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starphasedd · 1 year

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Egon

(Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader)

Rating: 18 + for violence and explicit smut.

Synopsis: A small confession leads to something completely unexpected.

Notes: As promised!! I'm super proud of this guys! I think I captured Simon quite nicely. I am new to the fandom, and still reading lore. Feel free to correct me on anything you see wrong. Egon is actually the codename for my OC Ema 'Egon' Swann. This fic started with her, but as to not be selfish, I made it more inclusive by changing it to the reader perspective! I hope you enjoy!!

Word count: 8k+

AO3

Egon.

German, by nature. Meaning "strong with the wind"

That was the nickname the men of task force 141 gave you.

They had many reasons for this name. You were fast–agile on your feet. Small and clean. It was hard for any enemy to catch you, or even see you coming. You were strong too, for a woman of your size. You could easily take down a man twice your size with the techniques you studied and used over the years. But their main reason for giving you this nickname was for your sharpshooter skills. No matter the conditions, you always made your shot. Rain, thunder, wind. You never missed. No outlying factor kept you from doing your job.

That's what gained you the respect of task force 141.

You've known these men for a while, having been asked to join the team just over two years ago. In that time, you got to learn the boys well. All of them respected you and treated you as their equal–something you worked so hard for. Being a woman in this field of work is challenging, even for some of the strongest ladies you know. That didn't stop you from doing your job–which impressed Price when he worked with you on a mission before he asked you to join the team.

It was a mission in New York City, where you were a part of the NYPD task force. The lead was mafia related and Price's team was called in to assist. Your captain at the time knew it was a risky job, and he needed devoted and dangerous men to help him take their leader down. You along with a couple of your own comrades fought side-by-side task force 141 and pushed through a successful mission.

Everything after that is history. You left with Price and his team, never looking back.

These men are your family now, and you love every single one of them in your own way. Price and Gaz keep to themselves most of the time– Soap is the one you'd definitely call 'brother'. You and him have the best dynamic. He's goofy and chill, and you adore that about him. Inherently with him comes his Lieutenant, Ghost. A man you haven't really been able to get a read on since you met him those couple years ago. Yes, of course, it's mainly to do with the fact that he wears that damn mask twenty-four-seven. But he also isn't the most personable guy. He speaks when he needs to, and fights when he has to--but he hasn't really gone out of his way to get to know you–even though you and Soap are practically attached at the hip.

Being close to Soap means he typically picks you to go along with him and Ghost on missions. Which you don't mind. When the three of you get split up, the commlink keeps you all close, figuratively.

One of the things you and Soap bonded over was your mutual adoration of music. You didn't have the best childhood, and music was your escape. It appeared Soap used music to his comfort as well. So, when you're on missions but split apart, Soap keeps in your ear either spatting off random lyrics of songs, or requesting you sing to him. Much to Ghost's dismay–who has to listen to you two banter about why you don't like country music, or why Soap can remember so many random lyrics. Ghost keeps quiet, and you wonder if you get on his nerves. He's the type of guy to speak his mind and the fact that he hasn't said anything yet suggests he may…be okay with it? Who knows with that man.

Ghost keeps close, but far away at the same time. He treated you like an equal, and always made sure he had your six. The same thing goes for you. Granted, the giant, pure muscle of a man never really needed your help. You were always there for him. Over time, he seemed to soften on you. He would use your real name on occasion. He got worried sometimes when you didn't answer his comms right away and would scold you once you were all back together.

'Fuck woman, answer the bloody comms when your superior asks for your status.' He would gruff in that deep British baritone.

You would never admit it, but something about that man set your body on fire. His size, his voice, his attitude. Fuck, his attitude alone. He exudes confidence and experience without being cocky. There's nothing quite like a confident man–a man who knows what he wants and can take it whenever he wants….but doesn’t. He was always looming over your shoulder, watching you intently through the holes in his mask. Soap would comment on it every now and then, making fun of the Lieutenant for not being able to keep his eyes off you for a moment. You didn't think it was that serious–you convinced yourself he was just watching you for your own safety. As any good teammate would.

But then the subtle touches started. You would feel his large hand splaying over your lower back as he walked beside you up the copter ramp, almost as if he was guiding you. Of course it never happened if someone was around to see it—he made sure of it. But it would happen more frequently. They were genuine, and gentle touches. And completely innocent. Being a woman, you had an intuition for men's intentions–since you dealt with them your entire life. Ghost never set any alarms off. You always felt safe with him.

You trusted him with your life, and you hoped he felt the same about you.

He was cold and calculating—mysterious and quiet. Though he showed those small, intimate minstations to you and you alone, you tried not to think too much into it. Ridding yourself of the disappointment before it reared its ugly head. You often thought about what he looked like under that mask. You've seen his eyes countless times. They were brown like freshly ground coffee. He had blonde eyelashes that stuck out amongst the black paint he smeared right there. He had a strong, chiseled jawline. Sometimes you can see a few prominent veins through his mask when he tightens it. His neck is strong and thick, no doubt riddled with scars from his many years slaughtering men.

You imagined what his body looked like too. He's a big man, standing almost an entire foot taller than you. He had thick, broad shoulders and a puffy, muscular chest. Even when he wore one hundred pounds of gear, you could still see how fit he was. His waist was thin and strong, he had a certain swagger when he walked that always caught your eye. His forearms almost looked fat, they were so fucking thick with muscle. He was covered in huge protruding veins on both arms–they were even visible on the arm that was covered in tattoos. And his hands always made you blush. They were twice the size of yours, and you spent many occasions watching his big fingers work the trigger on his guns like a thread. He was nimble, and agile there.

You wondered what they would feel like–if they would grip your throat with delicacy or fierceness. If they would roam down your neck and swallow your breasts in a warm squeeze. If they would trail your curves all the way down to your ass and nead the soft, pillowy flesh there. If they would tease you–circling around that sensitive bundle of nerves until you were weeping for him. If they would pump you, fill and stretch you out until you were ready for his cock. Or would he even give you that decency and instead, take you unprepared in a hot, lustful frenzy?

It's all human nature, you suppose. It's natural for a woman to be sexually attracted to a protector like Ghost. It goes back thousands of years–it's all instinct. That's what you tell yourself after you cum on your hand thinking about your Lieutenant. When that wave of unfiltered shame and guilt rushes over you following your high.

_______

"Egon, how copy?" Comes that familiar gruffy voice.

You jump slightly, shuddering out of your thoughts as you neel against the abandoned brick building. Your rifle in your left hand, fingers tight on the trigger.

"Jesus, Lieutenant–awaiting target. No eyes yet." You grunt out, face heating up in embarrassment. He always knew when to catch you off guard.

"Eyes on the prize, sergeant. Stay focused."

You scoff, eyes rolling as you adjust your stance slightly. It's dark, the only light you have to use coming from old, orange colored lamps hanging from the buildings. To top that off, it's been raining all day so it's doubly hard to see far in the distance. Even with a scope.

"Easy for you to say, Lieutenant. I'm out here freezing my ass off and you're inside a nice warm building." You mumble into the mic.

"Punishment for not listening to your superior."

"Bite me." You retort.

No response. You grin. Any opportunity you get to fight back at the Lieutenant scolding you, you'll take.

A few minutes in silence go by as you wait patiently for your target to come into view. You have a black mask covering the bottom half of your face, leaving only your eyes and forehead exposed. A heavy leather hood covers your hair. Soft pelts of rain dropping keep you focused in the moment. Your tactical boots are worn and wet, holes from misuse letting water in to soak your socks. The harness tied around your waist and thighs is digging into your pants, which are rubbing and chafing your skin. Your back hurts from being on your feet all day, and your head is pounding. You usually get headaches when it rains. You are so fucking ready for this day to be over.

You stay steadfast nonetheless. Eyes focused on the door the target will be coming out of.

A few more minutes go by in silence when you hear the comm start to buzz, indicating someone was about to speak.

"Why can't orphans play baseball?"

You can't help the cheeky grin that creeps its way upon your face.

"Why?" You ask.

"They don't know where home is."

"Ghost," You say with a huff, attempting to hide the laugh trying to claw its way out of your throat. "Shut the fuck up."

"It's inappropriate to speak to your superior that way."

"Sorry, let me rephrase. Shut the fuck up, sir."

"Better."

You grin, holding the butt of your rifle up to your cheek in anticipation. Your finger reaches up and you adjust the scope. You close your left eye and squint your right as you look through the glass. You hadn't realized you never turned off your mic when Ghost crimes in again.

"Control your breathing, Sergeant. It'll help you focus better."

Your breath catches in your throat the moment is deep voice comes through the ear piece. Was the bastard really listening to you breath this whole time? Your tongue slides over your bottom lip, moistening the smooth skin there. You let a long breath come out before slowly breathing back in, reducing your heart rate. With your breath now cool and even, you sink back into the task at hand.

"Atta girl." Ghost whispers in that english accent, his voice sending a wave of chills down your spine.

Your chest pulls tight at his encouraging words, and if you hadn't been so focused on the door in front of you, you may have retorted something flirty back. But just as you were about the touch the communicator, the door in your sights swings open. You pause and hunch down impossibly lower as a tall man, accompanied by three other men stumble out of the building. You're so low now your chest could practically touch your boots. Your back is arched and steady, fingers itching to pull the trigger as you search for the man you have a description of.

The rain is starting to pick up now, thunder rocketing through the air as lightning snaps to the ground in the distance. Your breathing is steady and firm, flowing visible streams in front of your face as the chill in the air makes you shiver.

You're so focused on identifying the target in front of you that you don't hear the footsteps approach you from behind. They're quiet, trained and quick. You lock eyes on the target. A tall, skinny man. He has long, curly blonde hair that flows just past his shoulders. The identifying marker is a scar on the left side of his face. It's long–stretching from the bottom of his jaw all the way up and over his eye. It stops just above his eyebrow.

Rain is starting to smear over the scope lense, making it increasingly difficult to see the taget. After a moment, you lick your lips away, your pointer finger hones down on the trigger and starts to stretch it down. The man across the way reaches down for the door handle on the SVU next to him. You take one final breath in and hold, steady and true. Your finger pulls down, emitting a loud pop in your ear. It's quick, and the target immediately falls to the ground. Not a word, not a sound. Silence as his body hits the cold, wet concrete. The men around him start to panic and pull their guns out, rapidly stomping around in circles to try and spot where the bullet came from.

One turns in your direction. He doesn't see you, but starts running in your direction. You cock back and lift on your feet. You stand to almost your full height, knees slightly bent. You pull the trigger again. The second victim drops to the ground with a loud and painful grunt. At this point, you've given yourself away. Blood rushes through your ears as the two other men start sprinting in your direction. You slowly start to back up, cocking back yet again to let another bullet fly. Bullseye–a direct hit to another man's head. Your focus now remains on the last man standing who has gone into a hiding stance. You stand up fully and start to turn. When you do, you hear the sound of another rifle going off. Blood splatters across your face as a man–whom you had no idea was directly behind you–falls against the brick wall and his lifeless body slides down.

You gasp softly at the sight–having had absolutely no clue the man was behind you getting ready to attack. You look around quickly, trying to locate where the shot came from when Ghost's voice comes through the headset.

"Thought you knew better, sergeant."

Your breathing is heavy as you look up at the building across the street. On the fourth floor, Ghost moves forward to reveal himself through the window. The bone part of his mask almost lights up as he positions his rifle and shoots the last of the men on the street. He looks down at you as he lowers his rifle. His massive body towering in the window. His eyes lock with yours as your chest heaves up and down. The hood on your jacket has fallen now, and rain is starting to soak your hair. It sticks to your cheeks and neck. The water soaks your face.

"Were you watching me?" You ask, slight irritation in your tone.

"Had I not been, you'd be dead."

You scoff, clenching your jaw and rolling your tongue in your mouth as you keep eye contact with him.

"Get down here. Let's go."

Embarrassment was evident in your tone, but you couldn't hide that from Ghost. You couldn't hide anything from a man with his experience. So you gave in and let it out.

Ghost was down in your area within a minute or so, and he approached you slowly.

It was still raining as you and Ghost started walking towards the safe house. It was a small cottage on the outskirts of this shitty little town. Price said there was a shower, and that's all you could ask for. You walk silently next to your superior, who hasn't looked at or spoken to you since he came down from the building. You keep your eyes forward and alert as your heavy boots slush through the wet streets.

"Have you heard from Soap?" You ask softly.

"Affirmative. He's on the other side of the city with Price and Gaz. They're at the other safehouse." He responded in that deep tone.

He's safe. A gentle sigh of relief left your lips as you continued your walk to the safehouse.

The walk there stays silent. With Ghost keeping close to your rear, he almost hovers over you but he's slow. Which is unusual for him. On occasion, you could have sworn you could hear his breathing. It was loud and sounded labored. You raised your voice a little at one point to ask if he was alright and grunted back at you. Something seemed off.

After a couple hours carefully trekking through the nearly flooded city, you made it to the safe house. It was pitch black, away from any city lights to give you away. It was a small, one room cottage. When you opened the door, you cleared the room with your rifle. It wasn't perfect, but it was enough to house the two of you until the morning. There was a small, two person bed, a run-down kitchen and a small, detached bathroom with holes in the door. It was filthy, but you were thankful to be out of the rain. You noticed a small fireplace that seemed clean enough to use.

You turn to Ghost, who is towering behind you. "I'll start a fire. You should try and get a hold of Price and let him know we're okay."

The large man grunted, and turned slowly in the direction on the bed. You watched his feet almost drag the floor. And when he sat down on the edge of the bed, you noticed him trying to conceal the hand that was holding his side.

You watch him for a few moments before turning your attention to the fire. It was starting to get cold. Worry about Ghost later so the both of you don't freeze to death here. Gathering what little kindling and firewood you could find, you begin to light the fire. First you pile in some pieces of wood you found here and there, and then you line the tower with what kindling you could find. Reaching into your soaked chest pocket, you pulled out the lighter you hoped wasn't flooded. And by some miracle, it wasn't. You easily ignited a small fire in the run-down fireplace.

Turning around, you glance over to see Ghost still sitting with his hand on his side. His hulking figure dips the mattress by a good bit.

"Fucking awful communicators." He grunts out before he rips the mic off his head.

"Not able to get a hold of Price, huh?" You say with a soft smile.

He shakes his head slowly. A grunt being his only response, again.

You stand from where you sit, starting to pull your weapons and gear off. Your weapons come first. You gently set the rifle up against the wall, and place your handguns beside them. Knives get stuck in a pile next to the handguns. You reach around to unstrap your vest, pulling it off your shoulders. It drops to the floor with a thud, which grabs Ghost's attention. Once your vest is off, you move to take your harness off. Ghost watches you through half lidded eyes. You prop one leg up on a grate for better access to the straps that trail from your waist, all the way down to your feet. Starting with the foot strap, you unclip the buckle. Your hands slide up your calves to your thighs, where the second set of straps dig into the skin there.

You quickly make way with those buckles and pull them down your legs. The last strap around your waist is easy. You stand and unclip the last buckle and let that strap fall to your feet. A relieved sigh leaves your lips as you turn to walk towards Ghost. He was still watching you, his hand holding his side. He hasn't moved–still sitting there uncomfortably, no doubt, in his full gear. You approach him slowly, hands hugging your hips as you test these waters.

"Let me see." You say gently as you stop directly in front of him. He's so big that he's still eye height with you, even sitting down.

"I'm fine." He grunts.

"Sir–"

"I said I'm fine. Tend to your own." He says.

"I just want to help, sir. "

He glances up at you through his mask. You're standing close–so close he can feel the heat radiating off your body. His eyes meet your face, his hand still hovering over the wound on his side.

"Do you trust me?" You ask gently.

He seems hesitant, no doubt unsure what he wants to do. But after a few moments of watching you, he lets the hand on his side slowly drop to his thigh. He breathes out slowly.

"Yes."

You take this moment to be bold for the first time with him. You suck a breath in and hold, slowly reaching forward and gliding your hands over his shoulders. They fall down his back to unstrap the back of his weapons vest. Your eyes bounce back and forth between his as your chest presses softly to the pack on the front of his body. You pull the straps up over his shoulders and let the best slide down his front, pulling it off and gently setting it down on the floor by his feet. Next, your nimble fingers work at the zipper on his jacket–pulling down until it unclips at the bottom. You run your hands over his shoulders again to pull the rain jacket off–setting it on the mattress next to him.

He looks bigger this way, which should be impossible. You just took eighty pounds of gear off his body but even now, in just his black pull-over hoodie and rain jacket, he looks bigger. His muscles are more defined. You can see the bulge of his strong pecs, the roundness of his arms.

You stand up to look at him once again.

"May I?" You ask softly.

He doesn't speak, but nods slowly.

You mind his permission and slowly grab the bottom of his hoodie, pulling it up and over his chest. What reveals is a nasty stab wound–about three inches long. Blood trails all the way down to his jeans. Most of it is dry, but some warm blood indicates it's still bleeding.

"Jesus wept. You were going to leave this unattended?" You ask, glancing up to meet his gaze.

He brings his hand up to hold his hoodie for you. You remove your hand and reach into the first aid kit attached to his utility belt. Pulling it open and starting to look through the supplies.

"I've had worse." He retorts with a snort.

You can't help but smile gently, looking at him through the corner of your eye as you rummage through his bandage pack.

"You're an idiot."

"I'll be sure to remember that when I'm doing your performance review."

"In that case, be sure to remember this. I want a raise." You say with a small laugh as you set some bandages down on his thigh.

"A raise? You can barely do what you're told now. Only good employees get raises." He retorts, you swear you can hear the grin on his mouth.

"I've never been one to respect authority." You say, a cheeky grin meeting his gaze as your hand brings a sanitary wipe to his wound.

"Fuckin' Americans."

You laugh out loud this time, hand gently gliding over his wound–cleaning it with the sanitary wipe. You take notice of his build. He's strong, thick and muscular. He has some chest hair, and some hairs that trail under his jeans. He's incredibly built as well–of course he is. You knew that. He was a huge man, and incredibly strong. There was no doubt in your mind he was sculpted to the heavens. His skin is littered with scars. Some range from as small as your fingernails, to the size of your fist. You wish you could touch them all, to ask their stories. How did he get this one? That one?

The little shack is quiet for a few more minutes as you finish cleaning and treating his wound. You take it slow so as to not cause him any discomfort. Something tells you he really doesn't care, but you do. His eyes watch you through the hole in the skull of his mask. The black eye paint makes his blue hues glow in the moonlight. Rain patters softly against the metal roof. Your hand glides smoothly over the patch you're placing over the stab wound. You flatten your palm to smooth it out as much as possible. His breathing is steady as it fans against your cheek. Your proximity to him right now may have been alarming if you didn't know him well.

He stays still, watching you as he holds the hoodie up over his chest. His gaze brings goosebumps to the back of your neck, making your hairs stand up. You feel the need to break this awkward silence.

"This scar looks like it was painful." You say ever so softly, your free hand coming down to the four inch scar on his abdomen. Your palm flattens and your thumb grazes it gently.

"They were all painful." He says, a hint of tease in his tone. His voice has softened considerably.

"Yeah? I wouldn't have guessed, sir." You say, eyes flashing up to meet his as your mouth pulls into a sweet smile again.

"Simon. No need to be formal when we're alone." He says, followed by your name. It rolled off his tongue with ease–like it was the most natural thing for him to say.

"Right. Simon–" you say softly. You're not pulling apart the last part of the bandage to stick it on top. "--how did you get this one?" You ask, pointing to another scar on one of his pecs.

"In the Military. My first deployment. This was one of the first." He says.

"I remember those days. I was eighteen when I joined the Marine Corp. Got a few scars myself. Though, they're more mental than anything." You say, bringing a hand up to tap the side of your head and smile. "Yours have more meaning behind them, I think."

"Rightfully ugly things." He says, his eyes now following your hands as they work to cover the rest of his wound.

"Not at all–" you say as you stop your movements. Your eyes meet his when he takes notice and lifts his head to see you. "--I find them endearing."

His eyes narrow slightly as he watches you–indicating he's unsure of the meaning behind your statement.

"I mean, they show your growth…as a man. You had to overcome each one of these–" you say as you move to continue wrapping his wound. "--they're all testaments to how strong you are. Mentally and physically. I don't find them ugly in the slightest."

Your hand stops moving as you've finally finished patching his wound. Standing up straight, you bring your eyes back to his. He slowly releases his hoodie to let it drop back down, but his eyes never once leave yours. He almost seems dumbfounded–at a loss for words. He just stares at you for a few moments before speaking.

"I don't understand." He says, almost a whisper.

"What's not to understand?" You ask.

His hands are laying on his thighs, but his fists are clenching and unclenching. He doesn't speak, so you take this chance to elaborate.

"Simon, I don't know much of your past. Well, anything about your past, really–" you say gently, your hands slowly glide up and test the waters, laying on top of his strong shoulders. "--I don't need to. I know the man you are now. Neither of us are perfect. But I do know that you're a good man, who will always have my back. That's all that matters."

His eyes never leave yours as your hands slowly glide over from his shoulders, and up his neck to rest holding his strong jaw.

"And I will always have yours. That's what being a team is all about."

You're holding his jaw gently; you can feel it clenching as he watches you through the skull mask. You're close to him now, closer than you have been. Your hips are slotted between his legs. His fingers reach out and softly graze the outside hem on your jeans–silently asking for permission. You glance down to his hands, before back up to his face and slowly nod.

His large hands come out to flatten against the outside of your thighs, softly squeezing the flesh there as they glide up and over your hips. They rest there, just above your ass. His warmth sends chills down your spine as he pulls you closer, your chest almost touching his. His palms spread against your curves and his thumbs dig into your belly.

"What's on your mind, sergeant?" Ghost asks, his voice barely above a whisper as your face inches closer to his.

You continue holding his jaw, keeping him attentive to you and you alone. Your breath fans over his covered lips. Your thumbs start to rub small circles over the sharp bones under them.

"I often think…" you trail off as your right thumb moves towards the center of his face--finding his bottom lip under the mask and pressing down. "...think about what your smile looks like. I reckon you're quite handsome."

"Is that right?" His voice is low, now laced with something akin to longing.

His hands give your hips a good squeeze, shuffling your lower half closer to his. His thighs trap you in their strength.

"Mhm." You hum softly.

You find yourself being bold again, thumbs leaving his lips to trail down his neck again. You locate the bottom of his mask and slip both thumbs under the hem. You stop momentarily, giving him ample time to stop you. Only, he doesn't. You can feel the moment his muscles tense and you hear his breath hitch. But his eyes never leave you, and neither do his hands. They squeeze you and pull you harder.

As to not betray his trust, your eyes slowly flutter closed. Your thumbs slip under his mask completely and gingerly begin pulling up. You pull it up and over his lips. Along the way, you can feel the defined muscles of his neck–the large veins. His chin and jaw are prickly, most likely from a recent shave. You pull it up to sit just in the tip of his nose. Eager fingers return to his chin, thumb coming back to slide over his lower lip. It's full, and warm. Feels slightly damp, like he had just licked it. His breath is warm on your hand as you continue to feel him here.

Your other fingers stretch to try and feel the back of his head, wanting to know if he has thick or coarse hair. Is it curly or straight? Blonde like his eyelashes or brown?

His hands become impatient and begin sliding up your sides. In the process, he pulls the skin-tight undershirt out from under your pants. Cold air rushes through and touches the little part of your belly exposed. As his digits continue sliding up, they eventually curve out and up both of your arms until they meet at the base of your neck. His fingers dig into the skin there and start to gently pull you forward.

In the shuffle, your hands slide down his chest and come to a rest on top of his biceps. The muscles flex under his hoodie as he pulls you forward. Your eyes stay closed as you feel his breath getting closer and closer to your face.

"Tell me to stop." He whispers. It was hoarse, and deep. Laced with lust.

You breathe out slowly, shaky and anxious.

And when you don't, he kisses you.

To say he just kisses you is a gross understatement to what the both of you start to share. Your entire body lights up, chills shooting down your spine like fireworks as he twists his head to the side and slowly licks your bottom lip. His lips are soft and giving. They flatten when they meet yours to cover as much ground as they can. You open your mouth, giving him full access to that wet cavern. Your mouth meets his again, more heated this time. His tongue slides inside your mouth with ease, shooting to fight and tackle yours in a fight for dominance.

Your fingers start to dig into his biceps, and that elicits a grunt moan from the man kissing you. He continues kissing you, tongue exploring your mouth as his large hands start to slide down your body again. His right hand slides behind you to trace your back, and his left opts to take the front. He stops at your breast–giving it a firm squeeze when he gets it in his grasp. Your nipple hardens under his firm touch, a small whimper getting lost in his mouth as he explores your body. The hand on your back pulls you impossibly closer, pressing your much smaller body tight to his.

He continues his assault on your breast for another minute or so, all while continuing to kiss you with a certain ferocity. His tongue leaves your mouth to lap up the saliva surrounding your lips and you erupt in shivers when the hand squeezing your breast starts to trail lower. He traces your curves until he reaches the metal of your belt buckle. His digits slowly begin to work at the buckle, setting the button on your jeans free once he's worked it open. He kisses you as he pulls the button open, his fingers grabbing hold of the zipper and slowly pulling it down. It feels like it takes him an eternity to work your jeans open, but your body buzzes with excitement when you hear the zipper coming down.

He stops for a moment, continuing to kiss you as his hand rests there on the buckle of your jeans. You slide your hand back up to his shoulders and softly rub the muscles there, pulling a quiet whimper from his lips. Yes, a whimper. From Ghost.

Fuck. If that doesn't get you wet, nothing will. But it does. In that moment, you feel the arousal start to ooze out of your cunt. You may have thought you started your period if you weren't sure it was because of him. You can't help but rub your thighs together when the pressure starts to become uncomfortable. Ghost takes notice of this and pulls away from you. His fingers begin to dance with the hem of your underwear.

"Tell me to stop." He repeats against your lips, still barely above a whisper. You can feel his eyes burning into you, but yours are still closed.

The cool leather of his glove meets with your sensitive skin when you don't answer him. Slowly, achingly slowly, his fingers sink under your underwear to find what he wants so desperately right now.

You whine when the leather touches your sensitive skin there, his fingers sink down through your folds to truly feel where you're warmest. His fingers glide easily through your arousal; the texture of his clove adds a bit more feeling to it.

"Fuck." he curses against your lips as he continues to rub around your needy hole.

He uses his fingers to collect your wetness and drags it up to that swollen bundle of nerves. He uses your own arousal to prepare you. His thumb begins to rub firm circles over your clit, causing you shudder and whimper in his arms. Your eyes squeeze shut harder, face heating up and turning red. Something you never thought he'd see—the freckles on your cheeks being revealed by the change in color on your face. Your fingers dig hard into his shoulders, holding on for what feels like dear life.

It's been a decade since you've been with a man. It's not something you were particularly proud of, because nothing could quite scratch that itch like the touch of a man. But your job kept you busy, and you felt just fine pleasuring yourself. You were always an independent woman. But fuck. Fuck. His touch felt like fire. Like pure bliss. The way he continued to draw tight circles over your clit while his palm flattened on your cunt and two large fingers sunk into your wet heat. They were so big, so strong while they pumped you full. It wasn't long before he found that spot too–the spongy piece of heaven deep inside your core.

Your head tumbles back on your shoulders, mouth falling open silently as his fingers work magic inside you. He leans forward, bringing his lips to your chest where it's open from the u-neck undershirt– peppering kisses on the warm skin there. Your hand involuntarily comes up to caress the back of his head. Such a sweet sentiment he does, while absolutely ruining your brief innocence with his fingers. You whimper and cry for him as he pumps and pumps and pumps.

You let out one harsh breath, followed by a quiet but sweet whimper– and out tumbles his name.

Simon.

That's all it takes to break him. He huffs a hard breath against your chest and kisses the skin one more time before pulling back, taking the hand out of your pants with him.

You gasp at the lack of contact. You almost open your eyes in the shuffle but as if he knew what was going to happen, his hand comes up to cover your eyes.

"Lay down. Now." He orders.

He guides you back a few steps, hand still over your eyes. You feel him stand, and he brings a hand to your shoulder to guide you back towards the mattress. Your legs hit the edge and cause you to fall to your back. His hand leaves your face, but you obediently keep them closed for him. He shuffles a bit before his hands are on you again, slipping your combat boots off one at a time. Then his hands are on your waist, pulling your jeans and underwear down in one swoop. Involuntarily, your hands shoot down to cover your core and you hear him grunt.

"Don't hide from me, sergeant." He says in the deep english tone.

His hands meet yours and wrap around them, slowly pulling them off your weeping cunt. A breath leaves his mouth harshly when you're revealed to him. He kneels instantly, large hands flattening against the inside of your thighs, at the apex of your legs and waist. On each side of where he just had his fingers deep. His hot breath fans against your sex.

"Fucking perfect." He says as he fits himself between your legs. His hands slide from the top, all the way to your calves to pull them up and over his shoulders.

You shudder in anticipation, back arching slightly in presentation. Ghost takes notice.

"Dirty girl." He praises

That's the last thing he says before he dives in. His mouth closes over your swollen clit, tongue circling you in a delicious dance. Your back immediately arches even more, muscles tensing down below. His tongue is smooth as it glides so elegantly over that center of pleasure. He moans into you, drinking the taste of you in. The top half of his face is still covered, only letting the bottom half of his face free so he can eat you out like this.

Your hands desperately search for purchase. They start by clenching the bedsheets, before twitching hard and moving to lay on your tummy. His hands find yours quickly and he presses down, anchoring your much smaller hands under his to your tummy. His fingers thread through yours and give a reassuring squeeze. It's odd. You'd never think of him as the gentle type. But he always seemed to surprise you.

Your hands start to close on his head, holding him still right where you want him. Anxious fingers gripping the mask and holding him down. He moans again, the vile wet sounds of his dirty act echoing through the room as he pulls you closer to an orgasm. His hands hold you steady as he pushes his face in deeper, completely enveloping his face in you. His cock grows achingly hard in his jeans, throbbing to be set free. One of his hands leaves yours to come down and insert two large fingers in yet again.

Something white and hot starts to stir in your lower belly. Like a thread being pulled tight on each end, ready to snap at any given moment. Your cunt starts to clench impossibly tight around Ghost's fingers and he moans into you yet again.

"Atta girl. I can feel it. Give me a good one." He encourages through licks.

Fuck, his voice. The tone and the accent–they do something to you. His voice repeats in the back of your mind as your muscles tense all at once. A hoarse whimper leaves your lips as he nibbles down on your little clit, cunt pulling tight and hot as the thread finally snaps and he gets what he asked for. You cum all over his face, body convulsing from the over stimulation as he continues to suck on you through the pulses. Your fingers lock dead in his mask–you think you can feel his hair. It's thick.

He groans into you, his voice vibrating your lower body as he slows his pace and inevitably decides to take pity on you and stop.

You feel his mouth leave your cunt as you struggle to catch your breath. His hands leave you too. Slightly concerned, you start to sit up. Your eyes are still closed. His hands stop you from standing up.

"Bloody delicious you are, sweet girl."

His hand caresses your jaw, and you hear him fumbling with his belt buckle, followed by the sound of his zipper coming down.

"Open."

Your eyes flutter open and you glance up at him standing tall over you. His mask is pulled back down to conceal his mouth. You lock eyes with him and stare him down as he begins to pull his cock out of his jeans. You keep your eyes on him until he breaks contact for a moment. He glances down towards his cock and then back at you. You take the hint and slowly lower your gaze until you meet his cock in all its glory. He's big–covered in veins. His tip is red and smeared with pre-cum. Gods, you got him this wound up?

"You want this?" He asks.

You don't have to answer him. The lustful look in your eyes as you glance back up at him is enough to make his cock jump. He growls low in his throat.

"Turn around. Bend over."

Not having to be told twice, you do as you're told. You stand and turn so your back is facing him. You bend down, revealing your cunt from behind as you find your place bent over the bed for him. His massive form stalks behind you–like you're his prey. Just waiting to be captured. His macho, mean, attitude has always sent chills down your spine. This situation was no different.

His hand finds your waist, gripping on your side as his other holds his heavy cock up to position it at your entrance. While he rubs the head of his cock through your slick to prepare it, the hand holding your waist moves to the center of your lower back and his palm flattens. He pushes down, forcing you to arch in presentation for him. He curses under his breath. Fucking perfect. Beautiful little cunt.

His heavy boots shuffle closer as the head of his cock begins to breach your tight hole. Your breath catches at the sudden intrusion. The hand on your lower back holds you steady as he starts pushing forward until he's fully sheathed inside you. You let a moan slip when the hand on your back starts to rub up and down you slowly, almost in a comforting manner.

"Fuck." He groans out when he bottoms out.

He starts with deep thrusts, getting your cervix used to the invasion. Your knees begin to buckle. No need to worry though. His hands both move to either side of your waist to hold you up as he begins to thrust a little faster–pulling out farther and re-sheathing himself. His back straightens and his head falls back in pleasure as soft groans come from under the mask. Your moans join him as the wet sounds of your combined arousal fills the room.

You moan sweetly–which teases him. A strong, capable woman like yourself reduced to a whimpering mess under her Lieutenant. It spurs him on and makes him needy.

He starts thrusting at a more harsh pace now. His hips collide with yours as the bed rattles on its old, dilapidated frame. The metal digging into the wooden floor. His hands squeeze your hips tight and he pulls you back onto him in time with his own thrusts.

"Insatiable woman. Drive me mad with this body." He grunts as his hips slam into yours.

"Simon–" you whimper out, cut off by a particularly sharp thrust.

"You--you know what you do to me, woman?" He starts between harsh breaths as he pounds into you. "Can't keep my eyes off you. You're a goddamn distraction–" he continues to moan loudly, not caring if anyone may hear. "--walk around in those tight ass jeans….n'that low cut shirt. You do it on purpose, don't you?"

"M's-sorry sir–" you manage to whimper as he continues to pound into you.

"The fuck you are." He says before another hard thrust. His grunts, leaning forward to grab a fistful of your hair and pull your head back.

The same sensation from earlier starts to boil over again. The thread is pulled tight once more, ready to snap at any given moment as he continues to hammer into the sensitive spot inside you. His breathing is heavy, grunting loudly in your ear as pounds down into you. You start to tighten around him once more and once again, he takes notice right away.

"Already, sweet girl? Can you give me another good one?"

You whimper his name.

"Words."

"Yes." You moan.

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, Simon."

"Good fucking girl."

He relases your hair and stands up straight, anchoring down on your hips and letting absolutely fucking loose. He starts pounding into you ruthlessly. His hips jackhammering into yours and rendering you speechless. His harsh thrusts steal the air from your lungs. All you can do is lay there, drool like a dog and take his cock the way he needs to give it to you.

Your orgasm snaps through you and burns like wildfire. Your body rocks violently back against his and he groans when you start to clench around him.

This was unlike any experience you've ever had. It was hard for any of your past partners to get you off, period. Ghost just made you cum twice. And violently.

"Fuck. Where do you want it?" He asks.

It takes you a few hard thrusts to try and speak–trying to gain your composure and suck some air back in your lungs to speak.

"In-inside–please–" you manage to moan.

For the first time this evening, his movements falter. He seems unsure as he tries to regain his rhythm.

"That's–no, no I can't….you'll…" he grunts as he continues to rut into you.

"Safe. I-I promise." You whimper out. "Wanna feel you."

"Fuuuuck." He groans out, his thrusts becoming erratic as he chases his release. His hands come up to grab your shoulders, anchoring down as he continues fucking your raw.

"Don't move. Don't fucking move, sweet girl. Gonna--gonna fill you up, make you mine."

"Simon--" you whimper out.

That last whimper is what seems to take him over edge. He groans your name one last time before his hips bottom out again and come to a screeching hault. You feel his cock start to throb before the warmth of his cum begins filling you. He shoots what feel like endless streams of his while juices inside until it starts overflowing and running down your thighs. You lay there on your stomach trying to catch your breath. Not long after, you hear the heaving mess of a man who just rearranged you collapse to his knees behind you. You hear him turn to sit on hid ass, shifting to lean up against the bed.

You lay there exhausted, listening to the sounds of his labored breathing. You're too worn out to move, so you opt to stay where you are. Not even caring what a mess you look like.

After a few minutes you feel yourself beginning to drift off to sleep. The exhaustion is taking over. It gets quiet after a few more minutes and you feel completely relaxed. You're so out of it, you don't notice Ghost getting up from his spot on the floor.

You don't feel him softly cleaning you with one of his extra shirts.

You don't feel him start to re-dress you.

And you don't feel him lay you down on the bed, when he climbs in behind you and wraps his arms around you.

And in the morning, it suprises you when he asks you about your time in the United States Marine Corps.

#simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #call of duty #smut #Egon

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tedesquire · 2 years

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Hi, I am DYING to see more Egon Spengler x reader and I love your writing. There isn’t nearly enough content for him even though he’s amazing 💜💜💜

My Guy

Pairing: Egon Spengler x gn!Reader

Contains: fluff

Masterlist Description: Your friend sets you up on a blind date. Before you can wonder if you were stood up or not, a certain doctor with a proclivity for the paranormal asks to buy your drink for you.

Sad eyes, that’s what Egon first noticed about you at the bar. Not the way you dressed, how you had worn your hair, or any other modifications you made to your appearance, just your eyes. They were downcast into the drink you had ordered for yourself, unsure and anxious only to fill with hope each time the door swung open, only to be disappointed again. Anyone could tell you were nervous about something with the way you kept biting your lips and each twitch of your fingers against your glass.

“Hello, hello? Earth to Egon?” Peter’s loud voice brought the taller man back to the conversation. Peter had dragged the gang out to a nearby bar hoping to drink and flirt just enough to wake up with only a slight headache in the morning. Winston was all too happy to tag along, while Ray only needed a little persuasion, Egon had to be all but dragged out of the firehouse, ever the homebody.

“My god, Stantz, grab a knife. Egon, if you don’t answer me we’re going to give you a lobotomy in 3…2….”

“Cut it out, Venkmen.” Egon’s tone was flat, his gaze finally pulled away from your figure. “Didn’t we come here so you could flirt around or whatnot? Was I too out of it to notice every woman here reject you or what?” He snapped, drawing a chortle out of his friends.

“He’s just the best, isn’t he the best? The sweetest guy, you could always count on a fella like him and oh! We’ve lost his attention again.” Egon had drifted back to your sulking figure, missing the way Peter’s eyes slowly followed Egon’s, Ray and Winston’s soon to follow.

“Somebody’s got a stalker” Peter had positioned his mouth directly besides Egon’s eardrum, the new volume making him jump. “C’mon, you’ve been staring at that poor schmuck for twenty minutes, at least.”

“Poor schmuck?” Egon came to push up his glasses, flickering between you and Peter.

“That poor soul has been alone at the bar this whole time.” Peter shrugged, taking another sip of his beer.

“Probably waiting on a date, but it’s been too long now. I suspect they’ve been stood up.” Winston chimed in, Ray shaking his head in disappointment, his heavy brow furrowed in concern.

“Egon, scoot out of the booth, it’s time to make my move.” Peter snickered, raking a hand through his unruly hair to flatten it, straightening his tie.

“Uh…” Egon stuttered, catching another glimpse of your sad eyes. You had pulled a compact out of your bag, double-checking your appearance. You had nothing to worry about, you were perfect. Even the thought of Peter walking up to you and throwing some line he had already used on half New York’s population made Egon cringe, quickly shutting the idea down. “No.”

“No?” Oh. He didn’t think this plan all the way through. “Oh, I see. Well, Doctor Love, why don’t you take a turn romancing?” The more Peter thought about it, the wider his grin grew. “Yeah, yeah, this is great. Put yourself out there, huh? And see if they have any supermodel friends.”

“Oh, I’m not going over there.” Egon defended, staring down at his waterglass. He didn’t care much for the taste of alcohol, usually opting to be DD. Various cries fell from Venkmen, Stantz, and Zeddemore’s lips, causing Egon to grimace.

“You know what it’s like for us- Well, not Zeddmore.” Winston always seemed to have more luck with the dating pool. “They take one look and look somewhere else.”

“C’mon Speng, they’re probably just on the verge of desperate to go home with the next person who asks, so if you’re not going to man up then-”

“You know I don’t like what you’re insinuating-” Egon shot back, only for Ray to diffuse the tension.

“Perhaps you could buy them their next drink? If they refuse, we’ll leave. But if they take it, even to be polite, try striking up a conversation with them. You never know, Spengie.” Ray always seemed to know exactly what to say.

“You got this. You’re the man, Egon, you’re the man with the plan.” Peter very helpfully patted Egon’s shoulders like he was preparing for a boxing match. “Just remember, when in doubt, WWPVD- What Would Peter Venkman Do? It’s always worked for me.”

The flicker of annoyance in his dark eyes was gone as he rolled them, swatting Peter’s hands away and rising to his full height, smoothing down his sweater vest and slacks.

This is stupid. You thought glumly, feeling a familiar bitterness wrap itself around your heart. You should have never agreed to go out tonight, What was I thinking?

You know what you were thinking. You were tired of coming home to an empty apartment, tired of watching your friends talking about their significant others- and while you were happy for them, truly happy, you couldn’t help but feel bitter. Even though you tended not to base your worth on whether or not you were in a relationship, it was still an experience you were missing out on.

So when a close friend claimed she had the “perfect guy” for you, you threw caution to the wind and agreed before you could truly think about it. But now, having sat at the bar for close to a half hour past the agreed upon time, you had plenty of time to think.

What if he had taken one look at you and left?

You knew nothing else about the man other than what your friend had told you, tall, dark hair, great sense of humor. You couldn’t remember his name or what he did. Or maybe she forgot to mention it to you. You wondered what she had told him about you, and if whatever it was, was enough to persuade him to stand you up.

Or what if he was late because of an emergency, or traffic- traffic in New York could be a bitch- or what if he was at the wrong place and if you just held on a little bit longer you’d finally meet your soulmate and you’d be so glad you just waited a little bit more.

“Hello.” A deep voice pulled you out of your stupor, your eyes meeting his. Tall, rich, dark curls, a shadow of where facial hair would lie if he would let it grow. His clothes suggested a level of professionalism and care. You thought he was trying to smile but it seemed he was nervous, almost a grimace. This had to be him, right? “Can I… buy you another drink?”

“Oh!” You sat up straighter at his attention, trying to decide on an answer. He kept you waiting, you should be upset, shouldn’t you? But there was something earnest in the way he asked you if he could buy you a drink, the way he hadn’t automatically sat down to drag you into a conversation. Maybe you really were too much of a cynic, you could be forgiving- just this once.

“That would be nice Mr….?”

“Doctor,” The word slipped out of his mouth, cringing as he realized his tone was harsher than intended, opening his mouth to apologize.

“Doctor?” You prompted, your playful tone almost making him blush.

“Just call me Egon. Egon Spengler.” He offered his hand to you,

You gave him a smile, gesturing to the seat next to you. “Egon.” You tasted his name on your tongue, repeating it softly. “Alright, Doctor Egon, why don’t you join me?” A hint of a smile making itself known on the corner of his lips.

You missed the group of guys in the corner slapping each other silly, ordering another round to celebrate.

You would have to buy your friend dinner, or curse her out, you still hadn’t decided. Well, she deserved something for setting you up with someone as wonderful as Egon but why keep him a secret for so long?

He was intelligent, as he finally coughed up he had varying degrees in parapsychology and nuclear engineering. At your insistence he mentioned a few experiments he had in mind, one about positive and negative energy infused into surrounding objects.

“So, what does a guy like you do for fun?” You tease, leaning back in your seat.

“I collect spores, molds, and fungus.” He blurted, ignoring the heat that instantly blossomed on his cheeks. He ruined the whole thing didn’t he? What person in their right mind would find that attractive? It’s my hobby and I enjoy it, Egon tried to remind himself, willing his insecurities to stop.

“Really? How’d you get into that?” He’s thrown off by your question, surprised you haven’t sprinted out the door and left a you-shaped layer of dust in your wake. You take his wide eyes and smile, placing a comforting pat on his hand, tracing the prominent vein there absentmindedly. “It’s not like you collect teeth or anything.” A pause. “Please, tell me you don’t collect teeth.”

His laugh startles even him, higher than his deep timbre and broken from underuse. He was still quite nervous, it was… cute. So was the way he could smile without moving his lips, just a quirk of his brow. You made you feel as if you were the most comical person on the planet.

“I promise, I don’t collect teeth or anything else of human nature. Just the spores, molds, and fungus. I have a keen interest in botany.”

“You’re full of surprises. I had no idea you’d be this interesting.” You hum to yourself.

“I’m surprised you’re so interested.” He admitted, “What about you?” You could feel your cheeks heat up as the topic of conversation was now focused on you.

“Well, um… What about me?” You offered.

With a serious gaze, Egon lifted his drinks to his lips, tilting his head towards you. “Do you collect human teeth and should I be worried?” He smiled into his glass, hoping the blush on his cheeks isn’t noticeable as you throw your head back to laugh.

“Damn, either Egon’s has serious game or Egon’s the first human this person has ever met.” Peter grumbled for show, watching the two of you laugh for what seemed like the hundredth time in less than an hour.

“Well, some people are into the “nerd” look now.” Winston shrugged, taking an opportunity to peek on you both.

“No, Egon has game, I’ve seen it.” Ray mentioned, eyes widening as Peter and Winston snapped to face him. “Just because he doesn’t need to take someone home every night doesn’t mean he can. He’s a man of science first and foremost.”

“Well, I’m a man of science too. More focused on human anatomy.” Venkman wiggled his brows raising his palm up for Winston to slap. “You wouldn’t get it, Stantz.”

“Alright, that was just clever enough to warrant a high-five.” The older man rolled his eyes, limply returning the gesture.

“Wh-” Ray stuttered, growing flustered. “I’ll have you know-”

“No time to respond, look.” Ray sighed dejectly, turning to watch you inspect your beeper, excusing yourself by pressing a kiss to Egon’s cheek to find the Bar’s telephone. Peter waved the taller man over, placing his chin on his folded hands.

“So Egon, has the alien that lives inside your cranium found a mate?”

“No, they’re intelligent and-” Egon cut himself off, truly processing his words. “No.” He hissed sharply, his palm coming up to hit the back of Peter’s head. “It’s going very well. I don’t think they know about the Ghostbusters, which is pleasant. I don’t much care for those who only pay attention after finding out we’re famous. Ray, I should commend you for your recommendation, I believe I’m-”

“Going to put a sock on the firehouse doorknob?” Winston snickered, Peter snorting into his palm.

“Going to ask them on a proper date.” Egon’s tone was flat, his mood only boosting as Ray smiled warmly.

“Hey, listen, I’m so sorry, I-” Your friend rambled as soon as you had dialed her number. “I didn’t know he was going to bail. He mentioned something came up at the office and if you’d like to reschedule, I mean, I’m surprised you’re even still there and don’t let this ruin your plan of ‘getting back out there,’ remember you’re smart, sexy-”

“Woah, woah, woah, what are you talking about?”

“Walter! Walter Peck, what else could I be talking about?”

“Who?”

“The guy you were supposed to be meeting! I can’t believe he didn’t try and get in contact with you first!” She exclaimed, continuing to ramble.

“He’s not a scientist? He doesn’t have a doctorate?” Maybe Egon was his middle name or something?

“Walter? No, he’s an inspector for the Environmental Protection Agency, what are you talking about?”

“Well, I thought…” You trailed off, turning to find Egon mingling with a group of men. His cheeks were red, waving off the men who seemed to be hyping him up. Had he been with them earlier and you didn’t notice? “I thought the guy you set me up with had shown up late. What does this Pecker guy look like?”

“Auburn hair,” Nope. “Bearded,” Nope.

“Yeah, that’s not my guy.”

“Your guy?” She squealed, “Tell me about him, tell me!”

“I don’t have time for this,” You felt extremely flustered, hoping Egon wasn’t noticing your discomfort. “I’m on the best date of my life so far and I’m on the phone talking to you!” You relaxed a bit after hearing her laughter, promising she would get all the details later.

You were supposed to be mad? If Walter had shown up, or if you left too early, you would have never met Egon. Besides, it’s not like Egon lied to you. He never pretended he was your date, you had just assumed.

You hung up the phone, nervously approaching the small group, plastering a smile as they brought Egon’s attention back to you.

“Hi.” You breathed, giving a small wave. “Who are your friends?” Brief introductions were made, Egon all but dragging you back to the bar after Peter kissed your hand, making you snicker.

“Is everything alright?” He referred to the phone call, looking concerned. Yeah, this is my guy. You decided, shaking your head.

“Funny story,” You began, Egon already smirking before you said anything. “I was here waiting for a blind date and when you approached… so I thought you were him. That phone call was from the friend that set me up.”

“Should I assume this is your way of telling me you wouldn’t be interested in a second excursion?” He sighed, his smile melting to cover his disappointment.

“You should never assume, Doctor.” Your hand comes to wrap around his, those beautiful rich eyes meeting yours. “I’m glad I didn’t waste my night pining over someone I’m too good for. I got to spend it with you.” He seemed a little more hopeful.

“Why don’t we get out of here?” You nod towards the exit, smiling as Egon nodded, pulling him close to your figure.

“Guys, is Egon cooler than me?” Peter whimpered, watching the two of you leave the bar arm in arm. A gasp fell on his lips as he watched Egon cradle your face, whispering something unknown before leaning you back into the window, lips pressing against each other hurriedly.

“Yes.” Ray and Winston chimed, clinking their beers in triumph.

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