Simon Forgets How Strong He Is

SALE OF A LIFETIME !

status: in progress

you were in dire need of some cash - a lot of it and quickly. so you decided to post an ad auctioning up the only thing of value you could think of; your virginity. unsurprisingly, a fair amount of men pounced at the opportunity. but you only have one virginity to give away.

all that's left is to pick the one.

i. simon riley - LET ME THANK YOU !

ii. john mactavish - SURPRISE, SURPRISE !

iii. kyle garrick - SWEET AS PIE !

iv. john price - CHIVALRY AINT DEAD !

v. könig - BUT WE SHOULDN'T !

all rights belong to rowarn. do not repost to other websites, reblogs are welcome!

*titles may be subject to change!

Ghost who breaks things off with his sorceress FWB when she starts to catch feelings. She's vindicative but sworn to do no harm, and in a rage she curses him into a stuffed toy of himself.

True love, as always, will break the curse, and she's satisfied that Ghost will be miserable for a very, very long time.

Enter you.

The skeleton plush you find at the second hand shop is cute. A little dusty, like it had sat for a while, but soft and stuffed full still, and nothing you can't clean up.

It's an impulse buy.

Ghost wants to stew in his anger, but how can he, when a pretty soft thing like you sleeps with him every night?

When you slip between the sheets in your pink pajamas and crush his polyester face to your bare breasts on a bad day?

He thinks there are worse punishments to bear. He just wishes he could fuck you happy, take the nipple shoving into his face between his teeth until you writhe and beg him to touch you, troubles forgotten.

Watching you cry is the worst, when he can't move, and he can see that you're lonely and need someone to lean on.

He wants to wrap his arms around you and shelter you from the storm.

He stops thinking quite so much about how good sex with you would be, and starts thinking about how he'd like to take care of you.

He'll never be loved like this, not the way the sorceress meant when she'd cast the curse, and it's not fair, but he slowly falls for you anyway, spends his days while you're away fantasizing about how he could make you happy, the life you two could have.

Jokes on him, though, and his ex. There's no purer love than that between a girl and her comfort plush.

Your end of the bargain was sealed months ago.

When he finally crosses that last hurdle one night, he's sitting propped between your legs listening to you sniffle over a romcom. He admits at last to himself he's fallen for you, and the curse snaps.

And suddenly there's a full grown man in your lap.

This is going to take some explaining.

We're dreaming big - prologue here

call me little sunshine

-summary: you come home for summer break to find a new man has moved in next door, he’s charming and mysterious so you welcome him to the neighbourhood

-simon ‘ghost’ riley x innocent fem!reader

-warnings: mdni 18+, dark themes, slight stalker!ghost, dub con, corruption, masturbation (fem), unprotected p-in-v, fingering, creampie, dumbification kinda, size kink, dom!ghost, orgasm denial, ghost has a filthy mouth, spit play if you squint, loss of virginity, oral (fem rec), mention of alcohol, mention of scars, age gap (reader is in 20s, ghost is in 30s)

next part masterlist

a/n: this is pure smut with plot and I regret nothing, this fic contains dark themes so please be advised, also not proofread.

The air was thick, its humidity almost choking you as the sound of thick waves lapping on the beach overtook your hearing, the hot June sun welcoming you as you stepped out onto the porch. You loved being home, even if it was only for a few months, you missed the simplicity of being there, no coursework to worry about, no job weighing on your mind just cold lemonade and swimming in the ocean.

As you situate yourself on your porch, book in hand your eye is caught by the sight of a large broody man moving boxes next door, your dad hadn’t told you that anyone new was moving in, you didn’t even know the previous owners had left, shame, you really liked them, you shake him from your mind and return to your book, settling in against the soft seat cushion.

You read for a while before feeling yourself grow thirsty, moving to the kitchen of the house to find something to drink, as you look out the window above the sink you see him again, only this time he’s not wearing a shirt, it’s tucked into the band of his jeans, every sweat covered muscle gleaming in the sunlight. Your eyes linger on his form before he catches you, stopping what he was doing and giving you a polite smile, you feel your cheeks blush as you return the sentiment with a shy wave, moving out of view to set your back against the wall.  Your skin was hot, you figured it had to be from the weather outside deciding to change into something a little more comfortable for the weather, returning outside in a short white dress, patterned with small bumble bees, it sat low on your chest with thin straps that tied into little knots, perfect for the warm weather.

You glance over toward your car, noticing it could use a little cleaning, grabbing a few rags and making your way over, you lean over the hood, dousing the mental in soapy water, moving around, scrubbing different spots, you stand up, legs drenched in water as you hose down the vehicle.

“You’ll have to clean mine sometime” you hear from behind you, turning your head to see him, he’s practically glowing, you have to raise a hand to the sun just to look at him, he’s close, close enough that you can make out every groove of muscle, every scar that littered his toned form, the only thing you can’t make out is the dark ink that decorated his forearm.

“My truck is pretty dirty” he says breaking your trance.

“Oh,” you laugh

“Guess that happens during a move” He gestures toward a large stack of boxes.

You stifle a laugh, “Yeah doesn’t look great”

He smiles, it’s bright and genuine, “I’m Simon” extending a large hand toward you, you smile raising your hands to show the dirty water on them as he laughs, grabbing yours, enveloping it, lightly running a thumb over the skin, the simple contact making you swallow a lump in your throat.

“Right well, I should probably go shower”

He releases your hands, looking at the wetness on his palm that had transferred, watching your dress blow slightly in the wind, threatening to give him a peek at your ass, taunting him, he clicks his tongue before returning to his own work.

The shower does little to soothe you, a growing sensation in your lower stomach as you enter your room, towel-clad body moving around to pick out comfy clothes, it was nearing nightfall, the sound of cicadas echoing outside your open window, remnants of the sunset bathing your bedroom in a warm glow, you huff a breath to yourself, resting on your bed, hips wiggling a bit trying to ease the gentle thrum between your legs, you try to distract yourself with a book but with every turn of the page you find your mind wandering to him, his broad form glowing in the sun, the gleam of his smile, his dark eyes that stared into your soul. Putting your book to the side you gently move your fingers down your body, ghosting over the hem of your panties, teasing ever so slightly before dipping below the band, gentle fingers circling over your clit. You elicit a quiet moan, not used to the sensation, you continue circling as your jaw falls slack, free hand coming to cup at your breast under your shirt, you quicken your pace, back arching off the bed as whispers of moans fall from your open lips, images of your neighbour flashing before your eyes, you imagine his fingers, rough, roaming over your skin, teasing over your sensitive bud as you feel the coil in your stomach tighten, you grip the sheets as your orgasm washes over you, whimpers of his name falling from your tongue. You lay in your bed breathless, turning over in your bed as sleep takes over your mind.

You woke early the next morning, your skin covered in a thin layer of sweat as the heat creeps in through your window, you rub your eyes and move to get dressed, you had to go into town and it was hot again today, you settled on a simple skirt and tank top, something that would let your skin breath as you packed your bag, bidding your Dad a good morning before getting into your car. Your errands took longer than expected, a harsh rain setting over the terrain as you pulled into your driveway, you catch a glimpse of Simon on his porch, a glass of whiskey in hand as he watched the rain fall, offering him a small smile before making your way to the door, digging through your bag to find your keys, panic setting in when you realized they were nowhere to be seen, you peer through the window, willing someone inside to appear and let you in, out of the pouring rain, but no one’s there. Defeated you turn your back against the wall, huffing a breath.

“Locked out?” you hear him call, standing in the safety of his covered entrance.

“Yeah, forgot my keys inside”

“Did you want to wait inside mine?” he offers

You think for a minute, “No that’s alright, I can handle a little rain” you laugh

“You’re gonna catch a cold” he states plainly

You mull it over in your mind, you really didn’t want to be standing in the rain, you nod and make your way over to him, you miss the way his eyes linger on your form, your clothes soaked, clinging to your skin, allowing him the perfect view of your breasts and ass.

“Here come inside”

The two of you step inside, you look around the room, it’s not heavily decorated but small trinkets litter the shelves, a couple plaques hung around the room.

“Wait here, I’ll get you some dry clothes”

You remain still in your spot, and he returns with a small stack of clothes.

“Bathrooms over there doll”

You smile before making your way, his eyes glued to your curves, watching the way your hips move as you walk away. You close the door, stripping your clothes before throwing on the ones he had given you, no doubt belonging to him considering the way they hung loosely on your body, your hair was drenched but there was nothing you could do about it. You return to him standing at the bar,

“Give me those” he says hand extending to the mess of wet clothes in your hand, taking them from you to throw them in the dryer.

“You can sit if you’d like” he points toward the couch across the room,

Smiling at him before making your way over, he follows, propping himself right next to you, you can feel the heat emanating from his body as he reaches an arm to rest behind your head.

“So you just moved in?” you try to make conversation

He takes a swig of his drink turning to face you, “About a week ago, it’s a nice spot”

You nod, “I grew up here, parents moved when I was 4”

“Mmm I didn’t see you when I moved in”

“I just got back from school, summer break”

“Ah, university?” he asks, innocently enough

“Yea, I’m studying history”

“Interesting stuff”

You nod in response,

“I’ve got some old books upstairs, unpublished works from people who’s names I can’t pronounce”

“Where’d you find them?” slight smile creeping onto your face

“Can’t remember, wanna check them out?”

You nod as he guides you up the stairs, leading you into a small study, a sizeable bookshelf sits in the corner, beside a large grey safe.

“What’s in the safe” you turn to face him, he’s leaning against the doorway pinning you under his stare.

“Nothing you need to worry about doll”

You blush at the nickname, he moves across the room picking out an old leather bound book and handing it to you, his fingers ghosting over yours, the contact sends chills up your spine.

“I haven’t read this one” you say shyly

“Well it’s yours anytime you want it” he says, fingers roaming up your bare arms, your eyes are locked on his, body frozen from the contact.

“Can I ask you a question?” he says, leaning down to place his lips next to your ear, his English accent suddenly thicker, his words drenched in honey, you nod, unable to think of words. “Do you like teasing me”, you quirk your eyebrow,

“Huh?”

He smiles against your neck, his hot breath making your hairs stand on end,

“The tiny dresses, the practically see through tops, bending over right in front of me”

You’re confused, “I don’t know what you’re talking about." He bites at your neck causing a small moan to fall from your lips,

“I think you know exactly what I’m talking about love”

You shake your head, “No I swear-” your words cut short at the feeling of his palms roaming under your loose top, coming to rest under the curve of your breasts, your breath hitches as you feel the pad of his thumb come to swipe over your hard nipple.

“Think you can get away with it hmm, making me hard, serving yourself up on a platter for me”

Your eyes flick to his, “I wasn’t- I didn’t mean to”

He shushes you, his hands moving down to grab at the meat of your ass as he presses his body into you, the firm contact of his length pressing against your thigh making you drop the book in your hands.

“S’alright doll, I’ll give you what you need”

You clench your eyes as you feel his hand cup your sex,

“Tsk, no panties, and you tell me you aren’t teasing”

“Th- they were wet”

“Mm so are you” He strokes two fingers through your slit, grazing your clit, forcing your head to fall forward against his shoulder as your hands grip his shirt. He teases over your clit, as you try to grind yourself onto his palm, desperate for contact.

“Needy girl” he whispers, kissing at your pulse point, he slides a finger into you, groaning at the way you clench him.

“Fuck you’re tight, gonna have to work you open for me huh” He grins a sadistic grin, peering at your scrunched face. He continues fucking you with one finger, his rough palm colliding with your clit, creating the perfect mixture of contact that has you teetering on the edge. As you’re about to tip off the edge he removes his hand, earning a whine from you, whimpering at the loss of contact, the heat still burning in your lower stomach.

“Stand up for me pretty girl”

You do as he says, feeling his arms grip under your knees, easily lifting you from the ground to plant you on the desk, kissing at your collarbone as he finds the hem of your shirt, lifting it over your head. The cool air grazes your skin as goosebumps begin to form, you watch him with doe eyes as he sinks down, lips latching onto your nipple, his hand coming to toy with the other, he sucks your nipple in, biting it lightly earning a gasp from you as he moves to give the same treatment to the other. He sucks at the valley of your breasts as he moves to take off your pants, urging you to lift up a little so he can slide them off, he moves back, hands spreading your legs as he’s looking at your dripping pussy.

“Such a perfect little cunt” he says, placing soft kisses to the inside of your thighs before licking a stripe through your folds, stopping at the top to tease over your sensitive bud, you instinctively clamp your legs, he grips your thighs, spreading your legs wide allowing him to kneel directly in front of you, the sensation is too much, you’re a mess of moans and whimpers, that familiar heat boiling in your stomach as you clench around nothing, he studies your movements, detaching himself at the last second to bring you slowly back from the edge, you try to grab his head to move him back but he stands firm.

“You’ll cum when I want you to”

You whimper,

“Tell me what you want baby”

You force the words from your throat, "I want to cum”

“Use your manners”

“Please, let me cum”

He smirks, fingers pinching at your nipples, bringing his fingers back to your leaking hole, you moan at the stretch, he pumps slowly, easing you into it as he watches your face contort with pleasure before latching his lips back to your clit. He pumps his fingers into you quicker, your moans growing louder, he bites lightly at your bud at you elicit a yelp, replacing his fingers with his tongue, his thumb circling over your clit, you’re so close you could scream.

“Come on baby, cum on my tongue, taste so good” His praise dries you forward, your hands gripping his hair as your back arches, your orgasm taking over your body, a blinding white light obstructing your view as your moans fall from your open mouth.

“Good girl,” he says, moving up to kiss you harshly, “taste that baby? so sweet”

Your breath is heavy, your mind clouded from your orgasm, you feel weightless as he picks you up, laying you back against the desk.

“Wait” you manage, “I’ve never”, his smirks grows

“Aw baby, are you a virgin”

You nod sheepishly, his mind floods with a million ideas, but right now, he has to feel you. He climbs over your body stripping himself of his clothes, your eyes come into contact with his hard length, widening at the sight.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle” he coos, tip teasing at your folds, he grabs your knees, spreading you wide forcing your body against the mattress as he holds you under his weight, even if you wanted to fight back you couldn’t, body weak from his touch. He pushes in slowly, just the tip at first, watching as your eyes squeeze shut.

“Look at me, wanna watch you as my cock splits you open”

You follow his command, scared of what might happen if you didn’t, as he pushes in further, the stretch of him practically tearing you in half,

“Fuck baby not even half way and you’re squeezin me so tight”

You moan at his words as he continues to press into you inch by inch before bottoming out,

“That’s it baby, just relax”

His thrusts are shallow and slow, easing you into it as your hands cling to his shoulders, he pushes in deep as your back arches, your clit grazing against his pubic hair. He places a firm hand on your lower stomach,

“Fuck, you see that doll” You glance down at where your bodies meet, “Can practically see myself inside you”

Your body fights against the intrusion, the pain of him pressing against your cervix, you’re writing under him but he leans down to cage you against the bed as he starts fucking into you faster. You’re breathless, careless moans slip from your mouth.

“You feel so good, don’t think I’m gonna be able to stop myself”

You moan in response and he laughs, “Only had my cock for a minute and already can’t talk, you cockdrunk baby,” he says, hand grabbing at your jaw to hold it open before leaning up to spit in your mouth, 

“Swallow it” he orders, and you do, the remnants of his whiskey linger, burning your throat as he continues fucking you at a relentless pace, your muscles are weak as he moves back, gripping your thighs tight to your chest, holding you down with his weight.

“I’m gonna fill this little pussy, let everyone know you’re mine” he grunts

You shake your head, trying to tell him no but it comes out as mumbles,

“Shit I’m sorry love, just feels too good”

You claw at him but he persists, long strokes filling you as his balls slap against the skin of your ass,

“Squeezin me so tight, m’gonna cum”

Your attempts at refusal are useless as his balls tighten, pressing himself deep into you as the warm sensation floods your abused hole, fucking into you a few more times making sure you got every last drop before pulling out, he steps back to examine his work, pressing a finger into you,

“Gotta make sure it all stays in”

You groan at the intrusion, the contact making you twitch slightly, he moves beside you placing a kiss on your head,

“Did so well angel”

Your body is jello, limbs exhausted as he holds you tight to him, moving you to the bed across the hall. You don’t know when you fell asleep but you wake up and he’s gone, the remnants of his spend leaking from your sensitive cunt, as you try to get up, noticing the pile of clothes set next to the bed, you dress carefully, trying to maintain your balance and making your way down the stairs, noticing his broad form sat on one of the porch chairs, you creep your way to him, standing by his side.

“Better get home pretty girl, Daddy’s back,” he says nodding towards your father's car in the driveway, your throat is dry, as you walk back to your home, you feel his eyes glued to you, you feel like his prey. You step inside and are greeted by your parents asking about your day, your mind freezes,

“Are you alright honey?”

You take a minute, “Yeah just, super tired I guess, I’m gonna head upstairs” sparing them a smile before making your way to your room, you step into the shower trying to wash everything off you, the warm water soothes your body before you step out, looking at your form in the mirror, noticing a deep purple mark between your breasts, running a light hand over it. You change into pyjamas and settle into bed, your mind is tired, your body is tired, you toss and turn trying to get comfortable, cringing at the feeling of Simon's seed still spilling from you, you turn over in your bed, clenching your eyes shut hoping you were simply imagining him as once again sleep takes over your body.

Imagine Ghost genuinely caring about you but struggling to offer comfort when you’re sad.

He senses that something’s bothering you but can’t figure out what. Not only that, but he doesn’t know how to handle such things in a delicate manner.

He tries to get you to open up in his own way, though. He cracks a couple of jokes, to which you manage to smile—they weren’t very good—but that frown doesn’t disappear. He even mentions that you seem “gutted”, a comment you brush off, insisting that you’re—you guessed it—“fine.”

He weighs his options and considers asking you what’s wrong, yet he’s afraid this will result in either a dismissive “nothing” or an overwhelming flood of emotions he isn’t prepared to handle.

He even thinks of jokingly telling you to “stop being a downer,” but he predicts that such a remark would backfire, and rightfully so.

He doesn’t like prying into people’s personal lives. He hates it when others do that to him. And he can’t just openly hug you and reassure you that everything will be okay. That’s not how he operates. He wants to identify the problem so he can target it and provide you with a solution. He wants to help you, not just soothe you.

And then one day, he passes you while you’re sitting on the staircase, taking a break. He nods at you and heads straight to Price.

He starts vaguely expressing his concern about you. Price, on the other hand, wants specifics about the problem, but Ghost doesn’t have any because he never asked. All he knows is that you’ve been sad for quite a while, and he can’t bear to see you that way. But, instead of saying that to Price, he takes a different approach. He begins reporting your “misdeeds,” implying something is wrong with you.

“They barely fulfil their duties; they skipped training yesterday, and all they do in their spare time is sit somewhere, holding their head like this,” he explains, mimicking the stance he saw you in earlier.

Price asks if you’re slacking off, which could cause problems given your responsibilities. Ghost replies with a firm “negative; they are pretty attentive. They’re just not jolly about it.”

And Price looks at him, puzzled, like, “Jolly? What do you mean, jolly? Nobody is jolly while performing routine tasks.”

Ghost starts to get agitated and urges Price to take action. Price, for his part, picks up on Ghost’s concerns and agrees to speak with you.

However, Ghost has two conditions.

“Don’t tell them who reported it, and please let me know what’s bothering them. You know, so that I can take the necessary actions.”

cotton candy clouds | masterlist

Synopsis: Due to his rank, status, and many combat achievements, Lieutenant Riley is assigned an emotional support hybrid by the brass; whether he likes it or not.

Pairing: handler!Simon 'Ghost' Riley x dog!hybrid!fem!Reader

Warnings/Info: 18+ MDNI | Reader is a purebred Samoyed (dog)hybrid. Despite ears, tails, and their adapted nature/instincts/personalities, hybrids have human features. | bimbo!Reader; hypersexuality; body dysmorphic disorder; dom/sub elements; slow-burnish; past trauma; heavy smut; tw: past (sexual) abuse/manipulation; cussing; fluff/domesticity; humour; (forced) breeding; pregnancy trope; angst; hurt/comfort; eventual romance; strangers to lovers; dub-con elements (Please mind the warnings for each chapter!)

☁ part 1; surprise

☁ part 2; pity

☁ part 3; no take-backsies

☁ part 4; medium rare

☁ part 5; wretched urges

Underground fighter Ghost x reader

3.3k | smut, light bondage The fighter in the balaclava caught you wet handed

Who knew the top floor of the most expensive hotel in the city was an underground fighting ring.

You blinked when your cousin told you, stars in her eyes as she patted her boyfriend’s thick bicep. You’d heard all about it, about people getting absolutely beaten, injured beyond repair in the aftermath. Sure, he made quite the money from fighting, but you didn’t understand why he’d risk his life like that.

It took you a few months to realise that after the nights he came home battered, your cousin would flinch away from you. Shoulders up to her ears, she’d pull down her sleeves that had already gone past her palms, avoiding your eyes.

It was then you wished the bastard would quit his bouncer job and fought full time. The more he fought, the sooner he simply… wouldn’t return home. So when she invited you to his fight that night, you weren’t going to pass up on the small chance of watching him get beaten to a pulp.

While he won his first fight, he didn’t last long at all in the second against an opponent bigger than him. When he fell backwards with a thud from a particularly hard blow, next to you, your cousin gasped. You couldn’t say you sympathised. Motherfucker had it coming.

The crowd cheered as the referee started his count above the coughing meat. When his limp body was hauled off, your cousin broke out of her trance and rushed to the door of the arena with a sob. Blood poured out of his nose, smeared as his feet dragged through it on the white floor of the ring.

You figured she was off tending to him and would soon leave the hotel even when he didn’t warrant the attention. No matter. You remained in place among the crowd. You’d dressed up, and his departure was no reason to end the night early. Also, you probably wouldn’t experience anything like this again.

Waiters in crisp shirts distributed another wave of champagne and dainty finger food in wait of the next and final fight. Did it make you a sadist, that seeing the bastard get thumped brought you unbridled joy and made the blood pump in your veins? That satisfaction bubbled in you when his mouthpiece flew out of him after the finishing blow, knowing he deserved it?

No wonder people paid bank to watch these fights.

You didn’t have a chance to mull your feelings over, because soon, the crowd erupted. The reigning champion, Ghost, entered the ring in his black balaclava to face the winner of the previous round.

He shrugged off his black satin robe, revealing his threatening physique along with his sleeve tattoo and the black boxing shorts that hung low on his hips. A perfect contrast to his milky skin. He didn’t have defined abs, but even under the deceivingly soft layer, he was solid.

He rolled his shoulders, his back, the right half of it covered in burn scars, rippled with the movement. If you thought the last winner was big, well, he didn’t look like he stood much a chance against Ghost.

You’d witnessed the damage he could do, but it was anybody’s guess what Ghost was capable of. It was sick, like watching someone on his last mission, but he wouldn’t have been here if he didn’t have it in him. You found yourself rooting for the underdog.

The round started. The underdog put up the fight of his life, movements frantic while Ghost remained calm and calculating. Between jabs, his arms remained in front of his face, muscles bunching and rippling at his opponent’s impact.

Maybe it was the alcohol, or the guilt that simmered from watching the act before you that lit your body on fire. Ghost’s feet were nimble as he dodged the attacks, like he was amusing his challenger, taking his time playing with his food.

The clock ticked away above the arena. The dance went on for the entire around without any meaningful attacks landing when you knew full well Ghost could have ended it. If he wanted to.

Thinking of the sheer power he reserved in his body sent chills down your spine. He could lift you with no problems at all, and more, you decided.

Your gaze followed him as the fighters returned to their corners for their two minute break. He scanned the audience, and when his hard eyes met yours, your heart skipped a beat. The eye contact lingered a moment too long before you could look away.

The next round started. The underdog seemed to have shaken off his panic, more precise now in his attacks, some of which were successful. Ghost, though, continued to dodge and block instead of going on the offense even well into the third round.

Was this a courtship display? Males parading their superiority over others, a promise of security. Whatever it was, it was working. You couldn’t tear your gaze off him.

The announcer proclaimed the last 30 seconds of the round. It was then Ghost landed a big punch, sending his unsuspecting opponent staggering. It was his chance for another, and another, until he straddled the poor lad, barely able to block the blows anymore. Ghost had this look in his eyes, completely locked in, like he only saw one thing.

It was clear who was going to come up on top. You snapped out of it and made your way to the bathroom. You couldn’t hold it anymore. You took the furthest stall, your heels clicked along the sparkling marble floor, past the velvet love seat by the entrance.

You didn’t want to. You cursed yourself as the thought crossed your mind. It was vile. Deranged. But as you sat down and closed your eyes to regulate your breathing, your thighs rubbed together against your will. You shouldn’t feel this way looking at a stranger demonstrating his power, even one with a massive and gorgeous body.

The crowd outside boomed, and it was now or never. You had to do something before people started piling in.

Just a little touch.

You hiked your skirt up, palming your soaked panties. You pressed on your mound, your head tipping back at the pleasure. You let out a shaky exhale, unable to stop yourself from pushing the fabric aside and circling your clit with a finger. Your breath hitched, hips jerking up towards your own touch.

It was then the door busted open. You gasped, heart hammering in your chest. The click of the lock turning echoed in the bathroom.

“Come out, little bird,” a man said, his voice a deep rumble.

Your thighs shut as footsteps approached, coming closer and closer before they stopped right outside your stall.

Chills ran down your spine. You knew no one else here. Did you unknowingly send a signal, some sort of secret code? Private societies often had covert symbols to identify each other.

“I know you’re in there. I don’t bite,” he said, and added in a low voice. “Unless you want me to.”

Heat rose up your neck. You stumbled to your feet and smoothed your dress down. It was humiliating, getting caught wet handed. You inhaled before cracking the door open, eyes on the floor, meaning to squeeze past and avoid the situation with the unknown man.

But nothing prepared you for what awaited. Ghost towered over you, his broad chest still slick with sweat, still in his shorts that hung even lower now as it strained against his growing situation. The light material didn’t leave much to the imagination. His gloves were off, but his hand wraps remained.

You froze, transfixed on the way he palmed himself.

He took a step back. “Door’s right there. If you want to leave, I won’t stop you.”

You let another beat pass. You could have sworn you saw a smirk under that mask.

“Get on your knees.”

He didn’t need to tell you twice.

“Is this what you wanted?” he rasped, pushing the waistband of his shorts and underwear down, freeing his hardening cock in your face. “Don’t be shy now, you were just having fun all on your own. Don’t let me stop you.”

Tentatively, you took his cock, warm and heavy in your hand. You gripped him, pumping lightly as you planted little kissed on his tip. He hardened more as you kissed down the side of his length, pressing your nose against the trimmed hair on the base of his pulsing cock. His musk sent a jolt straight down to your core.

You pressed your other hand flat against his muscular thigh, your tongue swiped over his tip, tonguing him. He let out a deep sigh. You looked up to meet his brown eyes boring down on you.

You opened your mouth, sliding him along your hot, wet tongue, still holding his gaze. His cock twitched in your mouth as he let out a low groan. You could never fit the entirety of him in your mouth, but you were going to try anyway. Your lips wrapped around him, your cheeks hollowed as you slid down his thick shaft. His breathing grew laboured as his hips bucked. You continued to pump him, your tongue pressed against the underside of his cock, grazing the ridge of his tip every time you slid up.

Ghost’s tangled his hands in your hair as his hips jerked, but he held himself back with a stuttered breath. Thinking of him fucking your face made you whimper.

You reached down to your leaking hole, pushing your panties aside. You circled your clit, impossibly slick from the torture you endured. The contact made you hum in pleasure, making his grip tighten on your hair as he hissed.

You couldn’t help but hump your own fingers. Lost in the pleasure, your pace faltered on his cock as you moaned around him.

You let out a weak whimper when he pulled out. Your eyes fluttered open, and he pulled you up to your feet to wipe the corners of your mouth with his thumb. He undressed himself before sweeping you up in a princess carry. You let out a squeal as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

He set you down in front of the loveseat, where he plopped himself down. He leaned back, muscled thighs spread as he stroked his soaking wet cock languidly. Like a predator waiting for his unwitting prey to fall into his trap.

“You want to come on my cock?”

“Yes,” you said breathlessly, climbing over him.

Ghost helped you out of your dress and bra, eyes lingering a moment on your tits.

“The heels stay on,” he said, running his paws down your sides before settling on your hips, his hand wraps rough on your skin. “Set the pace, luv.”

A hand on his hard shoulder, you pulled your panties aside and lined him up with your entrance before lowering yourself. He tipped his head back, intense eyes trained on your face made you bite your lip. You were so painfully ready for him, your dripping hole didn’t put up much a fight despite his size. The initial breach made you gasp, your eyes shut close. You sank further down, bouncing a little each time, coating his already slick cock with your juices.

“You’re so fuckin’ wet, aren’t you, doll?”

You nodded, still dizzy with the sensation of being stretched wide around him.

“Naughty girl, what got you so excited?”

The sentence that started with amusement ended with a shudder as you swallowed him down to his base. You panted, your pebbled clit grinding against his soft curls as your eyes flew open.

Up close, the faint dusting of freckles on his collarbones were visible. You ran your fingers along them as you took your time sliding up and down his throbbing cock, getting used to him. Your hands trailed to his bulging biceps, trying to not make it obvious you were feeling him up.

He peeled his mask up, bunching it over his nose. “Call me Simon,” he growled, kneading your ass.

On his cheek was a fading scar that disappeared up into his mask, while his jaw was lined with blonde, trimmed stubble.

“S- Simon.” You met his piercing brown eyes as your fingers traced his soft lower lip.

“Good girl.” He grasped your jaw and leaned in, speaking against your lips as they parted. “Scream it when you come on this cock.”

You picked up your pace, exposing your neck to him as you moaned. Simon planted open mouthed kissed up your neck before licking up your throat. He inhaled sharply, his fingers digging into your hips.

“Tell me your name,” he said, his breath hot against your neck.

You might be on him, but you’d be a fool to think you had the authority here.

You babbled your name and he moved his hand to wrap around the base of your neck. He leaned in, repeating it, tasting it on his tongue before capturing your lips.

The kiss was surprisingly gentle. He took his time with your lower hip, giving it small bites before swiping his tongue across it. You were the first to part your lips, moaning into his mouth. It only spurred him on, his tongue meeting yours as he deepened the kiss.

“Fuck, sweetheart. You were made for me, weren’t you?” He panted, his thumb caressed your hip. “Come on my cock, doll.”

Simon gathered your hands behind your back and wrapped his arms around you, pressing you flush against his firm body. His thighs parted further before he thrusted up, the move knocking the breath out of you.

You threw your head back, the feeling of him ramming your soaking pussy made you heady. His balls, now drenched in your juices, squelched against your ass at every thrust. The familiar heat pooled in your belly as the mewls continued to pour out of you. He was hitting all the right spots.

“Simon- you’re going to make me come,” you said breathlessly.

He bit and sucked on your shoulder, hard enough for it to sting, and you knew it was going to leave a mark. It was enough to push you over the edge.

“Si- I’m coming, ah- Simon!”

You unravelled with a moan that you stifled by biting down on your lip. He let you ride your high, continuing his leisurely thrusts as the tension in your body subsided. You slumped over him as you caught your breath.

“Did a good job for me,” he muttered. He angled you by the chin, kissing your neck for a moment longer before cradling the back of your head.

In a swift motion, he laid you down on the loveseat. You watched as he pushed your shaky legs open, making room for himself to climb over you. His kisses trailed from your collarbones down your sternum. Still buzzing from your orgasm, your back arched as his tongue grazed over your nipple, his hand massaging your other breast.

“You’re gorgeous,” he mumbled between kisses as he made his way to your hips.

Simon gave them a few gentle sucks before his mouth descended to your pussy. He planted kisses on your mound, inhaling your scent. He licked a strip up your slit before laving at your entrance, teasing, coating his tongue in your juices. When he pursed his lips over your clit, it sent a zap up your spine making your thighs close over his head.

“Simon-“

“Let me eat,” he grumbled, easily holding your legs down for him to feast.

His tongue continued to dance on your clit, still achingly sensitive, but your hips couldn’t help but buck up into him as you continued to leak. He let out a soft laugh and you let out a broken moan from the vibration.

You raised your head, eyes meeting his as he watched you through his pretty, blond lashes. His deep brown eyes glinted this time, like he was having too much fun tormenting you.

“Gonna fuck you now,” he said, planting one last kiss on your clit.

He positioned himself between your thighs, a knee on the couch and a foot on the floor. He slid himself along your slit, painfully slow, but the friction was enough to make your breath stutter.

“You still owe me another one.”

He undid his hand wrap with his teeth, using it to bind your wrist and pushed them above your head. He curled your fingers over the armrest of the loveseat. He sank down on you, his forearm flexing by your head. He brought the tip of his cock to your opening, nudging it playfully as he glazed himself in your arousal.

“Ready, luv?” he rasped into your ear.

“Need you, Simon,” you whined, lifting your hips to him.

He pushed forward, letting out a low groan as he entered you. His hand moved to your hip, pinning you down to the seat. It only took him a few pumps to bottom out in you.

“Love it when you say my name,” he whispered against your lips before capturing them in another gentle kiss.

His thrusts quickened, mouth moving over to the side of your head. You held onto the armrest above you as his hot breath puffed over your ear, heavy as he groaned and panted. Each plunge coaxed a soft whine out of you, pushing you closer and closer to your release. He seemed to feel you clenching on him because he straightened up before circling your clit with the pad of his thumb, making you gasp.

“Give me another one, luv,” he breathed, his half-lidded eyes trained on you. “No need to be quiet.”

He swiped up and down over your pulsing clit, the pace of his hips unrelenting. Small whimpers spilt out of you before you came undone with a moan, your body shook as your face twisted in pleasure. The pretty face he hadn’t been able to tear his gaze away from.

It was all he needed to chase his own high as he leaned back in, driving mercilessly into you. You thought you felt the loveseat skidding on the floor as he threaded his fingers with yours, still wet from making you come.

Simon pressed his forehead against yours as his eyes bored down on yours. He closed his mouth over yours, groaning into you.

“Come for me, Simon,” you said against his lips. “Want your come on me.”

His hips stuttered, whimpers tumbling out of his parted lips. He pulled out with a low moan, spilling on you before continuing to softly hump your belly to ride out his high.

He collapsed, squashing one side of your body under his weight. He nuzzled your neck, as his chest stopped heaving.

“You’re crushing me.”

He let out a small laugh, pushing himself off you and untying your wrists, his shoulders and neck still flushed. He took you by the hand to the sink to help you clean up and get dressed before minding himself.

You stood there facing each other wordlessly for a moment, unsure where to look. You didn’t want to be caught ogling him even when you were dying to, but your eyes cut to him when he pulled his mask off. You took his face in: his pale skin, his nose with the little bump on it, the way the cut on his cheek ran up next to his left eye.

Simon took a step towards you, pushing you against the sink and lifting you up to sit on its edge before giving you a chase kiss.

“Sorry about this,” he pressed his lips against the small bruise on your shoulder and the inside of your left wrist. “Would you come watch me again next week?” He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“If you want me to,” you murmured, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Let’s get dinner.” He kissed your cheek, smiling against your skin. “I’ll drive you home after.”

Neighbour Simon if he still had his family Ghost gave you a piggyback ride Ghost's online fantasies came true Masterlist

@tiredmetalenthusiast @astraluminaaa

Would you ever consider making a masc version of any of your drawings? I love your art sm, but as a gay man it kinda sucks for a majority of cod fanart to be x women/female based

i draw base on my own feelings, and it’s hard for a not a no gay man draw in a gay man perspective. I think there has be some differences.

If you want something that fits your imagination, the best way is to pick up a pen and draw it yourself. I started drawing because I felt that others couldn't draw the feeling I wanted.

southpaw

boxer!Ghost x reader, ghost is lefthanded and i won't argue about this cw: dubcon - 18+ mdni So this was supposed to be one long fic but then i got carried away, here's part one of two. forgive me. [read on ao3 if you want]

You met Simon at the pub, on a Wednesday. 

It had been an arduous day at work, and a long week, despite having only made it halfway through - and you were on a knife edge, exhausted and sour. It was visible at first sight of you, you wore it like a greasy, raggedy cloak when you leaned slump-shouldered over the bar. 

He had drawn your attention like a magnet the moment you spotted him, the towering buzzed-blond behemoth standing alone at a tall table, a half-empty pint glass in his thick fist. You’d shoot furtive little glances in his direction, and each time they were caught. 

Caught being the operative word - when you met his eye you were trapped there, forcibly hooked on him as he glowered at you like he was angry. His eyes were shadowed from where you were perched - requesting a gin and tonic, short - and you should have found that frightening. Instead the adrenaline in your belly fizzed like a pinger, a girlish buzz that made your hairs stand on end and your cunt all warm. 

You would not have begrudged any male attention, in fact you were long starved of it; but you felt guilty, in a way, subjecting a man to the state you were in. Short-fused and frazzled, thin knitted scarf wrapped tight around your neck, autumn coat slipping from your drooping shoulder. You dug around in your bag for your wallet when the bartender handed you the card reader, scooping frantically through the piles of receipts and hairclips and loose tampons. Offered sheepish apologies to him; so sorry, it’s definitely in there. I’m a mess! Long day, sorry. So sorry. Sorry. 

You jumped when you heard the thud of a light slap on the counter, the low huff of an exasperated man, sick and tired. Looking up from your bottomless satchel, you saw the tenner left beside the card reader, and the bartender nodded in thanks before taking it swiftly. 

“No problem,” came the gruff voice from above you, implicitly chastising your lack of thanks when you tilted your head upward to blink at him. 

He was pretty - your first thought - in a dirty, brutish sort of way. Heavy-browed and amber-eyed, with thick blond lashes and a deep golden stubble. He was adorned with freckles and little scars, slivers of pink and white, some fresh and some old. And when he smirked knowingly at your silence, a dimple pulled in his cheekbone, the crater of an injury once sustained. 

He had just been to the gym, you could smell it on him; ripe and heady, a musk you should have been more repulsed by than you were. Instead you savoured it like some little animal, turned your head at the raw pheromones as though a doe sniffing out her stag during the rut. You could also tell as much from his gym gear, grey marled wife-beater under his unzipped black hoodie, stained with dried sweat, navy blue sport shorts that sat high on his hefty thighs and strained over their magnitude. 

“You didn’t need to do that,” you said abashedly, giving him an awkward smile in the hopes of concealing your flustered embarrassment. 

“I didn’t,” he agreed, and he leaned on the bar by his elbow to get a shred closer to your height. Through a haughty growl, he insisted, “You gonna thank me?”

His brazen arrogance should have put you off. You quickly got the sense he was well used to these encounters - a presumption that you’d be grateful for his interest, a raffish ease that reeked of habitual sex. You wouldn’t have called him well-practised, nothing about him was suave or carefully preened. No, instead, he was viciously masculine in a primal sort of way, rugged and unkempt around the edges. A cold gaze and a serrated smile. The kind of man that oozed testosterone and potent virility without needing to utter a word in his own favour. The unashamed lack of effort was bait in itself. 

You might have dismissed him if it were a Saturday, and you had friends to discourage you and drunkenness to embolden you. But, worn-out and sober, you felt obliged to entertain the man that had paid for you. Besides, something about him gave you the impression his attention was non-negotiable. 

And once you had thanked him as requested, soon followed a superficially understated conversation, though every word felt laden with some lude prescience. A simple question, then a simple answer, each delivered with more weight than the last. I’m a mechanic. Was in the army. This one’s from a scrap, got hit with a chair. From Manchester. Don’t normally come here on Wednesdays, maybe I should more often. No, not married. Yourself?

Minutes bled quickly to hours, and you didn’t spend a cent on your own alcohol. Soon you had migrated to a booth, and your sticky table became the graveyard of three gin and tonics, tired lime slices floating in the melted ice as you mindlessly prodded at them with a soggy straw. You ogled him shamelessly from the other side of the table, resting your tilted head in your palm, elbow extended on the wooden tabletop. 

He was a gladiator. Broad shoulders, pure meat - every part of him was thick with muscle and padded with a warm layer of fat. Winter bulk. You imagined his mammoth arms would be soft and pillowy if you were to squish them with your hungry hands, but that they’d turn as solid as rock if he were to engage them more forcefully. 

You asked him if he normally did this, went to pubs on weekdays to prey on bored working women and got them drunk so he could fuck them. 

He shrugged, shook his head. “Don’t need to get ‘em drunk.”

His tone was cocksure but insincere, and you didn’t yet have a good enough read of him to determine whether or not he was joking. It wouldn’t have surprised you if he were something of a lothario, given how quickly you had been sucked into his orbit despite his astonishing apathy - and yet, something told you he was more of a prowling wolf than a peacock. The kind of man that sets his eyes on his quarry and is unsatisfied until he has her between his teeth. It made your heart shiver to imagine yourself that meal. 

“Just me, then?” You bit back, thanking the bartender when he brought over a fourth gin for you and a third pint for the Mancunian. 

He dropped his pint glass down hard after he took his hefty swig. “You’re putting up more of a fight than they usually do.”

“Fighting the inevitable, am I?” You teased, facetious but not entirely unserious. 

“You tell me.” Is all he said. 

When you checked the time and decided it was far past your bedtime, seeing four fuzzy hands on your watch, he offered to walk you home - never know who’s out this time o’ night. You decided to take him up on it, the plentiful alcohol pumping through your blood blurred your already dubious sense of self-preservation. 

His vast hand travelled boldly down your back while you walked, and in a more sober state you would have told him off. Instead you giggled demurely, flicked his hand away half-heartedly just to test how quickly he’d put it back. And when he took an audacious and greedy handful of your ass you yipped at him, falsely agog, but you did nothing more to stop him. He grinned as he did it, sharp teeth, kneading your soft flesh as though evaluating how it felt in his thick fingers. Determining its adequacy. 

Arriving at your door he stood behind you like a shadow, watching you key the lock and breathing down the back of your neck. Such a lecher, already so bold as to assume you’d welcome him inside, spread your legs for him after so little effort. When his hand slithered to your waist and took a presumptuous grip, so confident, you felt your fortitude begin to waver. Would it hurt? 

But as you spun on your heel you blocked him out with your body in the frame, and gave him a sweet and hazy smile. A chaste kiss on the cheek. 

“Not lettin’ me in?” He asked, a grumble, with just enough mirth for you to lower your hackles. 

You traced along the jamb with your fingernail. “Maybe next time.”

A test, you drunkenly thought, for if he were really an unashamed cunthound you’d expect him to sulk, or to get grouchy, or to call you a fucking bitch for leading him on. Maybe, you wondered, he might dismiss your refusal entirely, shove you into the apartment with an angry paw and make you fulfil your unspoken proposal. Not much of a fight you could put up, if he were such a beast. 

Instead, he merely gave you a rakish grin, and brushed your chin with his thumb. “Next time, then.”

Next time came unexpectedly on the Friday, shortly after you had come home from work; freshly showered and lotioned, you answered the knock on your door in only a blue towel wrapped around your torso. Confronted immediately by the gargantuan man on your doorstep, you stepped back in fright. 

There were smudges of oil on his ruddy cheeks, grime embedded deep into the fibres of his black work jacket. With his fists in his pockets, a cigarette jutting out of his pursed lips, he sniffed brashly in the cold. “You busy?”

Your eyes scanned him shrewdly for a short moment before the memory came speeding back to you, flew across your face like a slap, and he gave you a fleeting smirk when he saw your eyes widen and your cheeks go red. The stranger from the pub remembered your address. Not something you considered as you stupidly welcomed him to walk you all the way home. 

“I’m not inviting you in,” you murmured, adjusting your towel higher on your chest when you felt his gaze warm the cleavage it failed to conceal. 

“Come out, then.” 

His imperious persistence was another warning you should have heeded, bright red and clear as day. Not often a man so obstinate is worth pursuing. Better avoided. His resolute silence compelled you, though, made unspoken demands that you dared not refuse. He wasn’t asking, he was telling. 

You didn’t recall his name until he reminded you, after you had already gotten yourself dressed and met him out the front of your apartment; Simon. You smothered your more rational counterpart with a pillow, shutting her up when she warned you about going out with the man that showed up uninvited on your doorstep - particularly this one, who had your intuition screaming at you so ferociously. Play stupid games.

He hadn’t planned a date, no prior effort had gone in beyond the sudden compulsion to come and try his luck.

“Didn’t want you to forget me,” is what he told you when you asked. 

You went with him to get fried chicken - his choice, an option wasn’t given - and ate it together on a park bench. Unsophisticated and to the point, a din of crunching and sucking on toothpick bones, broken up occasionally by your coy laughter. He made no effort to conceal a potently authoritarian nature, one you had as yet only caught glimpses of, and you were ruefully drawn to it. Reared its head when he told you where to sit, how fast to walk, what not to talk about. When you had demurely requested a single small punnet of hot chips from the food truck, and he had snorted at you; “Don’t take the piss. More than that.”

You shared a cigarette with him, sat under the bare elm tree and observed the chipmunks that came to feed on the crumbs of fried batter. Talked about nothing until the sun had set and the frost began to settle. 

After returning you home he quickly had you trapped against the front door of your flat, laving your flushed neck with his ravenous mouth, tongue under your jaw like he was tasting you. Palmed your cunt through your jeans with a thick hand, uncaring of passersby, and you let him persist, just for a little bit - selfishly, you thought, because you weren’t going to let him sink his cock into you yet. 

It was simply an experiment, you told yourself. Some part of you was well aware of the fire you were playing with, warning you vociferously about what happened to the curious cat. And that you were - dangerously eager to know for how long he would pursue you if you abstained from presenting your cunt to him off the cuff. What might happen if you dangled your prizes in front of his nose and continued to withhold them. 

His hand was so big, warm, strong like he might lift you up by it. He knew exactly where to press the heel of his palm to push a needy whine from your throat, right at the throbbing crux of your heat. If you had let him continue kneading you unfettered you’d have pathetically come inside your jeans before you had even taken him inside. 

You clutched his wrist to thwart his efforts, flustered and out of breath. Sheepishly warned him; “I - I don’t put out until the third date.”

Not a conviction you’ve ever held firm on, but it has been a long while since the last time you had taken a man home. You were slightly fearful that the second you let him fuck you, he’d be satisfied and spent and move on to the next helpless woman at the pub who couldn’t find her wallet. And, in truth, you relished in starving him. Delighted in the appetite you could see swelling in his belly, frothing at his jaws when he glowered at you under dark lids. 

He huffed mournfully, patience waning, as he removed his hand from between your legs with a purposeful swipe. Grumbled huskily, “You’re really testing my strength o’ character.”

You chuckled breathily as you fondled the door handle behind you, letting out a puff of relief when it gave way to you and you stumbled onto your back foot into the foyer. You could guess what he implied from his crude remark - barely a veiled threat, and yet you were only more eager to peer under the shroud. 

“Mustn’t be very strong if you can’t wait a little longer,” you prodded, emboldened by the false safety of being indoors. 

He nodded, gritting teeth as he adjusted his jacket. “You make it weak.”

Your throat nearly closed at that, the air suddenly warm and acrid. “Well, I hope you can hold strong till then.” 

He let out a hoarse groan, rubbing his neck with stiff knuckles. Dints pulled in his temple as he clenched his jaw, exerted no effort to mask his frustrations. 

“Wednesday count as date one?” He asked stiffly. 

You pursed your lips as you thought of a response, conscious that if it were the first ‘date’ - in heavy quotes - he’d expect your cunt on the next. You would likely not have bemoaned that, given the thumping you felt already in the peak of your swollen bud, the slick that you felt soak into the gusset of your underwear after such moderate attention. But it was a bit of a game, now, wasn’t it? A creature within you, one whose nature was perhaps a cause for concern, wanted to see if he would crack. Wanted to know what he would do to you if he did. 

“No,” you told him. 

With a terse nod, he shoved his hands in the pockets of his jacket and left. 

Date two came to pass on the Sunday, as presumptuously as the first, but he had at least sent you a text from an unsaved contact beforehand; picking you up in 10. 

You didn’t recall giving him your number, but wistfully assumed you must have put it in his phone on the drunken night you met him. 

With nothing better to do, you replied, what am I wearing? 

Dress. 

Following his blunt text like it were an instruction from your manager, you dug through your closet for a dress that would suffice - nothing too dressy, you didn’t want to expend too much effort - and nothing too provocative, lest you provoke him. Settled on something plain and black, dense cotton with a bit of flow and sat low on your neckline, but not too low. Once you were dressed you snapped a photo of yourself in your floor-length mirror, concealing your face with your phone, and sent it to him for his approval. 

He replied after a few minutes; No stockings. 

You frowned as you typed out your answer. It’s cold though. 

He never followed up, and you took off the stockings. 

When he arrived to pick you up in his black off-roader pickup and you hopped inside - he didn’t open the door for you - you immediately spotted a big purple welt protruding from his cheekbone, fresh and throbbing and speckled with broken capillaries. You asked him if it was the result of another ‘scrap’, so he called it, and he shook his head.

“Match last night,” he told you, before shrugging it off. Then joked - or, intended to joke; “You should see the other lad.”

“Match?” You asked him to clarify, perhaps stupidly, as he revved the rumbling engine of the four-wheeler and drove off like he was in a hurry. 

The cab of his truck smelled like tobacco, and the redolence of old sweat embedded in his seat; from how often he’d hop in unshowered after working out, you guessed. There was a tired old Evian bottle in the cup-holder of the centre console, next to it a half-empty pack of cigarettes and a clear orange lighter. The passenger seat was stiff and dusty, you must have been one of very few people to have sat in it.

“Boxing,” he answered. 

A boxer, you thought to yourself, eyes clinging to his bulky arm as it gripped and shoved the gearshift; forearm turning stiff as you had imagined it would, where it peeked out from the rolled sleeve of his black crewneck. Thick veins ran in webs under his skin. Tendons bulged in the back of his hand. Now that you looked more closely, you could see the bruises on his knuckles - some turned ochre yellow with age, others fresh and plum and looked tender to the touch. He’d have to have been a heavyweight, given the fucking size of him. Built like a bear, wide set and heavy and so comically tall that he looked too large for the cab of his own truck. 

He took you out for dinner, a proper date, he called it - a hole-in-the-wall Indian restaurant with four tables and a single waitress. Far more of a date than his last two attempts - you briefly considered counting this as date number one. He ordered himself two meals, an unsurprising quantity, and requested that both be as hot as the chef could make them. 

You asked him about his boxing, and he said that he made some money from it but not quite enough to live on. That you probably wouldn’t have seen him on the telly, because he usually fought in the undercards and didn’t like the cameras. 

Told you under his breath that he made more cash when the games were ‘under the table’. What that meant you weren’t certain, and he kept it thrillingly vague. “No gloves,” was how he explained it, “and no referee.” You told him that sounded illegal and he only gave you a shrug.

“Are you any good?” You asked with a kink in your brow. 

He smirked at you, mouth full of rendang. “I’m alright.”

Something in his tone told you he was being humble. You felt a little giddy. “You ever knocked someone out?” 

“Did last night,” he admitted indifferently. 

You questioned him a little more. “Are you a violent person?”

He tilted his head either way as though considering his answer, shovelling a hunk of beef folded in naan into his mouth and chewing it thoughtfully. “Not all the time.”

A little shaken, you asked if you should be worried. 

“I can be gentle,” is what he answered, with a lidded glare and the faintest smirk that flickered in his lips. You didn’t believe him. 

After he paid for your meal - told you crudely to shut it when you offered to split the bill - he put you in his truck ostensibly to drive you back home. But when he missed the turn that he should have taken, you shuffled disquieted in your seat, lacking the bravery to mention it just yet. Perhaps he was simply taking an unfamiliar route. 

He must have noticed your unease, because he turned his head to look down at you, but he did little to assuage your discomfort. 

“Takin’ you to mine,” he declared bluntly, as though reminding you of a fact you already knew. 

You blinked at him, felt the prickles of adrenaline creep down your neck like a nettle sting, an alert from your primal subconscious to a looming threat. “This is only the second date,” you diffidently reminded him. 

“I know,” he said, through a toothy grin, apparently amused by your skittishness, “‘m not ready to let you go just yet.”

You nodded stiffly, chewing on the inside of your cheek and picking your nails in an anxious habit. You weren’t frightened of him - despite the awareness that you should be - if you truly were, you’d kick up much more of a fuss. But he was quite unreadable, purposefully so, and what could you possibly do if he decided he wasn’t interested in waiting any longer? Win stupid prizes.

“Don’t panic, love,” he asserted, reaching his burly arm over and taking hold of your knee, thigh dwarfed by his hand as he gave your meat a quick squeeze. “Not interested in takin’ what I haven’t earned.”

His terraced flat was modest and unadorned, a skinny three-storey house sandwiched between rows of similar boxes. Two windows per floor. A layer of tan stucco smeared over its brick. No garden, only some moss and a few sprouting weeds, and a wrought iron fence that lined the sidewalk out the front. 

He pulled his pickup to a stop on the side of the road, killed the engine and barked an order at you as he opened the door, “Out y’get.” 

The street was barren and dark, and every breath you let out echoed in the lifeless silence. Not even after nine in the evening and the neighbourhood seemed to be devoid of inhabitants, only one or two windows glowed from within - an indication of at least some life. You felt a chill as you stepped out onto the road, tightened your arms around your torso as you wandered bashfully behind him to his front step. He huffed impatiently as he jammed his keys in the lock, shoving and shimmying them loudly until the door reluctantly gave way to him. 

He marched into the depths of his flat, swallowed by the darkness within - didn’t bother to turn on the light. You only saw which direction he had headed once a yellow light flickered on in a distant room down the hall. Shutting his front door behind you, leaving it unlocked, you quietly walked in the direction of the light. 

His flat was painfully undecorated. Raw, messy with clutter and miscellaneous belongings, in stacks and piles, on tables and chairs. Torn open envelopes, old socks, misplaced boots. Jackets hung over the bannister and sweaters over the backs of his seats. You found yourself in an open kitchen and living room, bare save for the odd piece of secondhand furniture and empty bottles of beer dotted about the place. 

You found him leaning into an open fridge, illuminated by its dim bluish light. “Can I getcha somethin’?” 

 “Um,” you pondered, failing to conceal your unwelcome nerves, a shiver in your voice. “No - thank you, I’m okay.” 

He shrugged as he shut the fridge door with his elbow, a bottle of Carlsberg dwarfed in his hand. Stuck the top in his open mouth and popped off the cap with his teeth in a horrid crack, spat it aimlessly into the kitchen. “Suit yourself.”

He left you standing like a fool as he went to sit himself down on his sofa, landing in it with a gruff and satisfied sigh. Sunk into the cushions and spread his knees to make himself comfortable, big enough that he took up two seats of the three-seater. He reached for the remote and turned on the telly, volume low, but audibly some football game or other. 

His eyes fastened on you, though - narrow and pointed as though you had been caught in his crosshairs. He tipped his beer into a jutted jaw, took a noisy and insouciant sip. 

“All shy now?” He asked. 

A defensive no caught in your throat and it emerged as a quiet hiccup. You wanted to smack yourself. “I just - I’m not sure why I’m here.” 

He huffed testily. ”Want to go home, do you?” 

You knew you should say yes. “No - no it’s not that. I’m - I’m okay.” 

He cracked a grin, a flash of teeth before it vanished. “Do I make you that nervous?”

“I’m not nervous,” you retorted, voice higher-pitched than would otherwise be convincing. 

“C’mere, then.” He gestured a lazy hitherto with three fingers, an edge in his glare. 

Your feet were moving before you disputed. “What for.”

“Siddown,” he grunted.

Better judgement hammering at you, you hesitated before you obeyed, standing in front of him but just out of reach. 

“What’re you so afraid of, sweethear’,” he asked richly, and you blinked at him before looking down at your hands. 

“I’m not,” you insisted. “Just not - not really used to this sort of thing.” 

“No?” He questioned with aplomb, pride oozing from him like crude oil. “Been a while, has it?”

You fawningly shrugged. “Guess so.” 

“Am I taking you home, then?”

The second time he had offered it, though this time there was something discerning in his tone; cocksure yet challenging, a last call. Resolved, you sat down mousily in the cushion next to him. Shrivelled so that you took up as little space as possible, held your arms tight to your body. 

You shook your head, steadfast. “No, that’s okay.”

He let slip a grin at your answer, canines sharp and catching the glint of the dim television in front of him. You thought he might hang his mammoth arm over your shoulder, or rest a hand on your thigh; might test the waters with a noncommittal touch to see how you reacted to his crossing of the boundary. 

But he had no such subtlety nor restraint - instead he slipped his hand behind you and hooked you by the waist, hoisting you one-armed from your distant spot with the ease of picking up a house cat. You let out a sharp gasp as he plonked you on his left knee so that you straddled it, back firm against his side as he riveted you in place with his forearm.

You yelped as you were made to forcibly bestride his thigh, left tongue-tied in your shock and momentarily unable to utter a word of dispute. Heart set to panic, scarcely able to subdue your hurricane of thoughts, you exerted all effort wriggle out of his grip - bucked and twisted and pulled, all painfully futile. 

His strength was unfathomable and frightening, the muscles of his only restraining arm hardly even tensed to hold you in place. It was easy for him. He briefly leaned to the side to dump his beer on the side table. 

You barked;  “Simon - let go of-”

Me was muffled by the right hand that swiftly sealed over your mouth, fingertips burrowing into your cheeks, the top of his hand tucked under your nose and barely allowed you to suck in a breath. 

He shushed you quick and sharp, and you let out a defeated moan as you persisted in your attempts to writhe free. You clamped your legs closed around his thigh as if you might seal off your cunt from him, but he simply let out a breathy chuckle - lightly bounced his knee to remind you that he had you wedged open as he pleased, and the force beared down on your centre with each jolt had you squeaking like a mouse into his palm. 

“Settle down,” he chided, stern-toned, you felt the coarse stubble of his jaw scrape down the side of your face as he craned his head beside yours. “Don’t you kick up a fuss now.” 

His colossal paw raked up your thigh, hitching the forgiving fabric of your skirt along with it and leaving pointy gooseflesh in its wake. 

Still you squirmed, but your defensive tenacity was rapidly fizzling away - doused with the sobering knowledge that you had made the very bed he was now forcing you to lie in. 

“You knew what you were after when you came out, didn’t you,” he snarled, accusing, lifting the hem of your skirt up to your belly. 

You shook your head as ferociously as he allowed you to, his suffocating hand stifling both your movement and your breathing. You whined into his clammy palm, hoping he’d be able to translate the sounds you made in place of words; not yet. 

Whether or not he understood, he ignored you; his fingertips clawed over your mound, catching in the thin fabric of the plain underwear you wore under your dress - dug into the leg hole where the hem sat against your groin, before yanking it to the other side. He tugged at the elasticated cotton, shimmying the gusset so it was entirely out of his way; cunt bare and exposed, your vealy lips rubbed raw against the rough denim of his jeans. 

“Like a cat in heat, eh?” He grumbled, feeding his imperious hand between your legs where they were held open by his titanic thigh. Jammed his thick fingers into your folds without hesitation, indifferent to your whimpering. 

His solid nose buried under your ear, right into the underside of your jaw, and he took a deep and wolfish sniff.  “Can fuckin’ smell it on you.”

You winced as he pressed the pads of two fingers against your twitching opening, not yet slick; nudging at the precipice as though hoping to milk you of your nectar - but he didn’t puncture you. Instead, he languidly dragged them back up to your timid bud where it was hidden under its hood, used your scant fluid to barely lubricate his incursion. 

He bucked his knee, making you bounce into a better position for him. Began chafing circles with the tips of mean fingers, kneading out your clit with a steady pressure that made you sob into the palm of his restraining hand. 

He was deft, knew how to make quick work of you - you felt your watery blood turn viscous and hot, it flooded down the middle of you as though spiralling an open drain. Pumped warm right into the centre of your bud and made it shudder and swell, twitched with hypersensitivity.

Morally, you spurned it, fought against it viciously - the man so arrogant and cruel as to forcibly pleasure you despite vehement protest. But your feeble body spoke far louder, betrayed you with its carnal appetite. Your acrid resistance turned to pudding under his abrasive hand. 

No longer wrestling, your hips leaned into him, spine arching and curling, flesh so pathetically desperate for purchase that it begged implicitly in spite of your expressed dispute. 

He sensed your blossoming acquiescence, heard your grunts and moans of defiance melt into high-pitched, needy whines; you felt his wrenching grip of you soften and a rough smile curl against your cheek. 

“Tha’s it,” he purred, low voice thrummed directly into your skin. You could only mewl into his palm like a trapped animal, his hand growing wet against your mouth. “Tha’s what you were after, eh? All that whingeing.”

A wanton oh, fuck, was muted by his palm as he slowed and eased his pace, no longer toiling to subdue you. With two fingers flat against the crux of your folds, he ran them up and down your seam - uncovering your puffy clit with each upward stroke and making you flinch with the shock. 

You tightened your legs around his thigh on reflex, curling your pelvis away from his touch as you grew so sensitive it began to burn - but your range of motion was sorely limited, and relief you could not find. 

He removed his smothering hand from your mouth and smoothed it down your waist, finding the meat of your hip and taking a fastening grip. Anchored your pelvis still and held you down, exacerbating the pressure on your cunt; parting it like a butterfly and grinding his coarse denim against flushed lips, you felt your slick seep out of you and soak the fabric underneath it.

You rocked your head back against his collarbone, feeling its rigidity at the back of your skull, and your eyes fluttered shut; you felt his hot breathing on the side of your head, an airy chortle at your whimpering capitulation. He only slowed his infliction, gently grazing your yearning clit as though to tease it, to force you to debase yourself as you pleaded for his brutality. 

“F-fuck-” You mewled, face flustered, skin febrile - you were suddenly so infuriatingly close, wracked by a surging current that shuddered into your core and made you spasm and shiver. The dawning heat was abruptly overpowering, and you leaned desperately into his hand to chase it. “Simon - Please - I-”

Every attempt you made to speak or complain was bitten off by an indulgent sob, weak and pleading cries, begging him to release you. 

“Please, what?” He gloated deeply, you could hear his smug grin without having to see it. “Speak up.”

Your mind was frayed, and your tongue was fat and heavy in your mouth. You squeezed out your answer through a strained whine; “I’m - I’m going to-”

“Y’gonna come, are you?” He mocked, voice rumbling and cruel. Seemed to find immense satisfaction in your pathetic desperation. 

He pressed down on your scalding clit and forced a pained cry from your throat when you failed to answer him.

“Y-yes,” you bawled, driven close to pitiful tears.

He pinched your plump and angry bud between his fingers and made you jolt, before he let out a chuckle, and his hand glided out from between your legs. Left glossy trails of your syrup up your mound, your belly, as he abandoned you. 

An agonised groan lept from your chest as you buckled forward, wrecked with desperation, suddenly and brutally hollow. 

“Taste o’ your own medicine, eh?” He crooned, haughty, he smacked the side of your thigh with two firm pats as if to reassure you. “I don’t put out easy, either.”

You only sobbed, deafened by the thunder of your throbbing blood in your ears, cunt still so ravenous you were rendered a slave to it. You were unconsciously grinding your cunt on his thigh, rocking your hips, hissing at the abrasion of the denim on your clit - but it was better than nothing. 

“Look at you,” he snorted, leaning back on the sofa with his arms hung over the back, as if to enjoy the show. As he reached for his abandoned beer, he chided; “Fuckin’ needy slut, aren’t you?”

He glided a hand up your spine as you rode his leg like a little animal, and maybe you could finish yourself off like that, if you tried hard enough - but his claw settled at the back of your neck and took malicious hold. He yanked you back by it so that your head knocked against his shoulder, the angle he had you at starving your clit once more. 

“‘Nuff o’ that, sweethear’,” he muttered into your temple. “You can wait, like me.”

You whimpered, the humiliation finally having caught up to you - it rained over you cold and bitter, and you suddenly wanted to run and hide. 

He put both paws on your hips, then, and hoisted you up and off of him - dumped you into the sofa cushion beside him and you landed with a bounce. 

You grunted bitterly, still panting. “You’re such a-” you breathed, twitching. “Prick.”

“Careful,” he grumbled, scolding you, and you sealed your lips. 

After a short and breathless silence, you heard him chuckle to himself as he stuck his beer between his lips, swallowing a frothy sip as if he hadn’t just left you a wreck. 

You glanced at him, to see what was so funny - and you saw him swipe his thigh with his thumb, a mortifying patch darkened by your slick, more than you had thought, soaked through. 

“Fuckin’ mess you made,” he jeered, voice low and harsh as though distracted. He grunted out a tiresome sigh. “Gonna be tough to wait for date three, eh?”

You only nodded, mind blunt and blurry, suddenly remembering the rule you had set. 

“What’ve you got in mind,” you puffed, shimmying your dress back over your thighs to regain some of your stolen decency. 

He sucked his teeth, rocked his head as he took another sip of his Carlsberg. 

“Come watch me fight,” he said. 

GhostWolf.exe has stopped working

this render froze her brain - pls try again later....

does anybody have any fic rec for simon “ghost” riley x “tomboy” reader? (idk if tomboy is the right or appropriate term, i apologize) where reader is afab and etc but she’s like masculine? kinda looks like a boy and not very feminine, but yk she still tries to look feminine? and she has like short hair? (totally not projecting😅)

ps: also maybe where reader is short (i’m sorry)🥲😭