do you hear his snoring, you feel it reverberate throughout your body.

But it's all good because he looks rather peaceful now that he's home in good hands.

Doesn't stop you from running a finger lightly across his stubbled cheek, though, making him twitch and grunt some before he leans into your touch and grumbles, "Mmm..." like the sleepy blanket gremlin he is. You do it again, bleary dark eyes open and look at you, and he looks comically owlish. You grin and cup his cheek fully.

"Go back to sleep, Si."

And he closes his eyes without hesitation. Leans into your touch like it's the last thing he'll ever do. And proceeds to wake the dead back up with his snoring.

It's good to be home again.

Ghost who's not good with kids, and purposefully scared them away just so they wouldn't approach him coz he didn't know what to say or what to act around them.

Until one day, he met a little girl. From her face alone, he knew she was a brat. But he was still human, he couldn't just leave a child alone.. especially when he saw a suspicious man approaching her.

And so he approached her, scared the man away before asking her where's her parents.

After a long agonizing hours (actually its 30 minutes), you finally came along. looking dishelved, anxious, and frustrated.

He looked at you without saying a word as you apologized to him profusely before turning to your daughter.

Only for the little girl to frown, sticking her little tongue out to you and cling to his side. Saying she didn't want to leave because she has a new daddy now.

you don't remember when your neighbour mr riley became simon, but it was probably somewhere between the doors he held open for you when you first moved into the building and the hushed kisses in the elevator.

you were so shy at first, simon knew he tended to have that effect on people, intimidate them with just a glare of his cold, stone set eyes, but when you finally found the buried kindness in them, he became less scary. his tattoos weren't threatening anymore, and you could make out soft shapes in the blurred ink. some birthdates, dog tags with the names of his fallen friends, a cherub and lilies started standing out from the bellic flames, skulls, guns and helmets, giving you an insight of his softer side.

the way he was scared to touch you at first, worried the years of war had made his hands too rough to handle you without breaking you. you'd always reassure him he was doing good, he could touch you if he wanted to, but he asked for permission every time he was about to lift you up in his arms, without fail.

the first time you'd seen him—dressed up in his uniform, tired and jet lagged, some eyeblack smeared down his cheek—you’d sprinted to your door on the other side of the hallway, too scared to look back, and double checked your locked door before settling into a restless sleep.

simon knew he wasn’t the usual great-looking, charming, easygoing man but to let you in, to reassure you he was approachable for you? he would’ve done anything.

he became simon the first night you’d officially invited him over too your flat, without the excuse of a (perfectly functioning) leaky sink, a doorknob that needed some oiling or a hole in the wall that needed covering. it took you time, you ignored all the previous times he’d reassured you that you could call him by his name—he wasn't that much older than you anyway—you still felt compelled to call him mr riley, yes sir, thank you sir, would you like some water mr riley?

the first time he sat down on your couch to watch a movie he felt as if the room started spinning, his eyes glued to the tv screen as your perfume hung heavy in the air.

“what’s the name again?” he spoke to break the unbearable silence, fingers twitching on his thigh.

“blue velvet- you’ve really never seen it?”

he had. “never even heard of it.”

he cursed himself as the night ended and he got up, walking to the door, already having said his goodnights.

you followed him to the door, hesitant.

“night simon.” you chirped up as he walked out of your apartment.

he stood there for a second, looking down at your expectant expression, lips parted as if you were about to speak again.

before he could gather up the courage to part with a kiss on the cheek or a hug, you’d stretched up to your tiptoes and pressed your lips to his.

“night love-” he finally said, breathless.

“you free tomorrow for brunch?” you asked as you leaned against the doorframe, still close to him. “i’m making cinnamon rolls and frittata. do you like frittata?”

“i- uhm,” simon almost had to shake his head to regain his focus. stay frosty soldier, for fucks sake. “can’t say i’ve ever tried it.”

“what- never had frittata?” your eyes widened like cherry pies. “oh, you have to try mine-!”

“eleven?” he suddenly interrupted you. “if… that’s alright with you.”

you nodded. “eleven sounds nice.”

he grabbed the back of your neck and brought you close, kissing the top of your head. “goodnight.”

you watched as he immediately left, cheeks, ears and neck a livid shade of embarrassment. he quickly unlocked his door and shut it a tad too harshly, but his heart was beating like a schoooboy’s and he couldn’t help but replay in his head the way you softly said his name all night.

you knew too that simon was about to become so much more.

Simon gets a message from reader while he’s on base. It’s a video. The thumbnail looks like a blurred image of a store isle

Once he has a moment to himself, he’s able to sit back and finally check out what you had sent.

The camera pans down to show yours and simon’s two year old daughter. She has half a mini chocolate muffin clutched in her little baby fist and chocolate smudges on her nose and bright pink cheeks. She’s standing, staring at something out of frame.

The camera is a bit shaky and Simon can hear you trying desperately to hide your laughter.

“Baby,” you say, “baby, look at me.” You bend down to bring the camera closer to your daughter, who only turns to look at you for a second before going back to staring at the same spot out of frame.

“Who is that?”

Your daughter raised one of her chocolate covered hands to point towards whatever it was that had been captivating her the entire video. “Daddy.”

Simon here’s more of your pained stifled laughter and the camera follows your daughter’s gaze, revealing a cheaply made Halloween grim reaper statue, with dusty purple robes, a plastic scythe, and a hilariously misshapen skull face.

He reads the accompanying texts that had followed the video.

[She just started saying “daddy daddy” over and over and it took me forever to figure out what she was talking about]

[for a second I thought, “oh is he here?”]

[Im so dense lol]

[she really misses you ]

[I miss you too]

The next text was a picture of your daughter fast asleep in her car seat. Now cleaned of chocolate, she had replaced her muffin with a giant plastic rat that she hugged to her chest like a teddy bear.

[she refused to leave without it]

Simon smiles. It had been a long time since he had a family. People who loved waiting for him to come home.

Your texts had been sent hours ago, and he felt bad about not responding all day.

[that’s unfair. My mask is made of much better materials]

[I miss you both too. If everything goes right I should be home by Monday]

[and don’t call yourself dense]

Simon thinks for a moment, something eating at him about that video

[I wish she didn’t know about the mask. I don’t want her to see me that way]

You respond quickly, making Simon feel worse about his delayed reply

[Dont worry about that honey. She’s only two, and I think she only saw you wear in mask once once or twice. She’ll forget in a month.]

[She doesn’t see you as anything other than her daddy]

[her daddy and her jungle gym]

[lol yes that too]

[Im sorry I don’t have a lot of time. I’ll try and call you tomorrow]

[ok Im heading to bed now anyway]

[goodnight I love you ❤️]

[goodnight I love you too ❤️]

Imagine you start dating John Price when you already have a protective dog at home

You have a girl dog and the first time he homes over she just side eyes him the whole time and whines like, “why is there a man in our home???”

She won’t let him near her or you without growling or barking. You try and apologize to John, explaining that she’s just protective and doesn’t like men, but John’s not offended, saying he’s glad you have her looking out for you.

Once the dog gets more used to having him around and realizes he’s not going to kill and eat you, she calms down a bit, but she’s still very protective.

You can’t play wrestle with him without your poor puppy going crazy thinking he’s attacking you, and if he slaps your ass she gets pissed, barking and growling because, “how dare you hit my mommy!?!?”

And god forbid he raises his voice at you during an argument.

Simon looks like his father, the only thing he got from his mother was his lighter hair. He doesn't dwell on his looks, he has other things to worry about, but sometimes it bubbles up.

The bastard is dead, the features Simon carries belong to him, not his father. But he still thinks about it sometimes, catches himself in the mirror and pauses for a split second. His cheeks are fuller than his father's were, but he's got that same crooked nose and dark eyes he can never quite meet when he looks at himself.

He wouldn't say he's insecure. he knows he isn't ugly, there's just something unnerving about meeting his father's eyes in his own reflection. It's even worse after a long, bad mission, when he's lost weight and looks like shit. Catching his reflection sends a chill down his neck, and the mirrors in his home end up with a towel over them til he's stable.

slutty gaz

WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS

WHO IS USING THIS

AN APP??? THEY HAVE A FUNCTIONING WEBSITE

THE LAST FUNCTIONING WEBSITE

Having to clean the shower is so fucking annoying. It’s clean in there. That’s where I go to get clean. It’s clean dude trust me. Stop fucking growing bacteria and stuff man this is the clean locale. You’re embarrassing me in front of the sink

You always find Simon in the same spot—sitting on his couch with a mug of tea in one hand, the TV on but the volume low, like he’s watching it just for background noise. He barely moves when you come in, just shifts his head a little like he was expecting you, even though you never text to say you're coming.

“And then she rolled her eyes at me,” you say as you drop down next to him, letting out an annoyed sigh. “Like I was the one being unreasonable for asking her to hold the door.”

Simon doesn’t react right away, which isn’t unusual. He lets a second or two pass, like he’s thinking it through, even though he probably made up his mind as soon as he heard your tone. Finally, he hums quietly and says, “She’s not worth your breath,” while reaching over to pat the top of your head in that way he always does.

You don’t even bother hiding how much you like that. You lean into his hand just a little, and for a moment you let the annoyance melt off your face.

It’s always like this between you and Simon. You walk in, already mid-rant about something that annoyed you during training or some dumb argument someone had in the mess, and he just listens. Or, well—he sits there while you go off, mostly quiet, only chiming in with a few words here and there.

But he always makes it clear he’s paying attention. The way his eyes shift to look at you when your voice tightens. The way he’ll hand you a blanket or a snack before you even ask. The way he remembers the tiny details you forget you even told him.

You joke sometimes that you adopted him. That you took in this emotionally unavailable soldier who barely likes people and decided that he’s your best friend now, whether he wanted that or not. He never complains. He never tells you to leave. Even when you steal his cookies or fall asleep on his couch, he just lets you stay.

He’s quiet, sure, but he’s also dependable in a way that makes everything feel easier when you’re around him. You can talk to him for hours and he won’t interrupt, won’t judge, won’t try to fix it unless it’s something he can fix. And when it is, he usually does—without making a big deal out of it.

So when you started seeing that guy from base, Simon didn’t say anything. You thought maybe he just didn’t care, or that he wasn’t the type to get involved in stuff like that. He didn’t ask many questions. Just nodded and said, “He treatin’ you right?” in that low voice of his that didn’t give much away.

You smiled and said yes, because at the time, it felt like the right answer.

He stayed the same after that. Still your go-to person for venting. Still the only one who ever made you feel like you could talk without holding back.

But every now and then, you noticed something shift. He wouldn’t look at you as much when you brought up your boyfriend. He’d change the subject quicker. And when you said something like, “he forgot our plans again,” Simon would just sigh and hand you tea or cookies or whatever he had nearby, like he didn’t want to say what was really on his mind.

You remember one night clearly, when you showed up outside Simon’s door after a long shift. You were quiet, which was rare, and you didn’t even try to hide the frustration in your eyes.

“He forgot again,” you mumbled, pulling your knees up onto the couch. “Said he’d pick me up, and then just... nothing. Not even a text.”

Simon didn’t say much in response. He just handed you the remote and tapped your shoulder once, like that was his way of saying you deserved better without actually having to say the words out loud.

But the breaking point came later. One night, you showed up to his room without even thinking, your eyes red and puffy, your hands trembling a little as you wiped at your face. He didn’t ask what happened. He didn’t need to. He just stepped aside and let you walk in, like he’d been expecting you again, like he knew this was coming.

“He cheated,” you said, and the words felt so bitter and small in your mouth that you almost didn’t believe them yourself.

Simon pulled you into a hug before you could even finish the sentence. He didn’t say anything, didn’t try to offer advice or tell you what you should’ve done. He just held you, solid and quiet, with one hand pressed between your shoulder blades and the other smoothing over your hair. You didn’t realize you were crying until your face was already buried in his shirt.

At some point, he moved you to his bed. You weren’t even sure how, but you ended up under his blanket, wrapped in warmth that didn’t come from the sheets, and you felt safer than you had in weeks. His voice was low when he whispered, “Don’t worry about it,” like he was promising to carry the weight of it for you.

You didn’t know it then, but he didn’t sleep that night. He stayed up until you were out cold, then got up quietly, left his room, and came back a few hours later like nothing happened. What you also didn’t know—what he would never admit unless you asked him directly—was that he had counted every single tear that rolled down your face. Every shaky breath, every time your chest stuttered with a sob. He remembered the number. Kept it in his head. Then found your ex and hit him that many times. One punch for every tear you cried.

A few days passed, and word started going around base that your ex hadn’t been seen. Missed duty. No one could get ahold of him. You didn’t ask Simon anything. You just looked at him across the mess hall, saw the way he was nursing a cup of tea with a blank expression and fresh tape wrapped around his hand, and something in your chest clicked into place.

You didn’t smile. Didn’t say anything. You just looked at him, and he looked back, and that was enough.

Later, after things calmed down, you found yourself back in his room. Same spot on the couch. Same blanket. Same you and Simon. But this time, out of nowhere, he said, “I’m in love with you.”

It wasn’t dramatic or emotional. He said it like it was just a fact—like he was finally telling the truth after hiding it for too long.

You blinked at him, not even sure you heard him right. “What?”

He shrugged a little, like it didn’t matter if you believed him or not. “Figured you should know.”

You didn’t know what to say right then. There was too much in your head. But a few days later, he took you somewhere quiet, away from base, with a folded blanket under his arm and your favorite cookies packed in a tin. He made tea and handed you the mug like he always did, and when you sipped it, it was just the way you liked it—strong, with that little bit of honey he adds even when you don’t ask.

You sat next to him, legs stretched out on the grass, shoulder pressed against his. After a while, you turned to look at him and said, “You’ve been looking at me like that for a long time, haven’t you?”

He tilted his head slightly. “Like what?”

“Like I’m your whole world.”

Simon didn’t answer right away, but the look on his face said more than words ever could. Then he reached over, patted your head like he always did, and said, “Yeah. That’s about right.”

--------------------------------------------

@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212

JOHN PRICE JOHN PRICE JOHN PRICE JOHN PRICE JOHN PRICE

you and me both honestly

Some little part of my brain just loves the thought of Simon “Ghost” Riley having a wife who’s extremely educated—possibly a master's or a PHD in some field—but who likes to be a stay-at-home wife. She knows she could go into a high-level job, but she’d rather be at home doing her hobbies like writing, gardening, or hell, even making stained glass murals. And you know Simon would not only praise you but brag and gloat about his intelligent woman. 

Maybe this is just my little fantasy of wanting to be a SAHW  but still wanting to be extremely educated.

Sorry, I'll see myself out 🫡

aimless fluff tonight because im feeling it. john price x reader

“mm…hello?”

“there’s my girl.”

“john?”

he can see you with clarity when he closes his eyes. you’re rolling onto your belly, readjusting yourself between the soft cotton sheets and the early morning pitch. rubbing your eyes, stifling a yawn, settling back into a lullaby consciousness and a blissful ignorance to hour on the clock.

when he opens them, the image is gone, but your voice remains.

“everything okay?”

he hums.

“jus’missed hearin’ your voice.”

and what a sound it is. even through the tinfoil connection- softness breaks and mends with your deep breaths on the other line. like the spinning of yarn. he fidgets with the frayed ends of the mittens you made him before he left.

your giggle is a drug- intoxicates him until he’s leaning into the cement, trying to keep his inebriation a secret from simon, who is pretending to be asleep for both of their sakes.

“since when did you become such a sap?”

he chuckle is low. “always been that way, m’fraid. jus took marryin’ you to bring it outta me.”

your laugh is tired, and he hears your response before you say it. makes his heart twist.

“im missing you, john.”

“I know,” he closes his eyes again, trying to conjure the image of you, but it’s hazier now, distant, “couple more days.”

“you better…” you’re sniffling now, and john closes his fist around the soft gloves and pictures you in the living room, perched in your chair and hiding their beginnings from him because it was ‘a surprise’, “you better come home.”

“of course I will darlin’,” he smiles, “always do, don’t I?”

that seems to satisfy you, if only enough to lull you back into your sheets. he rolls his shoulders, allowing himself to listen to your breath pattern. memorizes it, and if he plugs his ears, he can pretend you’re sleeping next to him.

pretend that you belong where it’s grimy.

“promise me, john?”

thrifted chair. oak desk. office calls and paperwork. that’s what you voice sounds like- the temptation to never make another promise he cannot keep.

maybe he is getting to old for this.

“promise.”

It’s my business when men are forcing their girlfriends into anal sex. It’s my business when women are getting surgeries on their labia and breasts so they can look like model’s in playboy, its my business because young girls are being forced to act out porn scenes with their first boyfriends in case their boyfriends leave them or stop thinking that they’re hot, it’s my business when men are so gorged on porn they think a woman who doesn’t send nude pictures is weird, its my business when men are taking up-skirt photos and groping women, it’s my business when women are being forced to have sex without condoms so that it will feel better ‘for men’, because there are no condoms in porn scenes, its my business when women are lying and faking their orgasms because porn has taught men that sex is about THEIR pleasure, and that sex is just endlessly pumping their dick into a woman over and over again, it’s my business when I can’t look up anything on the internet without coming across advertisements for porn, its my business when I can’t look up any information on my sexual orientation without being overrun by porn even with the safe search on. Its my business, its my business, its my fucking business. 

Animal crossing AUs you will always be famous to me

Simon Riley who took you home after a night out, expecting sex but you couldn't go through with it.

You were both already naked, your hands on his chest, straddling the large man when you just ... couldn't do it. Being a virgin at this age felt embarrassing, and tonight you wanted to get rid of the title.

Simon, saw the dismay on your face and wrapped a blanket around you. Your face was bright red from embarrassment, god, what was holding you back?

"it's alrigh' love."

You felt the need to leave. You hadn't given him what he wanted...so you guessed it was time to hit the road.

So, both of you got up to do very different things.

You started putting on your dress and shoes, but when Simon turned around, he had a pair of his shirts and large sweat pants for you to wear.

His gruff voice was so gentle.

"You don't 'ave to leave..."

You weren't expecting this. There were no alarm bells, nothing in your stomach to say 'run.' But Simon Riley knew the dangers that women faced and he never wanted to make another woman feel that way.

"I uh, just want you to know, you can do whatever you like. I just ... fucking hell. What I'm tryin' to say is, I'd like to spend more time with ya...if that's alrigh' by you..."

He offered you a shower, and god did you want one. Surprisingly enough, Simon had pretty good products in his bathroom. None of that 30 in 1 shampoo. Clean towels. Everything was in perfect order; neat, tidy.

When you had changed into the perfectly oversized clothes (he is like 6'6?), and walked downstairs, Simon was waiting on the lounge with various drink options, and a sheepish grin.

"Thought you'd need some water, but I also have whiskey, coffee, tea..."

"Oh, thank you! Um, I'm fine with water...and maybe a tea."

"Woman after me own heart," he said with a grin and went on to make the best cuppa he's made in his life.

something something being dragged to a bar by your friends for one of their birthday’s or something and being content enough to sit at the bar and read/write/whatever solitary thing while they go off to do their own thing

but you can feel someone sit next to you and when you turn to look he has the most piercing blue eyes and oddest hair cut you’ve ever seen but— if someone forced you to admit it, you’d say he’s cute at least.

anyway johnny of course tries to woo you and take you home with him that night but you cut him and his attempts off with a good natured laugh,

“heh, i’m sorry, but i only sleep with my husband. i don’t do romantic flings.”

“but ye don’ ‘ave a ring?”

“mhm, i’m not married yet.”

“yer single?”

“that’s right.”

and now he’s even more determined to get you home and covet you all to himself, for someone so sweet can’t possibly be adored by anyone else but him.

(it’s a problem when his task force’s eyes start to wander to you, though.)

simon’s lover calls him bub.

“love you, bub.”

“s’okay, bub. don’t worry about it.”

“how was your day, bub?”

and he grumbles. says pet names are corny but at least it’s not baby or babe.

but the second you call him simon, he’s on alert. back straightening, ears going hot, hands clamming, and going into a panic.

his brows furrowed as he approached you, looking almost nervous.

“can you get me a water, please?”

and he does it, goes through the motions but he’s so in his head. why the fuck did you call him by his name?

downright pouting and petulant when he plunks down next to you. his confusion so palpable you feel it. even turn to him and ask what’s wrong but all he does is shrug. “s’nothin’.”

your eyes narrow but you nod nonetheless. turning back to what you were doing. but before you know it, he’s huffing.

“s’alright for you to keep callin’ me bub. or whatever shite you want.”

and you have to stifle your laugh because of course, of course!

“thanks for the water, bub.”

What about Simon on a mission injured, with his pretty little nurse, who everyone knows because of her temper, but is so so submissive with him?

MDNI 18+

cw: brief mentions of gunshot wound, oral (m) receiving

“fuck, i did a bad one didn’t i luvie?” simon grunted as he sat shirtless on the bed, his wound bandaged up. it wasn’t a secret that simon took an interest in you, after all he was mainly surrounded by men and not pretty women like you. “you should’ve been more careful, any deeper and you could’ve bled out badly,” your voice soft but slightly stern, as if you were trying to hide your concern.

a lazy smile formed on his face, “s’not like i could’ve avoided a gunshot wound easily, ‘m not that good.” captain price walked into the room, his shoulders relaxing under the heavy uniform when he saw simon. “bet yer getting a good lashin from the nurse eh? she’s got quite an attitude.”

oh, if only they knew.

you stayed the night at the medical facility, a lame excuse of spending more time with simon. “you’re injured, the last thing you would want is to do some strenuous activities,” you mumbled, trying to keep yourself occupied so he wouldn’t see the faint blush on your cheeks. “awh come on luvie, yer old man is injured and you can’t provide some sort of relief?” his voice soft as he gently tugged you towards him.

“just a few bounces won’t hurt.”

“or you can blow me.”

he winced when you gently smacked his chest, “come on luvie, ‘m a strong man i know my limits.” his large hands gently rubbed along your sides, your thin uniform barely doing anything to hide the shivers. “everyone talks about yer feisty mouth, about time i see it hm?”

it was funny hearing his task mates talk about your attitude, but yet you were all gooey eyed for him whenever he snuck into your room late at night, making you cock drunk. a few thrusts in your little cunt and you would do whatever he says - literally simon says, it was pathetically cute.

“gonna suck my cock pretty nurse? or do i have to fuck it in my hands in front of you?”

he knew exactly what you were going to chose.

“atta girl,” he hissed as you knelt by the flimsy medical bed, his large tatted hand holding up your hair in a pony tail. “gotta stuff that pretty lil mouth every once in a while after givin’ everyone some attitude.”

you gagged slightly when you took him too deeply, drooling all over his cock and making a mess on your hands. “take yer time luvie, no one is gonna see us,” simon cooed softly at the pathetic sight of you. god, everyone knew about how fiery you were but here you are on your knees sucking simon off.

“fuck luvie ‘m gonna cum,” he grunted as his hips thrusted slightly, the feeling of your warm mouth milking him dry. eventually he spilt all of it in your mouth, a string of saliva connecting from your mouth to the tip of his cock.

“such a pretty girl, someone’s gotta tame you hm?”

simon gently smearing the cum that dribbled down his cock along your plush swollen lips, making them glossy. gently he slipped his thumb in, you obediently sucking it. “got yer real good hm?”

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