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captainfern · 5 months

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141Rugby!au [18+]

• Part Three - Good Girl •

Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader

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You've recently started a new job as a physiotherapist for an English Rugby Union team. It's your job to ensure that all the players are in top shape for upcoming games against other strong teams. This job is absolutely perfect for you: good pay, good hours, a fun and exciting atmosphere to be apart of. But there's just one thing you can't seem to understand– the same four players seem to need more attention than the rest.

chapter summary - after hearing the kind of treatment you're giving his teammates, the number 8 thinks it's only fair for him to receive the same treatment too lol.

rating - 18+

wordcount - 7.5k

chapter warnings - fem!reader, slow-ish burn [but not really cause ik you're here for the porn], oral fixation type beat, oral [m!receiving], dry (wet?) humping, thigh-riding, discussion of m!masturbation, degradation, light dumbification, praise, dacryphilia?? idk, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, discussion of foursome/sharing, simon's a little possessive tho, and simon's obsessed with you tbh, and he talks about his dick a lot lol, strong language

disclaimer - physiotherapist, or staff x player sexual relations are not allowed in the real world. but please keep in mind this is fanfiction. it's fake. if you have an issue with inappropriate relations with faculty, blurred morals [etc], then please do not read. additionally, reader be fucking in this series. all four. separately, and at once. it's not cheating, i promise. it's consensual sharing <3

Ghost is a number 8, or eighthman – supports the back line, carries the ball well and tackles strongly. this position tends to be the perfect mix of strong and agile.

see my rugby union introductory for definitions of rugby words

<- part two | part four ->

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"How was dinner?" Simon asked that evening, entering his and Johnny's shared flat, kicking off his shoes near the door.

It was late, nearing midnight, when Simon returned home. He, Price and Gaz had trained for several hours, and then went out to dinner. Simon returned home expecting for Johnny to be occupied, and so he entered tentatively, but he found the Scot sitting on the couch watching some shitty reality TV programme.

"It was nice," Johnny said flippantly. "Yeah... real nice."

Simon raised his eyebrows, coming to perch himself on the couch– the couch that, unbeknownst to him, you had made a mess on just a few hours prior. Simon looked over at Johnny, who ignored the blond and continued watching TV. Slightly annoyed, Simon snatched the remote and shut the TV off, much to Johnny's dismay.

"Hey!" Johnny frowned.

"Tell me about your date." Simon said, and Johnny sat up, leaning back against the plush armchair.

"It wasn't a date," Johnny rolled his eyes. "And I told you, it was nice. She's really nice company, you know."

Simon hummed, intrigued. "I bet..." Then, he waited for Johnny to continue, but he didn't. Simon cocked his head to the side, and Johnny mimicked the movement, a grin on his face. Simon rolled his eyes. "You already know what I'm about to say."

Johnny laughed. "No, we didn't fuck."

"How come?"

Johnny shrugged. "Just the way it went. Dinner was nice, and we talked for fuckin' hours. I could listen to the lass talk forever," he smiled, then continued. "By the time we stopped talking, it was too late, and she had to head home."

Simon narrowed his eyes at his friend, leaning back on the couch and stretching his arm atop the top of the backrest. He drummed his fingers against the fabric. "S'that all you did? Talk and ate?"

Johnny smiled. Simon knew that fucking smile.

Simon raised his eyebrows, imploring Johnny to tell him everything. Johnny cocked his head to the side again, wanting Simon to ask about it.

"Fuck sake," Simon shook his head. "Fine... what did you do?"

"'M glad you asked," Johnny split into a cheeky grin. "Since you really want to know–"

"Really is a bit of an exaggeration–"

"She played with herself while I watched. Right there on that fuckin' couch, Simon." Johnny nodded at the couch, and Simon instinctively looked down at the fabric. Johnny smiled. "Right where you're sitting, actually."

Simon made no effort to move. He looked back up at his friend. "You told her how to touch herself, Johnny?"

"Mhm," Johnny said proudly. "While I fucked my fist, too. Came so fuckin' hard I almost burnt my fuckin' roast."

Simon laughed through his nose. "I don't think the force of your orgasm is what made you almost burn your roast. It more likely had something to do with your distraction."

"It was a bloody good distraction, Ghost," Johnny said around a smile. "You... you need to try her, sometime."

Simon felt his eyebrows pinch together in a subtle frown. "Don't talk about her like that. She's not a toy."

Johnny looked offended. "No, no, didn't mean it like that. I just mean, you know, if you wanted too, she'd... she'd probably let you."

"Let me what?"

"Let you..." Johnny raised his eyebrows. "Let you fuck her."

"Wow, real mature, Johnny," Simon quipped, leaning back into the sofa, adjusting his sitting position with a shift of his hips. "What makes you think I want her like that?"

Johnny rolled his eyes. "I'm not fuckin' blind, Ghost. You fancy her, as do half the fuckin' team, eh? And besides, who wouldn't like her like that. She's perfect."

"Perfect?" Simon mumbled out, looking around the living room.

If he put his head at a certain angle, in a certain direction, he could smell you– the sweetness of your perfume, the fragrance of your shampoo. It managed to linger in the air over top of the smell of roast, and the vague tang of citrus cleaning products.

In the armchair, Johnny shrugged again, eyes wandering. "Well, you know, I could put in a good word for you if you wanted me to."

Simon shot daggers at Johnny, then got to his feet, stretching out his back. His knuckles cracked when he flexed his fingers, a throbbing pain appearing at the base of his fingers. Johnny noticed the way Simon's face contorted into a pained grimace.

"Oh, so the appointment's real?"

"What?" Simon frowned.

"You're really going to see her 'cause you're hurt? I thought you'd made it up." Johnny said, and Simon huffed, annoyed, tossing his Scottish friend an unimpressed look.

"Yes, I'm hurt, you fuckwit," Simon muttered, holding his right hand to his chest. Then, defiantly, he turned back to his friend. "You know what?"

"What?" Johnny was grinning now.

Simon wished he could wipe that cheeky grin off of his friend's face. But he knew he couldn't. Not when his next words made the smile grow tenfold.

"I am going to try her an' see how perfect she really is."

•º•º•

Simon didn't want to come onto you to strong– pun definitely not intended. Not yet, anyway.

He didn't want to crowd you, or stress you out. He didn't want to make you uncomfortable, or make you feel as though he was taking advantage of you. He didn't want that. He admitted telling Johnny he wanted to try you was a fucking prick thing to say, but he didn't know how else to phrase it. Because, well, it was true. He did want to try you. Just like Johnny and Gaz did. The lucky bastards.

His interest piqued when he got a good look at you on the sidelines of one of their first matches. Of course, he saw you on your first day, and around the grounds several days after that, but he really got a good look at you when you were taping up Gaz's wrist all those weeks ago.

Simon was benched, and sitting at the very opposite end to you. He did find himself glancing over in your direction every so often, just to see what the fuss was about. Many of the lads had taken interest in you, but you seemed oblivious– or possibly just immune– to their charm. But, Simon did notice that Gaz's charm seemed to be working.

So Simon took note.

He noted the way Gaz was genuinely nice to you, polite and well-mannered. He didn't flirt with you heavily, not like how the other players described their flirting tactics. Gaz was feather-light with his advances, and he never forced you close to him. He simply allowed you to gravitate towards him.

And so that's how Simon knew he wanted to play it. He had always been a strategist– being a number 8, that line of thinking was critical. He read the play well, picked up on body-language and non-verbal cues– that was his job, basically. So he took note on how Gaz approached you, how he spoke to you, how he spoke about you to the others. The winger was polite, respectful and, above all, successful.

He had told Simon, Johnny and Price all about his little encounter with the team's physio while at the gym a couple of weeks before Johnny decided to give it a go. He explained how he did it, why he wanted to do it– and then proceeded to gush about how much he enjoyed it, how much he enjoyed you.

You, you, you.

That's what triggered Simon's interest in you.

Of course, like he said before, he picked up on a few things while you taped Gaz's wrist that day. You were so gentle with him, smiling and joking, and you did your job so well.

But when Gaz couldn't shut his mouth at the gym that night, and now how Johnny wouldn't stop fucking smiling about you– god, Simon really, really wanted you now.

And usually, when Simon wants something, he get's it. He got the number 8 position in the team. He got player of the year last year. He'll get the team's physiotherapist, too. If Johnny could do it, surely it wouldn't be too hard.

But Simon purposely made it harder for himself to ensure that everything seemed easier on you.

The first appointment he had with you, where you took his hand so gently into yours, running your fingers over his knuckles, his palm, his wrist, he willed himself not to get hard. Willed himself not to pop a fucking boner in his boxers at your touch, at the way your pretty eyes stared up at him, and the way you had that welcoming, warm smile.

That appointment, he made sure he didn't flirt with you. Not one little bit. He kept conversation casual, platonic. The small talk was polite and, dare he say it, mundane. It was his own fault, but he had to stick with it. He asked you about your day, about future appointments. He asked you about why you took the job, and how you were liking it so far. He didn't push it.

But, after booking the next appointment, he headed for the door, looking over his shoulder to give you the simplest of smiles. He then uttered, "Have a nice day, love."

Success. He watched you fidget on the spot at his words. Then he left.

He'd jerk off to your expression in the shower when he got home. But first, he needed to go to the fucking gym.

The next appointment, about a week after the first, Simon knew it was time to start wiggling his way into your mind. Get you thinking about him. He knew you were still thinking about Soap and Gaz– and probably still paying them visits, too– so Simon knew that putting thoughts of him into your head wouldn't be too hard.

So he planted little seeds. Polite, of course, without pressing into any boundary that he knew would make uncomfortable.

But he placed lingering touches– brushing his fingers against yours when you handed him something, or craning his head just a bit closer to yours when he looked over your shoulder as you showed him something on your computer. He wore more cologne so it'd linger in your office. He said hello to you in the hallway before anyone else could. He made sure to do his warm-up stretches in the middle of the playing field where he knew you'd have a good view from your office.

Strategic. Like all number 8's should be.

And he wasn't the best number 8 in the entire UK for fucking nothing.

He noticed it start to work that very same week. The following days after his second appointment, leading up to his third. Days he noticed your eyes light up when he waved to you in the hall; days you smiled from your window while you watched him warm-up; days where you got flustered when he winked at you while you were talking to Johnny.

Johnny noticed it too.

That happened just a few hours before his third appointment– an appointment he scheduled a bit earlier in the week than usual, only a few days after his second. He was so close.

Johnny teased him. "You're on the fuckin' prowl, Ghost."

"Don't say it like that, Johnny, what the fuck," Simon growled. The pair were walking from their flat towards their home stadium. Simon shook his head. "She's a human being."

"She sure is," Johnny said wistfully, as though remembering something he was fond of. Simon guessed he was, something fond of you, so he elbowed the Scot in the ribs as they crossed the road. Johnny laughed. "Alright, that's enough, I get it."

Simon grumbled under his breath as the two friends made their way towards the stadium along the roadside. As cars drove past, he heard the voice of a kid yell, "Ghost! Soap!" which made Simon smile.

After a moment of walking in silence, Johnny cleared his throat. Simon looked at him in annoyance.

Johnny pouted at Simon's expression. "What're you mad for? I haven't said anything yet!"

"You don't need to," Simon said. "I know whatever you're about to say is gonna be stupid."

"Is not."

"Is too."

Johnny grumbled. "You're no fun."

Simon looked at Johnny, then over to the looming stadium, then back to Johnny again. He sighed, stuffing his hands in the pocket of his hoodie as he walked.

"Fine," he said. "What is it?"

Johnny smiled. "Have you got a plan?"

"A plan...?"

"Yeah to, you know, woo the lass."

"Woo the lass," Simon echoed with a mouthful of disinterest. "You're a fuckwit."

"Hey, I'm just asking!" Johnny held up his hands in mock-surrender. When he put them back down, he wiggled his eyebrows at Simon. "...So?"

Simon rolled his eyes.

Johnny smiled. "I'll take that as a yes."

Simon sighed through his nose. Johnny was right, but he didn't want to admit that. Simon'd rather hurt his other hand than admit it, because the look on Johnny's face already– and Simon hadn't even admitted anything– was enough. Enough for Simon to shoulder Johnny and force him off the pavement.

Johnny laughed as he toppled over into a row of hedges. He yelled out at Simon as the blond kept walking. "Don't go throwin' me 'round, Simon! Otherwise I'll end back up in doc's office!"

Simon clenched his jaw. Don't bite back.

•º•º•

"How does that feel?" You asked, two hands holding one of Simon's large ones.

Your soft fingers traced over his lower knuckles, pressing gently on the space of finger between those knuckles, and the row in the middle of the fingers. You rubbed circles on each finger for a couple of seconds, and Simon watched you, his gaze unwavering.

You felt very warm.

"That's good," Simon said quietly when you got to his pinky-finger, pressing at the bones and joints and looking up to his face for any flicker of pain. He looked at you as you searched his face. He allowed himself a small smile. "It's good, doc. I promise."

You smiled back up at him and dropped his hand. He frowned.

You didn't notice. "Good, that's good. Alright, so I suppose this is our last appointment..." you meandered over to your computer, sliding into the chair and beginning to type at lightening speed. Simon watched your fingers fly over the keyboard.

"Our... last one?" Simon voiced, tone even and not at all betraying the disappointment he felt inside.

"Yep, our last one," you said. You finished up on your computer and then looked over at him with a beaming smile. "You're all good to go."

Simon slid off of the medical table, not having to drop far. He towered over you, which he knew you liked– based on the way you chewed subtly on your bottom lip when he stood over you.

So, phase one of his plan that, if Soap was somehow listening, definitely did not exist– use his height to his advantage.

You got up from behind your desk to walk him to the door, and Simon took the opportunity to walk directly next to you until you both reached the door. When you opened the door, Simon stepped into the frame and turned around so he could face you, leaning his shoulder against the framing and crossing his muscular arms over his broad chest. He watched the way your eyes followed the movement. You swallowed nervously.

"Thanks for that, doc," he said lowly. "I appreciate it."

"O-oh, yeah, it's no big deal," you stuttered. "Just... just doing my job, you know?"

Your eyes didn't meet his. Not when he was executing phase two– holding eye contact. A soft kind of eye contact, the same Gaz always used. Simon kept a slight crinkle in the corners of his eyes, his lids lowering a fraction as his eyes scanned your face, darting from your eyes to your lips in perfectly timed intervals.

Your throat was drying. You cleared it with a low cough. "Right, well... did you need anything?"

Phase three, the riskier part of the plan–

"You like the way I look at you, doc?" Simon whispered. He felt nerves twisting in his own stomach as he waited an eternity (less than a second) for your response. He looked down at you softly.

You cleared your throat again. "I... I mean, I don't– I don't mind if, you mean– if you meant it like that–"

Phase four, even fucking riskier–

"Answer my question, doc," Simon whispered. "An' use your words, hm? You like the way I look at you? You like the way I'm talking to you?"

And, if his plan worked, if it somehow worked, then the outcome would be–

"...yes." A whisper from your pretty lips.

Perfect. Mission-fucking-successful.

"Yeah?" Simon was still leaning against the doorframe. "How do I make you feel?"

"...warm," you confessed quietly, not meeting his eyes. "You... fucking hell, you give me butterflies."

"Butterflies?" Simon grinned. "Do I? How else do I make you feel?"

Simon walked forward, and you walked backwards. Enough so that he quietly shut the door and then spun the lock. It clicked. Locked.

You swallowed. "I– you–"

"Look at me when you're talking to me, doc."

You looked up at him, his hazy blue eyes and the mosaic of scars running across his face.

"How do I make you feel when I look at you like this?" He asked, moving forward. You were backing yourself towards your desk. He cocked his head at you. "How do you feel when you look at me?"

"Good," you breathed. "Feel's good... I like the way you look at me and... and I like looking at you."

"Yeah? You do, love?" Simon goaded, and your backside hit your desk. "D'you want to know how I feel?"

You nodded quickly. Simon chuckled.

"O'course you do..." He stepped into your space, the lower part of his chest up against the top of yours. He looked down at you, his arms coming to rest on your hips. "Is this okay?"

You nodded. "Yes..."

Simon leaned down until his nose brushed against yours. You closed your eyes in anticipation, your lips just a hair-length apart. You could feel his breath fanning across your face, and your stomach flipped at his close proximity.

"I love the way you touch me," he whispered, his words tickling your lips. "Love the way you look at me, too. Y'look at me like I'm the prettiest thing on earth, don't you? Love the way you look at me with them pretty eyes, like you want me to fuck you, hm?"

Your mouth dropped open in a gasp, and Simon took the opportunity to press his mouth to yours, slipping his tongue into your mouth. One of the hands he had on your hips moved upwards to cup the back of your head, moving you closer to him as his lower body pushed yours against the wooden desk.

"That's what you want?" He asked, breaking the kiss and shifting his pelvis against yours. You could feel the hard, large imprint of his cock against your front, and it made you whimper, squirming in his hold. He hummed, closing his eyes as you ground yourself against the growing bulge in his trousers. "Yeah? You want me to fuck you? You want me to fill your tight cunt with my big fuckin' cock, hm?"

You moaned, and Simon swallowed it– kissing you roughly by pulling you into him using the hand he had on the back of your head. His tongue licked against yours, running over the ridges of your teeth, and he groaned. He groaned at the taste of you, the warmth and the wetness of your mouth. His cock twitched in his boxers.

He pulled out of the kiss, placing one quick peck on your lips before pulling his face away. "Got a pretty damn mouth on you, doc."

The hand on the back of your head shifted to the side of your face, and you were blinking back surprise when his thumb brushed over your lips. You opened your mouth when he flicked his thumb against your bottom lip, and he grumbled in his chest– a pleased purr, almost– when he slipped his thumb into your mouth. You wrapped your tongue around the digit, retaining eye-contact as you sucked his thumb further into your mouth, the rest of his hand holding firmly onto the base of your jaw.

Simon pressed his thumb down onto your tongue when you took the digit further back into your mouth. You gagged, but he kept his thumb there. You gagged again, eyes watering, and Simon slowly dragged his thumb back to the front of your mouth, flicking it against the tip of your tongue.

"You wanna suck my cock, love?" Simon asked in a whisper, swiping the pad of his thumb along your teeth, feeling the ridges of your molars and the points of your lower canines.

You whined around his thumb, still sucking gently, nodding as his eyes swept over your face.

"'Atta girl," Simon praised, pulling his thumb from your mouth and then gripping your jaw, smearing your saliva across your cheek. "How about you get down on them knees, doc?"

He spun you both around so that he was now leaning his backside against the desk. He then let go of your head and allowed you to lower yourself to the ground in front of him, your hands resting on the thick of his strong thighs.

He gestured to his fly and button, and you got the hint. Saliva already pooling in your mouth, you popped the button of his jeans and then unzipped the fly, lowering them enough to get a good look at the imprint of his cock in his boxers. There was a small wet patch on the front, and it made your pussy flutter around nothing.

Acting on your own accord, you leaned forward and pressed kisses along the bulge, tongue moving against the cotton, laving over the patch of pre-cum that stained the material. Simon's hand shot down to hold the crown of your head as you kissed the hard imprint of his cock, whimpering in the back of your throat at the warmth against your lips and tongue.

His hips bucked, the stain of pre-cum growing bigger as his cock leaked within the confines of his boxers, twitching as the warm wetness of your mouth pressed open-mouthed kisses over it.

"Fuck, yeah, that's it, love," Simon breathed. "Kiss my cock– use that pretty mouth."

You whined against him, nose sliding over the waistband of his boxers. Your fingers trailed up his thighs until they reached the waistband, and you leaned your head back so you could pull his boxers down far enough for his cock to fall out.

Simon's cock was heavy, curving forward under the weight of his arousal, his balls heavy too, waiting– just waiting– to bust a load all over your pretty face, or in that warm mouth. His tip was flushed red, all the blood flow having travelled down while you kissed him, leaking droplets of pre-cum. And then your favourite part– the dark blond hair of his happy-trail leading to the patch near the base of his cock.

You whined again, bringing a hand to your face and spitting in it, before wrapping your fingers around the girth of his cock. Simon groaned, fingers flexing around the top of your head, holding you still as you began to work your hand up and down.

"Dirty fuckin' girl, that's it," he hissed, your eyes on him as you jerked him off. Your lips were just a whisper away from his leaking tip, and with each laboured breath you panted out, his cock twitched. He looked down at you with a lust-drunk gaze. "Are you going to keep playing with my cock, or are you going to put it in your mouth?"

You answered him by opening your mouth and letting your tongue drop out slightly. He hummed– a deep grumble from his chest– pleased with you, before bringing his free hand down to grab the base of his cock. You dropped your hand away from him, instead resting it against the solid warmth of his thigh.

Simon fisted his cock in front of your face, one hand keeping your head in place. He angled his hips so he could tap the flushed tip against your tongue, smearing pre-cum along the flat of the smooth muscle. A bead of saliva pearled at the tip of your tongue, and he smacked the tip of his cock against it, forcing your saliva to drip out of your mouth and down your chin. You frowned at him, and he smiled, whispering, "so messy."

Your jaw was just beginning to ache when he finally dropped more of his cock against your tongue, the solid weight of it wiping the frown from your face. You continued to look up at the rugby player before you as his cock inched further into your mouth– slowly enough that you could feel the velveteen ridges and veins across the surface of your pre-cum tainted tongue. You whimpered softly as Simon held your head firmer, feeding his cock into your mouth, forcing your tongue to draw back inside and your lips to seal around him.

"Take it..." Simon whispered, his tone soft. The fat head of his cock nudged the back of your throat after a moment, and you immediately gagged around him, tears springing to your eyes. Simon tutted, shifting his hips back and pulling his cock away from your uvula. His fingers massaged the top of your head. "What's 'a matter, pretty girl? S'my cock too big?"

You frowned at him again, your hands tightening against his thighs. Without his instruction, you pushed forward and took more of him into your mouth, the leaking tip nudging near the back of your throat. You withheld a gag, tears blurring your vision as you took most of him, your nose parallel to his pelvis. He was still holding his cock, so your lips pressed flush against his knuckles. You worked your tongue around him, smoothing warmly around the girth of his cock, and he tossed his head back and groaned, hips twitching.

"Yeah, that's'a fuckin' girl, baby–" he growled, head flopping forward to watch you once more. "Yeah, take my fuckin' cock. Take it all in this pretty mouth."

He removed his hand from his cock, instead gripping the edge of your desk for leverage. His other hand remained on your head, gently beginning to guide you. You worked with him– taking him as far back in your throat as you could, coating his cock in saliva, running your tongue along the underside of him until he eased back into your mouth a bit– then, you circled the tip, sucking gently, hollowing your cheeks, before he was pushing further in again. You took one hand, still sticky with your saliva, and pumped the base of his cock– all of which you couldn't fit in your mouth.

He grumbled out grunts and groans, his eyes on you the entire time. You did your best to maintain eye-contact as well, but tears were still fresh in your waterline, and the force of his thick cock sliding down your throat urged your eyelids shut.

A tear slipped from each eye, dropping down your cheeks. As he panted, focused on the warmth of your mouth around his desperately hard cock, Simon moved both of his hands to your face. He cupped both of your cheeks, running his thumbs along your cheekbones and catching the tears, smearing them across your soft skin. You blinked up at him, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he looked down at you. He continued to cup your face, both large hands heavy on your cheeks, as he gently guided your mouth along his cock.

"There you go, that's my girl..." He muttered, pulling your head right down to the base of his cock, your throat constricting around him as you resisted the urge to gag. You whimpered around him, the heady tip of his cock nudging the back of your throat, messing with your oxygen intake. The vibrations from your whimpering made Simon groan above you. "God, love, keep doing that. Jus' like that, yeah... fuck– keep using that pretty mouth."

He continued to look at you– in such a way your stomach was doing flips, your heart beating rapidly in your chest. You desperately blinked the moisture from your vision so you could see more of his handsome face, and the way he occasionally drew his lower lip between his teeth, and the way his dark brows pinched together in pleasure.

He still had both hands on your face, guiding you, petting you, stroking your cheeks and thumbing your cheekbones. His eyes never left your face as you sucked his cock. You were the prettiest damn thing he'd ever seen.

Simon groaned at his own thoughts, hips twitching, more pre-cum dribbling out of his slit and down your throat. You swallowed around him, and he groaned again.

"Fuck– fuck– m'close, love, m'so fuckin' close–" Simon whispered, gritting his teeth as he felt his balls begin to tighten, along with the muscles in his lower abdomen. He held your head just a bit tighter. "M'gonna paint your face, doc."

Romantic, you thought, and you couldn't help but let slip a small giggle around his cock. Simon groaned, his hips jerking faster as he held your head in place, essentially fucking your throat. He was still so gentle though, despite the urgency of his thrusts into the warm heat of your mouth. You let him move you along the length of his cock, saliva dripping down your chin, before he was pulling you all the way off of his cock, a string of saliva connecting the tip and your lips.

"Tongue." He said breathlessly.

You stuck your tongue out as he fisted his cock quickly, wet sounds eliciting through your office. He groaned, a hiss of your name, before he was coming across your face. Most of his cum spurted across your tongue and in your mouth, but splatters flecked over you, milky strings along your saliva-slick lower face. Simon groaned the entire time he came, still pumping his cock in a bruised-knuckled fist, dribbles of white dripping from his cock while you curled your tongue back into your mouth and swallowed.

He was breathing hard, stuffing his semi-hard cock back into his boxers and trousers, and reaching down to take you by the upper arms. You let out an involuntary yelp when he effortlessly hauled you to your feet– as though you weighed absolutely fucking nothing– and pulled you with him. Wordlessly, he rounded your desk and sat down in your office chair, yanking you down onto his lap.

"Good girl." He was whispering as he brought his face to yours and kissed you. You hummed a moan against his lips. His tongue coaxed your mouth open, and the warm, wet muscle was smoothing against yours before you could even think.

One of his large hands cupped the side of your face, his thumb smearing a fat droplet of his cum against your cheek, while the other hand held your hip. With that hand, and all while kissing you, Simon guided you to straddle just one of his thick thighs, and slowly began rocking you against it. He tensed the muscle, and immediately felt the warmth of your clothed cunt beneath your trousers.

He broke the kiss to moan against your lips. "Fuckin' hell, doc, you're fuckin' soaked."

You whimpered, almost embarrassed, as Simon gripped your hip harder and ground you against him. He pressed you down heavier against him, revelling in the way he could feel the warm wetness of your core through both yours and his trousers. He kissed you again, rougher this time– a small clink of teeth, and a large amount of cum-tainted spit.

Butterflies in your stomach, you helped his urging movements. You moved your hips back and forth, sliding yourself against the taut muscles of his thigh. A high-pitched noise filtered from the back of your throat as your clit began to throb, your underwear damp against your slit. You tilted your head back, breaking the kiss so that you could mewl quietly into the silence of your office. Simon immediately attached his mouth to your throat, sucking harshly.

He grunted against your throat. "This pussy's all wet from suckin' my cock?" He then angled his head to suck kisses along your jaw, you face still inclined towards the ceiling.

"Yessss–" You whined, moving your hips faster. He let you– smiling against the skin of your jaw– letting the hand he had on your hip keep up with your desperate pace.

The two of you fell into a short, comfortable, lust-filled silence. The sounds of you panting, his grunting against your neck, and the shifting of fabric the only noises in your office. You whimpered as Simon continued sucking and biting kisses along the expanse of your neck and throat, the skin there sticky with his spit. You could still feel his semi-dried cum on your face.

But as you neared your first orgasm, rocking your clothed cunt against his thigh, your noises grew louder. You whimpering turned to stretched-out whines, and your panting increased in volume, coupled with airy moans– sounds that Simon loved and sounds that had his cock throbbing hard in his boxers. But he didn't want to compromise this situation at all.

The hand he had cupping your head moved along your face, two fingers dragging along your cheek and collecting a generous amount of his cum. Then, he simply shoved them past your lips and pressed down on your tongue, cutting you off mid-moan. Your eyes flew open, finding his, as you instinctively began sucking on the digits.

"You're a noisy girl, aren't you?" Simon muttered, eyes mapping every aspect of your face. "A noisy girl, and a messy girl."

You whimpered around his fingers, eyes almost rolling as your orgasm built heavily in your lower stomach. Your thighs quivered alongside his, and he could feel your cunt pulsing against him– all warm and wet and begging for his cock. But not yet. Not fucking yet.

You were so close– your entire body buzzing against him, skin flushed with a layer of sweat, face and neck sticky, lips tender from the force of Simon's kisses. Your orgasm was building, and building, and building still, and you were so close–

"Come for me," Simon ordered in a soft whisper, his two fingers rubbing against your tongue. "Come for me, love."

It was like your body had been waiting for his permission. The band in your lower belly snapped, your orgasm racking through you in forceful waves, your body shaking against him. A loud moan was caught in your throat, his fingers pinning your tongue to the floor of your mouth, forcing you to whimper out to him instead. Your eyes dropped shut, a bead of saliva pushing out from between his fingers and your lips, running down his wrist. He groaned.

But he didn't stop rocking you against him. Even when you tired and your desperate movements slowed, he didn't. He didn't slow. With all the stamina and strength of a good number 8, he kept his hand tight on your hip and continued to grind you against his muscular thigh.

After a moment of realising that he was not stopping, your eyes flew open and found him already looking at you. His eyes had been on where his fingers disappeared into your mouth– and he pushed them in further, until the middle knuckles slid past your lips. You almost choked, moving your tongue around them now that he wasn't pinning them to the bottom of your mouth. His eyes then found yours.

"So pretty..." He muttered. "So pretty when you come. Want you to come again."

You whimpered, frowning. Simon chuckled, a beautiful smile stretching across his face. He leaned in, moving his fingers to one corner of your mouth so that he place a chaste kiss to your lips. When he pulled away, he was still smiling.

"You thought I was done with one?" He asked you, not quite condescending, but enough so to make you pout around his fingers. "No, no, love, we're not stoppin' at one. We're not fuckin' stoppin' until you've drenched my trousers, got it?"

That had your second orgasm creeping up inside you. You nodded wildly, and he pulled his fingers out of your mouth briefly to give you a pat on the side of the face.

"Good girl." He said, and then his fingers were back in your mouth again. This time, he hooked them around your bottom teeth and, with his thumb on your jaw, he pulled your mouth open just a little bit– enough so he could lean in and kiss you deeper than the last time. He licked into your mouth and you squirmed against him, the feeling of his tongue against yours making your hips stutter against his thigh.

He kissed you like that, with his chin resting on his own fingers, until your second orgasm hit you. He pulled away with your spit smeared across his lips as you came, your cunt pulsing against him again. He could almost feel your heartbeat in the warmth of your pussy, making the muscles of his thigh flex again. He continued to rock you through it.

"I think one more will do it," Simon hummed, more to himself than to you. He could feel the heat of your slick soaking through your own trousers, but it was yet to soak through to his. He wanted a wet patch on his fucking leg. "You can do one more, can't you, doc?"

Simon pulled his fingers from your mouth and gripped both of your hips now. He renewed his efforts, dragging you across his thigh, your legs shaking around him as your glazed eyes struggled to stay open. Your chest was rising and falling rapidly, brain fuzzy, body warm against his.

You mewled, hoarse and barely above a light whimper. "Simon–"

He groaned. "Fuck yeah, love, want you to say my name like that again. Go on. Say it again while I drag this pretty pussy over my thigh."

You did as you were told, moaning out quietly, your head dropping onto his shoulder. You mewled another "Simon–!" against him as you mouthed at the flushed skin of his neck. You were met with another deep groan, rumbling in his throat.

"Fuck," he grunted. "You– fuck– you have no idea how many times I've fucked my fist to that sound in my head. So many times I've come all over my fuckin' hand thinkin' about this perfect fuckin' pussy."

His accent was thickening. That made you moan.

He ground you harder against him, tensing his muscles tighter. You moaned into his neck, your body shaking.

Simon placed a gentle kiss your damp forehead. "Come on, love, come one more time. Soak my fuckin' thigh. I know you can do it, doc, I can feel how wet you are."

You whimpered. "Simon, please–"

"Look at me."

You did. You picked yourself up and looked at him as he guided you towards your third orgasm– your third orgasm in your fucking trousers only by grinding against his leg. Oh my god–

"When you come..." He began softly, one of his hands moving from your hip to hold your throat carefully. He held your head still, forcing as much eye-contact as he could. "When you come, I want you looking at me with those pretty eyes. Got it, doc?"

You nodded.

He smiled gently and repeated a soft "good girl" for what felt like the hundredth time. But you weren't complaining. It had your stomach twisting, your swollen clit pulsing, and finally your third orgasm washing over you.

Like a good girl, you listened to what he said. You maintained eye-contact as you came, despite the overwhelming urge to shut them. Your body shook against his, your cunt gushing into your underwear. You moaned his name and he kissed you quiet.

He chuckled against your lips– a triumphant smile forming as he felt your arousal dampen the leg of his trousers. He pulled away and lifted your hips lightly, getting a good look at the dark patch on his thigh. He moaned, cock twitching.

"God, what a messy fuckin' girl..."

You mewled, high on pleasure, beginning to palm at his crotch where his bulge pressed up against his zipper. Your hands groped the shape of him, and he hissed, grabbing hold of your hand.

"You want my cock that bad?" He whispered, your foreheads coming together and the two of you staring down at his bulge. "You want my cock in this pretty pussy?" The hand he had on your throat somehow found the wet space between your legs, rubbing his fingers along the seam there. You were so wet. He groaned. "You want my big cock to stuff this wet cunt, hm? Fill you with my cum? Fill you up and ruin you for anyone else?”

"Simon, oh my god." You uttered, still pawing at his hard cock. Your cunt was throbbing so fucking bad.

"This pussy just can't get enough, can she?" Simon mused, still rubbing at your overstimulated core, fingers grinding against the damp material covering your slit. "You fucked Gaz an' Soap, an' now you want my cock? So greedy, baby. Such a greedy little slut..."

His tone was so soft, that you almost missed the degradation. Instead, you shook your head, whimpering quietly as your fourth orgasm built in your lower tummy, the base of your spine tingling.

"No, no, haven't– fuck– haven't fucked them." You whispered hurriedly as he worked his fingers against you.

Simon tutted. "But you'd like that, wouldn't you? You'd love for both of them to fuck you, yeah? Just want three big fuckin' cocks stuffin' this tight fuckin' cunt."

Strong accent, more cussing. You moaned loudly. God, he was hot.

"I bet you want the captain's cock too, eh? Wouldn't be fuckin' surprised."

You moaned again, orgasm building heavier and heavier inside you. You imaged Price for a split second, and you moaned again.

Simon chuckled darkly. "Yeah? Needy girl, wanting four men? Want four cocks? Want us all to fuck you dumb, eh?" 'Course you fuckin' do."

"Please, Simon..." You whispered, body on fire.

He groan from the back of his throat. "But s'just me now, an' I'm the one making you come. So go on, pretty girl, come once more for me."

You came for a fourth time and you swear you almost blacked out. Stars burst behind your eyelids, a long string of whimpers falling from your lips as your cunt leaked arousal into your underwear, wetting your trousers even more. Simon peppered your face with kisses as you came down from your high, trembling, before he gathered you into his arms and hugged you to his broad chest.

"Good job, love," he whispered soothingly, rubbing your back. "Did such a good job for me. Such a good girl."

You were about to reply, something along the lines of– probably– begging for his cock even though you were so tired. But your phone buzzed against your desk, a brief vibration. You turned to look down at your screen to see a reminder flashing. Your eyes grew wide, realising you had another appointment in twenty minutes.

You peeled yourself away from Simon.

"Fuck, fuck!" You cursed. "I have another appointment in twenty minutes, Simon!”

"So?"

You looked at him, annoyed, then gestured to your trousers. "So? So? Simon, I've come four times in my fucking trousers and I'm wet."

He smiled.

"Don't fucking smile."

His smile dropped and he cleared his throat. "Right, sorry, love. I'll get you a pair'a my joggers if you want."

"You're taking the piss." You muttered as Simon got up, adjusting the way his hard cock sat in his trousers. You tried your best to avoid eye contact with it, as well as the large wet patch on his thigh. “Your joggers?”

He passed by you, kissing you gently on the forehead.

"Mhm," he hummed, already unlocking the door. "Anything for you, doc."

He disappeared, and you stared after him, shaking his head. Then, you spared a glance at yourself in the small mirror near the medical bed. You looked an absolute mess, with cum and saliva on your face. You groaned, heading towards the washbasin.

Maybe you had time to pop home and freshen up. Surely the captain wouldn't mind if you were a bit late.

•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•

#captainfern #141rugby!au #call of duty #call of duty mw2 #simon ghost riley smut #simon ghost riley #ghost call of duty #ghost x reader #simon riley #ghost x female reader

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blingblong55 · 7 months

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Scream it-Simon 'Ghost' Riley NSFW

A/N: I missed doing Monster AU's tbh, so thank you for this request<3

Based on a request:

Love your work! If you’re still taking requests for Kinktober, would love to see Ghost with F!Reader for 5 (breeding) and/or 25 (monster AU). --- F!reader, smut, MDNI, 18+, breeding kink, monster au, unprotected!sex, Dub-Con?, rough!sex, light!degradation, light!slapping, P-in-V (I've been forgetting to add this one lol), oral!sex ---

You were walking back home late at night, your shift at work was horrendous and now as the cold weather fell upon your skin, you felt as if you were being watched. A pocket knife fisted between your hand and chest. As you walked home, the steps got closer and in a not-so-smart moment, you took left, taking the shortcut home through the small part of the woods. The footsteps stopped and you sighed in relief. "A few more minutes and I'll be home," you reminded yourself. As soon as that relief came, the bushes began to rustle, something usual this time of year.

It was always said to believe your town was filled with creatures that humans couldn't and wouldn't be able to fully comprehend. You heard more rustling and then slightly tripped on a tree branch that was sticking out, a light gasp left your lips. "Idiot," you whisper to yourself. For a moment, as you regained composure you swore you had seen a tall dark figure. "Nope, not doing this," you began to walk faster, that was until you saw the same shadow stand in your way. "I'm going crazy," you shut your eyes but the figure is still there once you open them back up. "You're not darling~" the beast speaks and you stand frozen from fear. "What's the matter, cat got your tongue?" he chuckles and his hand goes to your chin, forcing you to make eye contact.

You recognise those eyes. Had seen them multiple times before, shit, it was your goddamn neighbour, the man with the mask. He grins and seems to understand you finally figured out who he is. "Well, hello, darling," his breath hot against your skin. This was odd, how did he turn into this? You back up, only to have him wrap his fingers around you, "Don't you know a little thing like you walking alone is a dangerous thing?" His hand travel your body. Yes, in his human form he was the man you fancy but this, this is something else. "Why don't I take you home. I promise to keep you safe~" his voice almost haunting.

If you said no, what sick thing would he do? If you said, yes, what twisted idea would he come up with? The way he said he would take you home was not an ask but rather a demand. He grabs your hand, guiding you back out the woods and to the road. Did he not care if anyone saw him this way? His eyes would travel your body, unclothing you with them as he imagined the ways he would have you scream his name for all to hear that he has claimed you. No other man or monster can have what his hands, heart and dick can give you.

As soon as you got inside your flat, he walked inside, "Why don't I show you how good I can make you feel?" his hands wandering your soft skin. "I don't think-" You were cut off by his lips on yours. A hunger coming from his mouth as you tried to understand what was going on. "Oh, darling you will have me," he kisses your neck. "Fuck, aren't you a little treat," his lips never leaving your warm skin. You push him away but he gets a hold of you, his hold rough. "You think I can't tell you have been touching yourself? That you rub that clit of yours when you watch me work out through my window? hm?" he makes your hands remain behind your back. "I've heard you moan my name, sweet girl." with one hand holding both your wrists and the other on your neck, he kisses you aggressively.

"I know you fuck your fingers into your cunt whilst dreaming of me," he then lets go of your hands. "Get on your fucking knees like the whore you are," he demands with a growl. No longer was he the sweet neighbour you knew. You remain standing and then he slaps your face, "Don't you want to please me, slut?" he slaps you again but harder this time. A sadistic smile on him. As you get on your knees, your eyes get filled with tears, ready to be spilt out. "Take it out, like the fucking whore you are and suck me," he slaps you again. Your hands undo the belt and zipper of his trousers. "Oh, aren't you being so obedient, didn't take long for your needy ass to get down." His hands grab a fist of your hair, you lick the tip and without warning he slips his entire fat cock into your mouth.

You tried your best to take it all, it was not only big in length but in thickness. You try to speak but your throat gets more stuffed with his cock. You close your eyes, trying to concentrate on breathing and taking him full. He slaps you again, making your tears fall down, "look at me," he commands but you were too drunk on his cock to comprehend what he has asked of you. "I said look at me, bitch!" he slaps you again and you finally make eye contact. Your tears fall down, drool fills your mouth and gags making you get slapped more when you would close your eyes. He pulled his dick out and your droll comes falling down your mouth. "Look at you," he slaps his dick on your mouth and cheeks, "what a fucking whore." he spits out.

"Get up," he commands once more and you do so quickly. He pushes you against your sofa and with his sharp claws, rips your jeans off. Your wet cunt coating your knickers, he takes slaps your cunt through them and then slaps your face. "Beg me to fill you," he cups your face with one hand. You almost began to plead to be let go but knew that it wasn't an option this time. "I said beg," he growls and rips your top, your tits falling out as your brassiere gets ripped from your chest. "fill me...fill me," your voice small. He rubs his cock against your slit, the tip making your clit yearn for more. He chuckles as you begin to grind your hips, wanting to get any sort of relief from him. He slaps his cock on your pussy and his length splits your hole open.

You let out a whimper but he slaps your ass, "Don't you fucking make a noise. You only do that when I tell you to," he fingers your clit, and then smirks as he watches your face twist when you try to contain your whimpers and moans. "You're such a fucking dumb slut," he slaps your ass again and then thrusts himself into you. "Scream, I need you to scream," he slaps your pussy and then your tits. Your eyes fill with tears as he continues to slap and pin you to the couch. He leaves a scratch on your thigh and tit. His sharp teeth leave a mark on your neck.

His thrust is animalistic, he growls and his hands fly to your hips, thrusting his cock inside of you, your cunt red and marked by him. "I'm going to fill you up, fuck kids into you and watch as I fill you with my pups," he groans and smirks. Your tits bounce with each thrust he gives you, "what a cum slut you are, you bitch," he slaps the side of your thigh. His pre-cum leaking into you. "Look at you, moaning as I fuck my cum into you, filling every bit of your sweet pussy," he pinches and pulls with your nipples. You buck your hips, legs by his side as his moans get louder, he goes faster on your cock, and you roll your eyes back. "Scream like the slut you are," he slaps your ass. "Ghost,...fuck...Ghost!" your eyes shut and you bite your lip down.

His claws mark your body, his scent being rubbed all over your body. "You won't come, I won't let you, slut." he moans out as his thrusts begin to get slower, his seed leaking into you. He rubs your tummy, "Look at you, getting filled with my pups." He kisses your hand and pulls out, his cum dripping down your legs and his own shaft. Your walls are painted by him, he leans forward and kisses your neck, "Say what you are, tell me," he touches your tits again. "A slut... I..I'm a slut~" you say between moans and pants. He grins and kisses your lips. --- Tags: @chibijusstuff @liyanahelena @greatstormcat @ramblingsofachaoticthinker @illumisgirlfriend @amygaster004 @johfaam @montenegroisr @proxysgurl @actorryswife

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aliorsboxostuff · 11 months

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ANOTHER SELF INDULGENT FIC? YES. I told yall i love fangs SO MUCH AAARGHH and MIGUEL?? HAVING FANGS?? HELLOOOOOO anyhow this is just full of me simping for that beautiful, insane man. Gotta love me a dilf with fangs and claws. Anyhow enjoy this piece yall lmao. I PROMISE ILL GET TO YOUR REQUESTS

Canines

Tags: Miguel O’hara xM!Reader, Miguel O’hara x gn!reader, Spidey!Reader, Lyla, Jessica Drew, Ben Riley, Spider Society, No Smut, Almost ig?, Fluff, He/Him prns for Reader, Reader is a sunshine, Soft!Miguel, Established relationship, This is just me simping for Miguel tbh, gotta love this man, slight sub!Miguel, Kissing, making out, HIS FANG BRO

Even after spending time with Miguel, successfully becoming his boyfriend and getting on his good side, there's the one thing you can get your mind off of; those damn fangs.

—

You and Miguel have been dating for a solid 5 months now. You still remember the day you got introduced to the spider society and met him. Those dark eyes that flash red, tall and broody, sharp talons that scrape against metal, swept back hair that might as well have swept you off your feet. No literally. The first day you went to meet him you tripped on air and fell straight into his arms.

How did that manage to win his heart? Now that's the real anomaly.

One thing you can't get over and can't seem to wrap your head around is his fangs. You’ve been told by him it's used to paralyze enemies when needed, and most of the time he forgets it’s there. But in your mind, you keep replaying the times when he talked, or his rare smiles and laughs reserved for only you. How does he eat with it? Did he ever bite himself when he goes on his rants? How does he not have a lisp with how big they are?

When the sharp fangs glints and it sends shivers down your body. Curiosity and arousal clouds you whenever Miguel talks, and it’s honestly distracting at team meetings.

“Hey, you there?” He snaps his fingers in front of you as you blink away the thoughts, realizing a couple of other Spideys in the briefing looking at you with squinted eyes.

“Oh yeah- Sorry, pre-mission anxiety and all,” You tried to laugh it off, averting from Miguel's worried gaze. He knows you're capable, he knows you're strong, that's the reason why you're always with him on missions, why you're trusted with a team. But those flashing red eyes couldn't help but hesitate each time you leave the base.

Miguel continues the brief, assigning teams to universes and anomalies. He sends you off with your teams while he leads his. Each team consists of two spideys, if the anomaly is a particularly notorious villain in their respective universes, Miguel would send three. You’re standing next to Jessica, her bike parked just meters from the portal. While the others had already jumped, Miguel stayed behind while Ben jumped first into the portal. The hum of Jessica’s bike startles you and breaks your eyes from staring at Miguel, and she seems to notice.

“Go ahead, go talk to him,” She nods, a small smile on her lips before she rides off into the portal. You sigh, with your boyfriend staying behind, he seems to have the same idea.

You walk across the metal floor, Miguel standing just near his portal. “So, an easy one today, huh?”

“Yeah, me and Ben can take care of him, it’s just another Doc Oct,” He checks something on his watch, the orange hologram lighting up. You can't help but notice it gleams against his fangs.

“Alright, uhm-” You cough, alerting Miguel as he turns to you. “Be safe out there, babe,”

The way you said those last words, too small for your usual cheerfulness, makes Miguel’s brows furrow. He reaches for your hand, softly holding them. “Hey, are you okay?”

“Huh? Oh yeah, I'm fine! Don't worry baby,” You smirk, patting his arm where he’s still holding your hand. “Stay safe, and come back home, okay?”

Miguel tilts his head slightly, before his lips quirks, a ghost of a smile. “You too, my love,”

And with that, Miguel turns and enters his portal, the circle closes as he disappears. You sigh, both relieved and frustrated somehow. You shook your head, trying to dissipate those thoughts, at least for the time being. Glancing at your portal, you take another breath, before running and leaping into it, another day of saving the multiverse.

—

“Okay, what's going on?” You turn to Jessica leaning on her bike, arms crossed and one brow raised. It’s the ‘Spill It’ face you’ve come to love, but also loathe when she uses it on you.

“What’s ‘what’ going on?” Jessica scoffs, tilting her head when your back is still facing her while you twip a web at the Lizard's jaw, the anomaly tied and secured, ready for transport. “Nothings going on,”

She sees you shrug as you turn around, her only response is to nod again, gauging an answer. Her eyes stare deep into you, making you gulp as you aver her sharp, questioning glare. A beat passes, your suit suddenly feels clammier than usual. You tug slightly at the part that hugs your neck, looking down at the street.

“Okay fine!” You huff, a satisfied smirk from Jessica. “I’ve been thinking about Miguel-”

“That's not new sweetie,” She snickers, making you stumble on your words.

“I’m- I know but it's not about him… I guess?”

“Go on…”

“Have you-” You huff, crossing your arms. “You’ve seen his fangs, right? Those sharp things,” You point to your own little fangs, which makes Jesicca hum.

“Hard not to,” She shrugs.

“You ever wonder how sharp they are?” You tilt your head, fully turning to Jessica. “Y’know it's pretty big, and pretty sharp, I wonder how he doesn't bite himself with it? Or how he doesn't have a lisp, or maybe he can retract them but then when he talks it’s always out so I don't know if he can do that, we’ve kissed a couple of times but I didn't feel those things-”

“Okay whoa there,” She chuckles, walking towards you. “I get it, cool fangs, you’re curious about them,”

She places her hands on your shoulders, a grin on her lips. “That's what got you all distracted today?”

“Yeah… Sorry,”

“Oh don't be kid, I get it,” She nods, before giggling. “Not ‘get it’ get it, but you're in love, and love makes curiosity and wonder, and I get that,” She pats your arms.

“Bring that up with Miguel, would’ya?” She grinned, a mischievous glint behind her goggles. You blink, realizing she has started walking back to her bike. You chuckle, a steady blush spreading on your cheeks.

“Y-yeah, I will,” You smile, shooting out webs to bring the anomaly back while Jasicca rides into the portal first.

—

Once the anomalies are stored in their cells and boxes, Miguel debriefs the others while you were making sure each anomaly is accounted for.

“I think that's all, right Lyla?” You nod to her small figure sitting on your shoulder. She looks at one of her holograms before nodding.

“Yep! All here,” Her holograms disappear as she glitches and changes to your right shoulder. She suddenly leans in, a dangerous smirk on her face. “So that's what’s up huh?”

You groan, flinching your shoulder which makes her hologram change to stand in front of you. “Lyla you know I hate it when you listen in,”

“Hey I always listen in, y’know I’m online at all times,” She snickers. “Don't worry, your secret is safe with me,”

You huff, which makes her laugh as you roll your eyes. You glance at Miguel, still talking with the other spideys, those distracting fangs just barely visible between his soft lips.

“Sooo…” Lyla floats in front of you, again. “You plannin’ on saying anything?”

She can practically hear the gears in your head turning, before you sigh and remove your mask, adjusting your ruffled hair. “I suggest you stay offline tonight,”

Lyla spots the blooming red that spreads across your face, at which she giggles mischievously. “Okay, whatever you say,” She shrugs before glitching to your right. “I'll just hang out with Margo then,”

“Yeah, thanks Lyla,” A grateful smile on your lips. Lyla nods before she disappears and leaves you alone.

Miguel has finally wrapped off the debrief and sent the others to do what they please since today's mission is over. The other spideys wave their farewell to you as they pass, you reply while you walk closer to your boyfriend. Jesica passes you, a sly smirk on her lips, before she pats your shoulder. You give her a small smile before nodding, and she’s on her way.

Miguel’s back is turned, busy with his monitor, wrapping up the day. His head tilts a bit, as he notices you're walking toward him. You pull one of the stray chairs to Miguel's platform and as if instincts, he sat down just as you pushed it behind him. His eyes are still scanning the monitors but he turns slightly towards you as you lean on the consoles.

“Good job out there Miguel,” You smile, glancing at the screens.

“You too, as always,” His lips quirks, one arm rests on the chair while the other swipes at the screen. “Though I have seen some things we can improve on the teams. I haven't debriefed you yet like the others, so listen to me okay?”

You nodded, crossing your arms into a more relaxed tone. “Good, so according to team three we need to-”

And that's the last thing you hear before you turn to look at Miguel, catching that sharp glint of those fangs. Around you, Miguel usually lets his guard down, his way of letting you know he trusts you. So he talks more, his hands punctuate what needs to be punctuated, and those lips move wider. In other circumstances, listening to him would be easy, but with each word he spoke, a peak of those sharp fangs caught your attention instead. Miguel continues to point out the images on the screens, occasionally asking you a question to which you responded with a ‘Uhuh’ or ‘Yeah’. That seemed to satisfy Miguel until—

“-And that's to add the upgrades on your suit, what do you think?”

“Uhuh,”

“What?” Miguel retracts, tearing his eye away from the screens. “I asked about your suit?”

A beat passes, before you blink, realizing your boyfriend was staring, and shaking yourself out of the daze. “Huh? What did you ask?”

Miguel sighs, crossing his arms. Sadly those muscles adds another point to the distraction. “Were you even listening to me?”

He stiffens, watches as you stand in front of him, one arm on the chair's headrest, completely trapping him in. Slowly, your other hand moves up, and settles on his jaw. Throughout the months of dating you, Miguel has never seen this side of you, never seen how bold you could be. Steady hands cup his jaw, your thumb gliding across his lips, before you press slightly. As if a switch is flipped, Miguel inhales sharply and parts his lips, inclining his head when you hold his chin. Your thumb moves over his lower set of fangs, before suddenly followed by your other hand, pushing his mouth open to expose his upper, sharper fangs. His eyes flashes and brows furrows slightly, surprised at the sight of your rapt expression, eyes scanning him.

There's a hint of fondness behind those usually irritated gazes as he looks at you before he sighs and opens his mouth to continue his question before you were overcome with the sudden urge to see. You lean off of the console and approach your boyfriend. “Sorry, Miguel I just have to-”

“Fascinating…” You lean closer, taking pride in the way Miguels is stunned, practically crushing the armrest under his claws. Your index pushes at his upper jaw, letting you get an eyeful of that part of Miguel you’ve been dreaming about. It reflects the blue lights in the room, your eyes widen at it. Your thumb touches its start before gliding down to the pointed end, Miguel pants lightly. How would they feel against my skin?

Your eyes roam up to the prominent blush on Miguel's cheeks, the red in his irises shakes. Slowly, you bring him closer, one hand stays on his chin while the other moves behind his head. His eyes flutter as you press your lips against his, his gasp allows you to slide your tongue inside. Carefully, you trace that sharp fang, making Miguel grunt, his hand suddenly gripped your wrist, pulling apart.

“Don't- It’s dangerous,” He says between pants, the blush coloring his beautiful complexion.

“Paralysis, right?” You smirk, fingers playing at his curled strands. Miguel shivers then swallows hard. “How about we unwind from today,”

A glint in your eyes, watching as Miguel becomes putty between your hands, his blown-out pupils staring at you in reverence. You smirk, breath ghosting against his lips when you bring him closer again.

“Show me what those fangs do, baby,”

Reblogs appreciated! Requests are opened! <3

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grippingbeskar · 1 year

Text

coming home - simon ‘ghost’ riley

— simon ‘ghost’ riley x fem!reader

— warnings - adult content minors dni (18+) mxf, ghost has a filthy mouth, praise kink (?), pretty soft compared to all the ghost s*** out there tbh, slight description of injury and mentions of death. kinda sad ghost but he fucks it out :)

a/n: i have fallen down the ghost hole. just wanted some domestic shit, also the shower description is just something i want in my dream home so it’s self indulgent as fuck! hope you enjoy. xx (also shout-out to @dinahmadanimybeloved for the lil nudge in the right direction!! i appreciate u. xx)

He’s quiet, and that’s how you know somethings off. Most people think it’s just the way he is, being able to count on one hand the amount of words he’s spoken to them over the years. Ghost doesn’t talk unless he has to, or unless he gives enough of a fuck about whoever’s talking to him, which is rare these days. He could go hours without talking when he was away, a fact that always broke your heart a little.

The truth is, you can never get him to shut up. When he’s home, he’ll talk your ear off about anything. The dog he ran past that morning, the way you should organise your socks, how good you looked wearing his shirt. He was talkative, which is how you knew that something was wrong when he came home this time.

Being the biggest guy you knew, it amazed you how he could walk with such stealth. Even the floorboards seemed scared to creak under his frame as he came through the door. You shot up, nearly flying over the back of the couch. He wasn’t due home for another two weeks— you knew because you were supposed to pick him up from the airport. He was home early, and of course you were ecstatic, but then you saw his face, still covered in that bone white mask, and you knew it wasn’t all good news.

“Simon.” You whisper as you walk towards him. He’d closed the door behind him, locking it, but hadn’t moved from there. Usually you were both bursting with energy when he came home, excitement and adrenaline pumping through your bodies at the long awaited reunion. He was looking down at you, and when you finally stood close enough, one of his hands came up, gingerly cupping your face. “You’re home!”

“Hey, baby.” He says slowly, eyes holding yours. The hand he had behind his back touched your side, and you looked down, seeing about a dozen roses in a bouquet, stalks fisted in his gloved hand. “Got ‘em for you.”

“They’re gorgeous. Here—“ You take them, letting the sweet smell fill your senses and move quickly to put them in a vase on the counter— a spot reserved for whenever Simon brought you flowers. It seemed to be a constant thing, and it never failed to have you feeling like the luckiest girl in the world. “I love them. Thank-you.”

“‘Course.” The tone of his voice only confirms your suspicions about something being off, and it has your heart dropping through the floor.

“You should of told me you were coming home. I would of come picked you up!” You smile up at him, trying to gage where his mood is.

“Finished early. Thought I’d surprise you.” His hands come back to your face, holding your head up at the perfect angle. There was a significant height difference between you, so you were in a constant state of looking up at him.

“Did everything go… good?” You ask tentatively. He’d told you some of the things he’s done over there with the 141, but you always try not to pry. You know it’s brutal, and he sees the worst of the world, so when he trusts you with something, you take it to the grave. When he doesn’t, you don’t ask.

“No. Nothing did.” He says, still holding your face up to his. You bend up on your toes, pressing a soft kiss to the nose of his mask. “I just needed to see you.”

“I’m glad you’re home.” Your arms wrap around his back, pulling him closer. You press your face into his chest, sinking into the feeling of him being home. After so long, it never gets any easier. Watching him leave, never really knowing when he’d be back. If he was safe. “You want something to eat? I can make dinner.”

He shakes his head, gently pulling your face back from his chest. When your hands snake up his front, he just watches you. He hadn’t even changed out of his clothes— still had that black paint smudged across his eyes. He must of gotten straight on a plane after whatever he was doing had come to an abrupt end. Your fingertips brush his jaw, the bottom of his mask, and when you go to pull it up over his mouth and nose, he doesn’t stop you.

“Can I take it off?” You check, feeling how stiff he is under your hands. He nods once, and tilts his head, allowing you to pull it all the way off. “There you are.”

“I missed you.” He says simply, but the words pack such a punch when he looks like this. To an outsider he’s hard at nails, sharp and pointy and dangerous to get close to, but you see him under the paint and the body armour. “Missed you so fucking bad, baby.”

“Prove it.” You see a flash of his teeth, just the smallest hint of a smile, and your stomach does a backflip because it feels like a win. Then, he leans in, kissing you softly, with the care he would hold broken glass— hands guiding you forward and up, thumbs tracing gently along your cheek bones.

You sigh, nearly melting into his body. Your hands wrap around his neck, toying with the short hair that he’d cut while he was away. You always have to fix it for him when he comes home— he just hacks away at any hair hanging out of his mask, mostly getting frustrated and buzzing it off until he can get you to cut it again. When your fingertips scrape lightly along his skull, he groans into your mouth.

“Fuck.” He mutters as you catch his bottom lip between your teeth, careful to only apply a little bit of pressure. You were sure he was covered in enough painful marks as it was— you didn’t want to add to it. He leans down further, chasing your mouth, foreheads pressing together.

“You wanna talk about it?” He shakes his head then dips down, kissing your jaw, nose nudging you to the side to get better access to your neck. Your breathe hitches and you sigh his name, him smiling in response against your skin. You can feel the black smudge of his face paint slowly covering your own, like a trail of all the places he’s touched you.

“I only wanna hear you sayin’ my name like that. Don’t want to think about—“ You say his name again, drowning out the thoughts of whatever happened over there. That wasn’t now— he was here, and safe, and if he needed to be distracted, that’s exactly what you would give him.

“Need you to wash this paint off first.” You murmur, your voice a little lower than normal, making him almost shudder. You drop your hands from his neck, letting them fall slowly between your bodies before you loop your fingers in his belt buckle, walking backwards. “You’ll get me all dirty.”

“I would’a thought you’d like that.” He grabs a handful of your ass, nearly making you trip over as you step back, but he catches you easily and picks you up, your legs wrapping around his waist. He presses his paint covered face to yours, kissing your nose and face wherever he can reach, and you can’t help but laugh at how ridiculous you must look now, covered in smears of black.

“I do. Just want an excuse to see you naked.” You taunt in his ear as he finally reaches the shower and flicks it on, still fully clothed. “You buzzed your hair again.”

“You know I can’t do it right without you.” He puts you down, quickly ripping off his own shirt before reaching for the hem of yours.

He’s slower with it, the fabric brushing against your sides, giving you goosebumps. It doesn’t matter how many times you take your shirt off in front of him, he always looks just as dazed as he did the first time, and you always get just as nervous.

“You’re so fucking perfect, baby. Come ‘ere.”

He pulls you fully under the stream of the shower. It’s one of your favourite places in your shared house— a giant shower head that let the water fall as fine as rain, with enough space for his giant body not to have to bend at awkward angles to wash his hair (when he had some). It was also well big enough for the both of you, a feature you both utilised every morning and night you spent together.

He works at your shorts next, easily slipping you out of the now wet cotton, leaving you just in a set of underwear. They weren’t particularly cute— like you said, you would normally dress up for him to come home, but he wasn’t due for two weeks. Simon didn’t seem to mind, hands running wildly over your body, eyes on fire. You were starting to see him clearer now, the paint running off his face and down his bare chest in shadowed droplets.

“God, Simon…” You lean back just an inch, seeing the new marks on his chest and shoulder. A new bullet wound in the right arm. A gash that extends all the way up his left side. It still looked like it was healing— the stitches must of only come out a few days ago.

“I’m okay.” He says, kissing your collarbone.

“I don’t like when you get hurt.” You whimper, feeling his strong hands grab your hips, pushing your underwear down. “Are you sure—“

“Let me take your mind off it.” He leans down further, kissing your chest, and then drops completely, landing on his knees in front of you. He was so tall that he still needed to bend lower to kiss his way down, feeling his lips press softly on your hip bones, then your stomach. “Look at you. Such a pretty girl.”

He taps your inner thigh with two fingers, a silent command. You follow, spreading your legs slightly. He’s not satisfied, hooking one leg over his shoulder while the other is pinned between him and the wall. At this point you weren’t even holding yourself up— the display of brute strength making your head feel fuzzy.

“Dreamt about this.” He kisses closer, skin that hasn’t been touched in weeks nearly sparking under his manipulation. “Out on base. Couldn’t keep this pussy out of my head.”

“Simon, please.” You beg shamelessly. You have no pride when it comes to him, not when he’s holding you like this, reducing you to putty in his hands before he’s even really touched you.

“Never leaving this house again.” His words nearly get lost between your thighs. You arch your back to encourage him, but he holds you flat. “Gonna keep you here forever. Right here, just like this.”

“Simon.”

“You’d let me, wouldn’t you? You’d say my name all pretty like that and let me do whatever I wanted.” You were nodding furiously, hands finding little purchase in his short hair but it was all you could do to get him closer— “Want you to ride my face. Give me everything you’ve got.”

“Okay, please… please just—“

“What, baby?”

“Fucking touch me, Simon. Please.” You know he doesn’t respond to bad manners, so you throw as many around as you can. He smiles between your legs, kissing your thigh once more before you lose sight of his now clean face, burying himself in your pussy. “Fuck!”

He’s no stranger to eating you out— he always tells you how much he loves it, like it’s a reward for him. He always makes you see stars, too, but right now, the way he’s practically taking you apart from the middle out, it wasn’t like anything you’ve felt before. He keeps one hand on your hip, pinning you under him, the other slipping a finger inside of you, working in perfect tandem with his mouth.

You can’t decide what it is, but fuck— maybe it’s the water, how soft it falls on the both of you, combined with the overwhelming feeling of having Simon back early and safe— it was having a physical affect on you. Weak knees that were taking none of your weight in them, choked gasps of his name— your eyes roll back in your head before long, hips bucking wildly against his hold as your whole body shudders with pleasure.

“God— so fucking good for me, princess.” He says, taking a second to pull back and admire how strung out you look before diving back into you. His gaze never leaves you then, watching as your face contorts with every glide of his tongue over your clit, or how every time he moves his hand just right your whole body jolts. He seeks it out again and again, and you can feel him smiling underneath you, watching you writhe as liquid heat spreads all the way through your veins, carrying pleasure to every nerve ending you had.

It was an entire body experience, and you couldn’t even keep your eyes open anymore. You let him get rougher, at some point hooking your other leg over his shoulder, so you were completely suspended in the air. Your thighs clamped around his head, trapping him in position as you neared your high, and Simon only gripped you tighter, his hands kneading the flesh of your ass. He held you hard, in a way that you knew would leave the good kind of bruise, and the image only sky rocketed your state.

“Don’t stop, Si. Fuck— you’re so good, so fucking good, I… ah—“ You cut yourself off when he groans— really groans into you, and you feel him switch gears at the praise. He must like hearing it, how good he is at this. How good he makes you feel. While you still have the ability to talk, you keep going— anything to get him not to stop. “You feel so good, Simon. Gonna make me c— oh fuck, right there.”

You feel the stretch of two of his thick fingers, easing you open, and you know it’s out of your control. There’s an electric feeling in your stomach you don’t recognise, bordering on too much of a good thing. You almost don’t want to fall into it, but Simon, with his talented hands and mouth that’s never satiated, you wouldn’t get much of a choice. Your brain couldn’t move your legs anymore, only able to blank out and take it— take all of what Simon was so desperate to give you, and who were you not to indulge your man?

“C’mon, princess. Let me see you… just let go. Want it so bad, pretty girl.” The pet names, his tongue lapping at your sensitive nerves, his fingers curling inside of you— there was no way to avoid the plummet into overwhelming pleasure, Simons hands being the only thing holding you to the real world.

You cum with a choke of his name, and a string of indiscernible words babble out of your mouth. You hear Simon saying something, but it sounds so far off, your only focus on that feeling. He doesn’t stop, still buried inside of you as close as he can, and he doesn’t let up until your physically clawing at him, flinching away from the lap of his tongue.

You feel wrung out— like you’d just been suffocated and were slowly coming back to consciousness. It was possible you really did pass out, if you were honest. Simon was still holding you up easily, hands now holding your thighs to his shoulders, eyes wide and staring at you in fascination.

“Holy fuck, baby. That was fucking… you are so hot.” Out of breath and energy you manage to burst out laughing at his compliment, feeling yourself slowly sliding down the wall of the shower. Everything felt like jelly, but as Simon bent down to kiss you, your hand brushed against his boxers, and you tugged at them. “Yeah? You want me to fuck you now, baby?”

“Mmm.” You hum, body still twitching from the aftershocks of the biggest orgasm of your life. You tug harder at the seam of his boxers, and he kisses your forehead.

“Shh. Take a minute.” Your eyebrows furrow together, feeling a little juvenile in your fuzzy state.

“Please, Si. I’ve waited so long for this. Please, just…” You slip the fabric over his cock, already hard and waiting, and duck your hand under to stroke him gently. He swears, shuddering under your soft touch. “Don’t make me wait.”

“Turn around, princess.” He breathes, and you smile victoriously, getting another laugh out of him. “Fuckin’ insatiable.”

“Only for you.” He helps you get onto all fours, rough palms of his hands smoothing over your ass and lower back.

“Mhmm. Mine, aren’t you?” You nod, feeling him lean down to kiss your shoulder blades before you feel his cock, sliding between your legs and settling at your entrance. He gives you a second or two— it always takes you a while to adjust to the pure size of him when he gets home. You’d never say it, but you hope you never get used to it. A bit of pain with the pleasure he rings from you seems a fair trade for all the dirty things he says when he finally enters you.

You push back against him, making him hiss as a little more of his length disappears into you. He lightly smacks your ass just once and you arch into the touch. He’s never been one to throw you around, not wanting to even think about the possibility of hurting the one good thing he has in this life— but he can’t help but be memorised by the way you react when he treats you a little tougher. He does it again, and hearing your moan is apparently the last thing he needs to bottom out behind you.

You both sigh— finally feeling each other this way. There was something to be said about the first fuck when he came home. It was so much more than that. It was like something from a movie, how they called it making ‘love’. You’d always thought it one and the same— until you met Simon. He starts slow, purposeful as he drove his hips back and forth in a pace that had you feeling dizzy after just a few thrusts. He was so strong without even knowing, you had to smack your hand to the wall to keep from sliding away every-time his hips collided with yours. He hit spots inside of you you never knew you had until you met him, and it was borderline embarrassing how quickly you felt that ball of pleasure in your stomach tighten— preparing for release.

“So tight. Always t-take me so fuckin’ good. Jesus Christ.” Hearing Simon Riley stumble over his words was the ego boost of the century.

“Just like that, Si. Fuck.” You feel one of his hands sliding up higher, touching any part of you he could reach— hands brushing over your side, your tits, reaching up to tangle in your hair. When he pulls slightly it has you squeezing your eyes shut, the combination of his touch all over you making you dizzy.

He starts to come back to himself, talking constantly as he drives his hips harder and faster. Constant praises come out in a low, raspy voice, only interrupted by you chorusing them back to him. It had always been like this with him, the filter between his brain and mouth broken as soon as he got inside you, leading to a string of compliments too dirty to repeat anywhere else— but it was the hottest fucking thing in the world to you.

“C-can’t last much longer, princess. S’feels too good.” He slurs, and you look over your shoulder. His shoulders are completely relaxed, jaw slack and eyes half open, and there’s none of that stiffness from before when he came home. Now, he was in his element, not thinking about whatever went wrong on the outside— he was just here with you.

“Fuck, gonna cum, Simon— just a little m-fuck.” You didn’t have to tell him, he knows your body better than you do, and when his hand slips under your hips so that he can circle your clit in soft, quick movements, your arms drop out from under you as pleasure overwhelms you. This time, you’re pretty sure you do pass out, the only thing you can hold onto in that in-between is Simons voice.

“There it is. Fuck—yes… yes. Fuck!” He swears the whole way through as he cums, and you feel him pull out at the last second, warmth spreading over your ass and lower back. You try to pick yourself up, giving him a pretty picture, but your body is so weak that you just stay right where he puts you. His free hand grips your waist, keeping the backs of your thighs pressed to the front of his.

The water was still running a warm stream over the both of you, and when Simon’s orgasm wrings out the last few jolts of pleasure, he’s just as fucked out as you are. All but collapsing over the top of you, he keeps himself up with one arm, the other wrapping underneath both your bodies. He kisses along the back of your shoulder blades, murmuring praise into your skin.

“Baby… baby. Missed you.” He repeats, and you turn your head, finding the strength to hold yourself up a little to kiss him. Once he knows your starting to come back, he switches positions, using the arm underneath you to hold you to him as he leans himself against the wall of the shower, your back tucked to his chest.

“Missed you more.” You look up, finding him staring down at you. He smiles then, and your still a little dazed but he just looks so good when he smiles— “I love you.”

“I love you.” He repeats.

It might just be the heat of what you just did mixed with the warm stream of water above you, but you swear he blushes. No matter how many times you say it to each other, he still reacts like that. You both sit in silence for a little, your body now tired and slumping against him, held up by his arms wrapped around your middle, holding you tightly.

“You scared me a little, when you came home.” You say softly, your hands tracing along his forearm. “I never know how to make it all okay— I can’t make it okay.”

“You just gotta be here. That’s all I need.” His head dips to lean down, leaning on your shoulder.

“I will be. Always.” You say, never meaning anything more. It’s been years of you knowing Simon, just a little less than that being his, but you know this is it for you. Even when you first met him, you knew you’d always be there when he came home— waiting for him.

“We… we lost some good people this time. Just makes me think.” He hugs you closer, feeling his hands splay out in your sides. “This guy got caught in the crossfire, I don’t know what happened, but I watched them tell his girlfriend. She just lost it.”

You swallow hard, hearing his voice crack.

“The boys said they found her photo in his wallet. A ring, too. Was gonna propose.”

“Jesus.” He nods, head still firmly tucked into the crook of your neck. “I’m so sorry.”

“I had to get out, come home for a bit after this one. I don’t want… there’s so much stuff I need to do, stuff I want to tell you about, and if I didn’t make it back—“

“Don’t think like that. You’ll always come home. You promised me you would.” Your throat tightens, trying your best not to cry at a time like this. You couldn’t help it when he spoke like that.

“I know, baby. I just mean…” He takes in a long breath, then looks up, tilting your head so he could look you in the eye. “I don’t wanna leave here without you knowing how much I— that I…”

“I know.” You let your fingertips drag softly along his jaw, but he shakes his head.

“No, I… fuck— I’m sorry.” You sit up, a little worried about where this is going. His hands leave your waist, holding your face in the same gentle way he did when he came home. “It just… you deserve so much, and I want to give it to you. The whole flight over— longer than that, I’ve been thinking about asking you something. I just don’t know how.”

“You can ask me anything.” Kneeling between his legs, your hands press to his chest, feeling the racing of his heart. You lean forward, kissing him, telling him all the words you can’t fit into the moment. Whatever he takes from it seems to be enough— because as well as he knew you, you knew him too. He pulls away, and when he does, you don’t see any traces of the man people seem to fear, or hate.

You just see him.

You nearly hold your breath in anticipation, watching as his eyes flit between your mouth and your eyes.

“Simon.” You say again, and his eyes flutter closed. Then he pulls you forward, and utters two words that shift your entire world on its axis.

“Marry me.”

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