just extremely thirsty

Cw: None? I'm pretty sure it's just gn!reader teasing these guys.

Y'all this is so ass. I got lazy towards the end. Someone else can make this better, I'm gonna pass out for three years...

And sure he has hyperspermia and it doesn’t mean people who have it always have a high sperm count but god damn it, that Scottish man could get your pregnant anytime you want. And maybe you weren’t trying, but you’d finally let the man turn you into a little cumdumb instead of making him pull out. Groaning your name while his fat and girthy length is pulling your sopping wet walls apart everytime he rails into you, your hand going down his tattooed and slightly hair chest, clenching down on him hard when he hits the perfect spot, your uterus practically begging to get knocked up.

You feel every fucking ounce, ever glob that paints your walls white, till it’s leaking out, always groaning that it’s too much, too full. But you take all of you, going dizzy at how good it feels.

“Sorry hen, can’t help m’self.” Soap shudders but he only pulling you closer by your legs, calf’s thrown over his right shoulder, watching your weary body only succumb to the pleasure of it. The man just loves being inside your tight heat, dragging him further inside your warm walls.

He gives you a brutal thrust, hand palming your stomach where he can feel his pulsing tip, before kissing your knee, blue eyes glossed over, “Bet ye a wee babes already in there, aye Bon?”

Didn’t even take a fucking week for you to start feeling symptoms, a pregnancy test already positive before you’d even realize, you weren’t even ovulating.

He’ll tug your standing form in between his legs, covering your face in embarrassment and shock. Johnny will kiss your stomach, “Knew it wouldn’t take long f’me t’meet ye baby, bloody mental. Don’t worry though, Da ‘nd mummy are ‘ere.”

A meeting is about to start when his phone buzzes in his pocket. It’s around 12pm. So it must be a picture of what you’re eating for lunch.

maybe a sandwich with crisps? or maybe an açaí bowl from that new place you were talking about this morning.

He opened the notification.

Ghost slammed his phone face down on the table. Price and Soap looked at eachother confused, as did others in the room. The silence was awkward.

Maybe you had sent him in angry text ??

That sundress does nothing to hide your frame, the swell of your breasts peeking out the top of the dress, a pretty necklace hanging in your cleavage, his cock chubs up nicely in his work pants, wishing he could just bend you over and take you in the middle of the street. He'll settle for just this for now.

30 minutes later Emily drags you to Simon to introduce you as "the pretty lady from next door" and you awe at her before sticking your hand out for a handshake towards the big brute.

He extends his thick calloused hand and shakes it firmly, feeling how soft your hand is, he feels no ring... good. He'll change that soon.

You end up talking for a while exchanging numbers before heading off to wherever you were going before.

Tonight is one of those nights.

"Simon, you fucking crossed a line! That is unacceptable!" You had told him two days ago after finding out he's put a tracker on you and has been sharing your location with his work buddies. That was your first big fight since the wedding.

Which leads you to now, fluffy comforter and favorite pillow in hand while you glare at the couch.

You didn't want it to come to this. You had hoped refusing cuddles and referring to him solely as "simon." Instead of your usual pet names would get the point across how serious this is. But ghost refused to budge.

So, you're sleeping on the couch. Because as pissed off as you are at simon and as much as you want to tear his face off, some silly part of you aches at the thought of him hurting his back sleeping on the couch.

So, you go tuck in and try to ignore how weird it feels not to have a warm body next to you.

When you wake up, you nearly trip over your husband sleeping on the floor by the couch.

"What— simon! What the hell—" all anger you'd initially feel is destroyed when you look closer at the wet lines down the scars on his face, the red tint around his eyes.

Oh. You've....You've never actually seen ghost cry.... not since the wedding.

"Please don't leave me love–" are the first choked words out of his mouth, not even awake for a minute and already shifting closer to you "ahm' sorry. I'm sorry, I just— i can't lose you. If— if something happens to me I—"

"Woah. Woah, hey, slow down si" You attempt to soothe, because pulling him up onto the bed. "I'm pissed off. You know that. But I'm not leaving you. What's going on?"

Ghost breathes for a second, looks at the window instead of you. When he speaks, his voice is quiet and raw "if I get captured. If I'm— compromised. The team needs to be able to find you. Keep you safe. I can't always be here."

Oh....oh.

The conversation that followed was long, painstaking, but necessary. You and simon struck a tentatively compromise, both mentally exhausted from it all. You could tell he was struggling not to shut down.

"....come to bed with me? I missed your cuddles last night." You smile, only to gasp and laugh when simon bodily hauled you over his shoulder to drag you to bed.

See, you'd asked Simon to stop smoking after reading that it would damage his sperm. Trying for a baby apparently meant he needed to give up his vice.

But you were his missus, and he'd learned a long time ago—don't fucking argue with the missus.

Already by day three Simon was buying multiple packs of gum a day. Grumbling around base and the house. But he wouldn't take it out on you, never on you.

Your tits? Different story.

Simon had been sucking on your tits for almost an hour, switching between your now swollen and spit slick nipples. Yes, it felt fantastic—but Jesus Christ what was his obsession tonight?

"Simon." You murmur, tugging at his hair to pull him up. "You're usually inside me by now."

Simon grumbled, licking his lips. "You had me quit smokin' my fucking mouth needs to be doin' somethin'"

After that confession, Simon was always on you.

He comes home from work, and he pushes your shirt up while you read some book on the couch. His mouth immediately locking around your nipple. The tension built throughout the day leaving his body.

He'd suck on your tits of a morning instead of going for his usual smoke. Though you point out that he spends a lot longer on your nipples than he ever did his cigarettes.

You can't even take your shirt off around him without Simon pawing at your tits and sucking on you for at least five minutes before you finally batt him off to go cook dinner.

After a long weekend though, you went to work with sore tits. Your coworkers getting excited after hearing you'd been trying for a baby and now you were adjusting your bra all day.

Simon only chuckled when you complained to him that afternoon, letting you frustratedly throw your bra at him. "Just tell them that your husbands helping you practice for when you're actually breastfeeding."

He then had to dodge your heel at that comment.

⛧°. ⋆𓌹♰𓌺⋆. °⛧

No, as in he is way too obsessed with your cunt.

He'll have you sit on his lap naked, just so you'll get his jeans dirty. Something about it really makes his cock throb.

Or, he'll fuck you on his fingers while wearing his favourite pair of gloves before a mission, just so he has something to lick and smell when he gets lonely—and you do get a helluva fucking when your scent wears off his gloves sooner than usual. As if you can control that.

After one too many punishments for that though, you pushed him down and sat on his face while he wore his balaclava. Practically waterboarding the bloke with your arousal. Simon always loved when you were just as perverted as he was.

The thing that turns you on disgusts you the most? You'll be bent over in your kitchen, garden, laundry; and Simon'll come up behind you, shove his fingers in you before pulling them out before you can properly register what he's doing, walking off and sucking his fingers with a pleased hum.

You've scolded him for it countless times, yet the pervert doesn't care. Smiling at you in a way that from any other man? It would make your stomach twist in disgust. But from Simon? You can't get enough.

And yes, he is in fact the type of guy to pull your asscheeks apart so he can lick his thumb and press it against the spasming ring of muscle,

"If she keeps winking at me like this, I'll have to fuck her too." Growled in your ear while you whine in disgust, as if you don't have a pretty little collection of plugs in the back of your dresser already.

You and Simon just loved pretending like you were being corrupted by him.

⛧°. ⋆𓌹♰𓌺⋆. °⛧

Buy my cat a treat? (•˕ •マ.ᐟ

—price when you banish him to the couch, he could be one of two ways—mature and forces you to talk it out nicely or toxic, flat out refuses, and fucks you back to your senses. the first way, when the words spill from your mouth, his shoulders slumped with dejection as he steps from the room. no point in arguing when you're worked up. after stewing in your anger for thirty or so minutes, he returns—armed with food—and talks it out with you. the other way, he flat out refuses to sleep on the couch. i could see him manipulating you with the "I paid for that bed, and I'll sleep in it." you're stubborn, muttering something about you sleeping on the couch then, which is how you end up getting your brains fucked out.

—soap I imagine soap just pushed your buttons way too much that day. you know how he is sometimes—over the top, hyper, and an all-around instigator. he was looking for a reaction, and he found it—just not the one he wanted. immediately pouts, acting like a dejected child before he goes on to try and convince you to change your mind. real annoying about it too, doesn't give up until you're at your breaking point.

—kyle the only one that I see actually accept his banishment with stride. he knows he made you upset, respects the boundary you placed with him and doesn't take it to heart. there's also a big possibility that, by the end of the night, you end up talking it out anyways like mature adults. he knows you needed to get it out of your system, and you serving punishment to him did just that.

—simon the second the words leave your mouth, he shuts down. you see the moment he deflates, doesn't try to reconcile, and just accepts it. he doesn't want to upset you further or make you more mad than you already are. simon doesn't respond well to domestic conflict. the second his back hits the cushions? he's tossing and turning. he barely fits the couch to begin with, and you both learn you need each other to sleep—bonded like a pair of cats.