#ghost x trans reader

[mikotv]

M/n bit his bottom lip as he looked into the mirror, his eyes scanning over the features of his body. Tearing blurring his vision. He let in a shaky breath, holding it for a second before exhaling. His hair was getting longer, he was getting too busy with work to worry about a hair cut. He hasn’t had a day off in weeks, so he hasn’t really been focusing too much on his appearance.

His husband was due home any minute, he had to compose himself before he came home. But m/n couldn’t stop the tears that fell from his eyes. God M/n hated being trans sometimes.

But he was too lost in his thoughts and self degradation to hear the door opening and slamming shut, Simon calling for him.

Simon paused he saw his handsome husband crying in the mirror.

“Love? What’s wrong?” The smirk that was on Simon’s face was wiped off in second as he quickly went to hold m/n in his arms, kissing his temple gently.

Seeing the height difference the two didn’t do well with m/n dysphoria.

M/n couldn’t respond for a second. He rested his head on Simon’s shoulder. “Do you ever wish you married a woman?” M/n finally spoke, his voice shaky. Simon felt his heart stop, he turned his sweetheart around to face him. “Do I- what? Lovie where did this come from..?” Simon didn’t understand where the question came from, he cupped m/n face gently, wiping his tears away with his thumbs, tilting his head up slightly. His heart broke as he saw m/n’s teary, red eyes.

“I have you, you’re perfect, I wouldn’t want any else.” Simon kissed m/n’s forehead, letting his lips linger for second. He felt m/n shaking his head. “Do you wish I was a woman..” Simon couldn’t believe his ears at this point, he was a little irritated m/n would even say that. “What? No, I love you as you, I love you, I don’t care if you’re trans, you’re my husband,” Simon couldn’t help but sadly chuckle, a smile on his lips for a moment before they returned to a frown, “I wouldn’t want you either way..”

“I just feel like I’m faking it.” M/n moved his arms to wrap around his husband, burying his face into his chest. “No. Don’t say that, my love.” Simon felt like he was going to beat up any person that made his beloved feel this way. “You’re not faking it. Y’know how I know? Because when you finally got top surgery, you refused to wear a shirt for weeks,” Simon said as he kissed the top of m/n’s head, then he pulled away for a second, before going on his knees and kissing the two marks on m/n’s chest, “and whenever someone calls you ‘sir’ or anything like that, you get all giddy.” Simon got m/n’s arms and held his hands gently before trailing soft kisses up them. “And when we went to Price’s wedding together you wore a suit and you looked soooo handsome in it.” Now back in his feet, Simon planted a kiss on M/n’s lips.

“You’re so special to me M/n Riley. I wouldn’t trade you for anything else.” Simon’s voice lowered as he pulled his husband into a tight hug. Kissing the side of his head. “What if it was for a really cool gun?” M/n tested, his voice still a little shaky. “Know your limits.” Simon teased back. Then he brought a hand up and ruffled m/n’s hair. “Come on, I’ll cut your hair f’you.” The lieutenant broke the hug and took his love to the kitchen. After 20 minutes, deciding how to style his hair, he was finally done. They sat themselves in front of the same mirror. “See? My handsome, handsome man.” Simon said, kissing his cheek.

Sometimes I’m chill with my mum, then I see her agreeing with Charlie Kirk.

[aforestescape]

i woke up with impure thoughts

stalker!ghost/rapist!ghost

but you’re into it. trans male reader (hasn’t physically transitioned), no pronouns, chubby/fat!reader, dubcon/non con, somnophilia, breath play

waking up one morning. mind buzzing and thoughts clouded over by a haze of pleasure. your dreams had been normal at first before distorting into some fucked up coalition of being passed around undescript figures. having them taking turns groping at your breasts. large hands wandering up and down the curves of your body. moving to squeeze the fat of your hips before palming your stomach.

the feeling of being stuffed to fullness and more. the slight pain that comes with having your soaking hole being rearranged by a thick cock.

you moan out in your sleepy haze, not quite sure if you’re still dreaming. bucking your hips in your clouded haze of need and getting a response back in the form of hips smacking into your ass. another moan turned into a whined slur of “ah fuck.”

you can almost feel the tight grip of large, scarred hands squeezing your hips. one of them moving down to your back to shove you back into the bed as you start moving.

“stay still pet.”

a gasp gets caught in your throat as you are suddenly more awake. your soaked cunt squeezing the cock inside of you in surprise at the gruff voice that spoke to you. realizing that you aren’t still sleeping, this isn’t a dream and you’re really being fucked right now.

you try to turn your head only for the hand that was on your lower back to move to your head. shoving your face into your pillows while the snap of the hips behind you forces their cock into you further. you let out a muffled scream into the plush fabric, shifting your hips to try and get away.

the person behind you grunts, keeping their hand on the back of your head. their other scared hand palming the swell of your ass. groping the fat flesh before rearing back to leave a loud, harsh smack.

you cry out into the pillow, tears stinging your eyes with each hit. not being let up for air as each smack leaves a burning sting on the rapidly turning red flesh of your ass.

when the hits stop you’re suddenly brought up for air. the hand moving to your neck to pull your body up and against theirs. they don’t stop fucking you, pounding away into your tight slick cunt as you cry and moan. you can almost see the black gloved hand in your peripheral. choking you, stealing your air as they take what they want from you.

your body trembling as you gasp for air. the other hand moving to your growing cock. holding your smaller length in their hand before tugging at it. it makes your eyes roll back. a loud, pleased whine escaping your throat as they touch you. stroking your cock in tandem with each passing of their own inside of your slick hole. vision turning white as your orgasm quickly approaches.

as your legs start to shake under you, you feel the gloved hand tightening around your neck. squeezing the air from your lungs as you reach your peak. your hands shoot up to wrap around your throat. trying to pry the strong grip off as your eyes blur. the pounding in your cunt getting quicker and quicker until you finally squeeze down tight around them. cuming and blacking out on their cock while they continue to use your body.

only stopping once they’ve filled your limp body full of their creamy cum.

ahhh i’m a clown i forgot i was going to post today. plus i wrote this in may omg😭crown me king of forgetting my finished drafts exist ffs

[asanionyx]

Medics Need a Little Lovin’

Ghost x (afab/gn) reader

Summary: You are an exhausted medic and Ghost wants to help you catch some Zs.

CW: unprotected sex, semi-public (private, in a public area), slight degradation, praise.

TW: pussy, hole, clit.

You haven’t gotten any sleep for a few days now. Just working none-stop. If you’re not patching up soldiers back to good health, you’re filling out copious amounts of paperwork. Even the little free time you get, it’s always spent awake and frustrated. Your mind betraying your body as always.

Simon Ghost Riley, is a frequent visitor, has come to get patched up again. It still baffles you how much his body has gone through yet it’s still functioning almost perfectly. The amount he’s endured would drive any person mad.

Thankfully he’s not too wounded just a few slits on the biceps. You grab your supplies and proceed to do your job. “You look tired.” He says, concern laced in his words.

“Heh, yeah haven’t slept in a bit. Nothing to worry about.” You say avoiding eye contact.

“I can help with that.” You laugh it off not sure what he is implying by his statement. “I’m serious. A good fuck might help you sleep.” You swiftly look up at him, shocked at the sudden vulgar implication. You look in his eyes hoping it is just his way of joking around.

But no, he seems dead serious about this. “I-I don’t know…” You can’t believe you’re even contemplating this. It should be completely out of the question. He’s not just your superior but he’s also your PATIENT. No matter how you like at it, it’s completely inappropriate.

You finish patching him up and stand, “If you’re not interested, I won’t force you but I’d love to pleasure you.” He says as he puts his hoodie back on. You bite your lip as you look away. Fuck, you really do want this. “Ok.” You sigh succumbing to your desires. His face lights up. He quickly flips you onto the bed, face facing the pillow below you.

He unbuttons your pants and removes them enough to expose you voluptuous ass and soaking wet pussy. He slowly inserts two of his fingers and it’s already too much for you. You’re so out of practice and his fingers are so big. He starts moving in and out of you, pace already quick and deep.

“If someone walks in, we’re fuuuuuuccckked.” You manage to spit out as he fucks you with his fat fingers.

“Well, we better be careful then.” Ghost replies. He removes his fingers and you look behind you to see him. He pulls out his cock. It’s huge, pre-cum already dripping from the tip.

You moan as he slides his cock into your hole. The stretch slightly painful as he goes deeper into you. He stays in place to let you adjust. “Fuck you’re giant.” You gasp, feeling so full as you try to take a deep breath.

You start moaning uncontrollably as he starts moving in and out of you. “You moan like a slag, Love.” He says smirking as he fucks into you deep. The headboard slamming into the wall rhythmically as you moan loudly.

“Fuuuuck Simon…!” you tense as you start feeling your orgasm nearing.

“As much as I love your moans, Love, we don’t want someone to hear you now, do we?” You try to suppress your moans but you realize it’s way too difficult. You bite the pillow to muffle them.

“Simon I’m gonna- gonna cum!” You warn as you get close to the edge.

“Already?” He asks.

“I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m s-sorryyy.” He starts rubbing you clit and you gasp at the touch, bucking you hips closer towards the bed.

“Cum for me then, Sweetheart.” He whispers in your ear. “Yeah that’s it cum all over my cock.” You start to clinch around him and he groans.

You orgasm as Simon’s name flows out of your mouth, clinging to the pillow for stability. He pulls out, cock still hard, and lets you catch your breath.

“Wait, Si, you didn’t cum.” You slightly turn to look at him. He pulls your pants back up and zips it closed.

“Don’t worry about me.”

“At least let me suck you off.”

“This was all about you, now get some rest.” He kisses your forehead and covers you with a blanket.

Once your head lays on the pillow, exhaustion washes over you and you submit into sleep.

END

[monstersflashlight]

Info post + masterlist of masterlists

Hello there! I'm a 20+ yr old asexual and autistic who likes to write (allegedly) stories involving monsters. Back-up account is @whiskis and main account (if someone is interested) is @angela-feelstoomuch

I have the ask option open, you can send requests, opinions or anything that crosses your mind. (I won't accept rudeness, tho.) Things I DON'T write here. Heads up, requests take about one month to get answered (more or less).

Requests are CLOSED until further notice. Nº of requests waiting: 84

Here we follow the most important rule of fiction: don't like, don't read.

Each story has their own main kink list and TW (let me know if something is missing). The default for me is gonna be a male!monster, otherwise it will be specified. In the human department, it will be specified in each story. This list will be updated regularly.

Patreon info here

Patreon exclusive (sneak peek) masterlist

Commissions and tip jar

Here's mi ko-fi where you can find my tip jar and the info on commissions is here. You can find all commissions in this masterlist.

Comissioned art here.

Masterlists

Minotaur masterlist

Werewolf masterlist

Orc masterlist

Vampire masterlist

Dragon masterlist

Ghost masterlist

Demon masterlist

Alien masterlist

Monster boyfriend txt masterlist

Mixed monsters masterlist

Queer masterlist

Headcanon masterlist

Monster-kinktober masterlist

Monster advent calendar

Tag list (links in this section only work on computer)

Little "imagine" situations and short stories: #txt or click here

Art and gifs under the tag: #art or click here

Polls about stories or random stuff: #poll or click here

Answers to questions and opinions: #monster's pet asks or click here

Book recs: #monster's pet recs

Random facts: #random facts or click here

Personal stuff: # monster's pet personal

I do not consent to have any form of reproduction, replication, or translation of my stories without my explicit consent. This includes reposting my stories on other websites, platforms, etc.

[songbirdmunson]

when men pathetically rut into you at an animalistic pace, trying to fight back the urge to moan like a slut, but once you drag your nails down their back they can’t shut up. telling you how they want you to mark them up, how they want everyone to see what you do to them. their hair falling into their eyes as every muscle in their body tenses, their orgasm threatening to break at any moment. wrapping your legs around them, pulling them closer and closer until every inch is deep inside of you, the wetness from your bodies running down your thighs and underneath you. yeah, give me that. <3

[starryey]

God, think of trans dombot! Simon with a very submissive subtop! reader and you are literally a monster but you can’t function without Simon’s voice giving you orders and you would follow him without question even if it costs you your life.

Think of how dombot! Simon puts a collar with leash on you while he’s lying back in his seat with his legs spread wide for you. Your thick cock stretches his already wrecked hole mercilessly as your heavy balls slap against the plump mass of his ass over and over again.

Dombot! Simon holds the leash to keep you in check, giving you a few tugs every now and then and keeping constant eye contact. You can see his lustful, commanding eyes through his mask as your already labored breathing hitches, he’s so handsome you just want to make him a baby just as cute

You continue pounding his pussy like a vice, listening to his moans and incomprehensible ramblings until your orgasm becomes imminent and you begin to beg him to let you cum, it's what you deserve after having done such a good job on your last mission

You cum as soon as Simon gives you his confirmation, leaving your fat cock stuck to the hilt as your balls empty into his swollen and reddened pussy, he'll probably get angry as soon as he comes down from his own ecstasy, but that's not important right now.

Dombot! Simon has the leash tightly gripped with his eyes rolled up and mind totally blank, the only thing he can feel is the pleasant stretch of your cock and your baby batter filling him to the brim. Just as you had anticipated Simon scolds you a while later, but you cared little when you were busy admiring your baby batter dripping from his pretty, abused pussy

Oh how you adore this man

[gofishygo]

everyone always talks about ‘medic reader’ this and ‘teammate reader’ that but what abt weapons engineer/mechanic reader ?

just a silly little fella who helps out the 141 with their weapons when they go out of whack, who works very closely with the team to coordinate certain weapons for specific missions .

they’d probably have a really close bond with soap , both having fun with testing demolitions together . who’s able to add in ideas and carry conversations with you when you ramble on about weapons . johnny pulls you close to him when they get startled from the loud noise of an explosion , laughing a little at how they excuse their sudden vulnerability with ‘not expecting it to be that loud’.

price who seeks them out when he’s having issues with his cm901, having to endure your age-long lectures about not accidentally slamming the barrel to hard. he subconsciously makes sure the brush his hand over yours when he finally retrieves his now-fixed weapon.

yeah nyways weapon mech! reader has my heart

[writing-mlm]

Will you love me again?

Summary: Simon’s returned home after 20 years but the suitors have finally grown restless of waiting for you to pick a new King of Ithaca. Pairing: King!Simon Riley x King!Ftm!reader Wc: 6.1k Tags/Warning: Canon-level violence, talks/planning of S/A, Epic the Musical Ithaca Saga spoilers! Most of the words are literally lyrics so ig song fic, oral (r!receiving), fingering, stomach bulge, reader has a vagina, no protection, creampie

His skin remembers the touch of your lips, the way they’d press against his tense muscles, the way they’d kiss his scars and carry soft whispers and songs. How your hands would touch him, run up his arms, cradle his face, and remove his helmet. He remembers the sound of your voice, how you’d talk to him while weaving against the window, your kingdom standing below your castle. 

The castle he’d built all those years ago as a declaration of his love for you. A castle that grew colder as the years stretched on since he’s been there; taken away for a war. 

A war, born from a greedy man kidnapping your cousin. A war Simon hadn’t wanted to participate in because, despite his oath to your cousin's husband, the Trojans have never helped Ithaca in their times of need. And even more so, he had you, his husband, and your newborn to watch over. To protect. He’d only agreed to help after he’d been tricked. 

A war that was supposed to be no more than five years had turned into a twenty-year journey. He’d left a twenty-year-old, rising to power in Ithaca with a newborn son. Now he’s forty, his home just out of sight, and his son would be twenty. He imagines how you must look now. How your hair must’ve greyed, how you picked the hyacinths and bluebells from the garden. 

He wonders how his son is doing, what he likes, and what he’s accomplished. How he’s missed his whole life. 

Simon strains as he pushes the raft from the island, the goddess he left on the sandy shores crying for him. Begging him to stay; she loves him. He loathes her. He loathes the years he’s stayed trapped on that island, how she’d been persistent on loving him. Gods, provided she wasn’t a goddess, he would’ve killed her the first time she even hinted at such. 

His head hurts when he remembers his fallen friends; Gaz, Price— and Johnny. He’d gotten his brother killed, he let all of them, all six hundred men die under his watch. The cyclops, Scylla, Circe— Zeus, Poseidon. He recognizes the pain turning into red-hot anger as he pushes past Charybdis. These past years cannot have been in vain. The souls that haunt his dreams won’t have died in vain. 

He’ll make it home, he’s sure of that. 

—

You stare at the suitors gathered at the palace gates, angry men eager to become the next king one way or another. All the while your son, Johnny, stands in front of them with a spear and your old armor. You know that look in his eyes, that Athena's determination he has because Simon had it, too. 

You sigh, undoing the threads you’d made the day before. For the funeral shroud you’ve been making for ten years with the promise that once it’s done, you’ll pick from the suitors and give Ithaca a new king. You almost laugh when you remember how many years ago that had been now. How foolish the suitors had been to agree to your demand. How you fear you’ll have to finish it one of these days. 

You look at your sword hung in the corner of the room. You remember your newly made armor, tucked in your closet, the new bow and arrow next to it. You remember the feeling of warm blood on your hands. 

Even if you must finish the shroud they’ll never get their wishes. No one will rule alongside you and if you must, you’ll take a queen. Perhaps some common woman with nothing better to do; drown her with all the things a queen would desire all the while you continue your duties as king. 

Standing, you close the curtains to the window and grab your sword. It feels like home in your hands, reminders of your time as a warrior of Sparta and then Ithaca. You’ve never forgotten your lessons, the teachings so ingrained in your very being they feel like second nature when you swipe the air. 

It’ll need to be sharpened before tomorrow. 

That night a storm rages on the coast of Ithaca. You watch from the balcony, the wind blowing your hair and clothes as you try to see inside of the storm. Poseidon fights, you can tell that much, and gods, you know in your bones. You know it’s time to set your plan in motion. 

You call a maid to send the news; the Challenge you’d set up after five years of Simon being gone was happening. You rush to gather Simon’s old bow, carefully undoing the string while the servants gather twelve axes from the armory. 

—

“I’ll be back soon,” Johnny promises the next morning. You stand at the pier, watching as he loads onto a boat; about to head off for a mission for the kingdom. 

“I know you will,” You smile, giving him a dagger that he places on his thigh strap. You don’t pretend to notice the group of angry suitors hiding behind ships, watching as you watch your son leave. Leaving you alone for who knows how long, the mission shouldn’t take longer than a day, though. 

As the ship leaves, you look at where the storm had raged, sure that you see a small object floating towards Ithaca shores. You smile, hanging your head before thanking whatever God had allowed him home and return to the castle. The suitors follow, ready for the challenge you’d sent messengers to talk about that morning. You ride your horse back, letting them climb the mountain to the castle as you prepare for what’s to come. 

Their footsteps are heavy, echoing in the halls as a maid guides them to the throne room. You sit at your throne, the half-finished shroud draped over Simon’s throne. His crown sits under it, shining like the first day it was made. A reminder to them and yourself that your husband is out there, that they’ll never sit on that throne as long as you’re alive.

As you look around, you inhale and look over the crowd of men. There are dozens of them, some bigger, some smaller. All of them hungry for power, all of them greedy in a way that makes your stomach turn. 

You stand, shoulders back and head held high as hold back a deep, etching frown. 

“The Challenge,” You start as the murmurs die into a silence that had overtaken the castle all those years ago. You grip the bow, raising it in the air for everyone to see.  “Whoever can string my husband's old bow and shoot through twelve axes cleanly,” Your gaze travels to the axes, lined up in a straight line, the hole only just big enough to allow an arrow to slide through. “Will be the new king and rule with me.” Cheers echo through the halls and you hand the bow to the first suitor before you take your seat. Your throne.

You hope Simon knows that you’re buying him time; that you’ve bought him twenty years of time to return. That he’ll climb the mountain from the shores to the castle before they grow behind restless. Bloodthirsty with one goal on their mind. You hope your son doesn’t come back to see you in such a state if Simon doesn’t make it on time. 

They grow more frustrated as the hours tick by and they find that no one can string the bow. Eventually, the sun sets and you tell them they can try again tomorrow. They all agree, with some grumbles and you take the bow back from a suitor who bares his teeth at you. He resembles a beast, a beast that you don’t dignify with a reaction. 

—

“Screw this competition,” A man that Simon knows all too well, Graves, snarls as he tosses his old bow to the ground. “We’ve been here for hours. None of us can string this; we don’t have the power. Screw this damn challenge!” He rakes his hands through his hair, the stress clear in his actions that make Simon proud. Of course, you’d set up something only he could do, of course, you’d waited all these years for him to return.

“No more delay. Don’t you see that we’ve been played?” Grave’s eyes travel amongst the men crowded around him. Men that are so easily swayed by simple words that it makes Simon seethe. “This is how he holds us down as the throne gets colder. Hold us down as we slowly age. Hold us down while the boy gets bolder.” Grave continues, daring to even hint about Simon and your son. “Where the hell is our pride and our rage?” A couple of the men agree, egged on by each other's stupidity. 

“Here and now,” Another man says as Grave smirks; clearly his plan is working. Like a moth to a flame, they take his bait. “There’s a chance for action; we can take control. Here and now we can burn it to ashes.” Too big for his pants, Simon assumes. 

He leaves for a moment, gathering their weapons and hiding them in the armory, making sure to leave it unlocked before he returns to their conversation. By that point more men had gathered; you’d long since left the throne room so Simon didn’t worry about you hearing their voices any longer. 

“Haven’t you noticed who’s missing? Don’t you notice the prince is not around? I heard he’s on a diplomatic mission and I heard today he's coming back to town.” Grave continues, and crosses his arms over his chest. Simon’s eyes dart down from his place in the room, overlooking the shores of Ithaca as a boat slowly approaches. 

“So…?” A different man speaks from somewhere in the crowd. 

“I say we gather near the beaches. We wait till he arrives, then when he docks his ship I say we breach it. Let us leave now, today we can strike!” Grave doesn’t feel the sharp glare that hits his head as he speaks. Unaware that his words have just set his fate into motion; a fate that Simon has become oh so familiar with these past twenty years. 

“Hold him down, till the boy stops shaking.”

He counts the men; seventy in total. 

“Hold him down, while I slit his throat.”

He’s taken down worse. More. 

“Hold him down, while I slowly break his pride, his trust, his faith, and his bones!”

He can’t wait to watch them bleed. The feeling of their blood on his hands; something he hadn’t realized could feel so good until now. He wanted to chase it like they plan on chasing you and your son.

“Cut him down into tiny pieces. Throw him down in the great below that way when the crown wonders where the prince is only the ocean and I will know.” 

Watch their light leave their eyes; hear their screams. Beg him to spare them. The gurgling sound as they choke on their own blood.

“And when it’s done,” Grace smirks. “The king will have no one to stop us from breaking his bedroom door. Stop us from taking his love and more. And then we’ll…”

He’ll savor Graves the most, he quickly decides. He won’t dignify him with a fast death. He’ll hurt him, hold him down, and break his bones. He’ll drag him by his legs into town, parading him around to not only show he’s home to his throne, to his husband and his son but to show that anyone who had thought any different will face the same consequences. 

“Hold him down.”

“While the gate is open.”

“Hold him down.”

“While I get a taste and we share his spoils. I will not let any part go to waste.” 

He rises from his spot, his hand a deathly grip on his knife as the men try to leave the halls, one of them pointedly staggering behind. Drunk on wine. The perfect way to announce himself. 

He doesn’t waste a second, stabbing the man in the throat and he watches as he gurgles on his own blood as he returns to his perfectly hidden spot. He watches with glee as the light leaves his eyes, staring down at him as his body goes limp. 

The men stop at the door, having heard the noise. When they turn they only see a dead man and then nothing around him. Quicker than they can react, the torches around them snuff out one by one, and then the door behind them locks. Like rats they scramble, searching frantically on the ground for anything they can use to defend themselves. 

“Twenty years,” Simon growls. “I suffered from the wrath of Gods and monsters to the screams of my comrades. Watched my men die like cattle. I come back to my palace, desecrated and sacked like Troy. Worst of all,” He reaches into the darkness, grabbing a random man who shouts, tugging at Simon’s wrist to be let go. 

“I hear you dare to touch my husband and hurt my boy! I… have had… enough.” He snaps the man’s neck in three motions before stepping over his now limp body as he watches the men scramble in the dark. He supposes he should thank Calypso for living on such a dark island, now he can watch them as they scramble for torches. Lighting them with the nearby lighters. 

He grabs his bow, stringing it with ease while the others run in the castle. The darkness that shrouds them is emphasized by the setting sun. Simon struts after them, listening to their footsteps and breathing like a predator. 

“We have the advantage; we’ve the numbers and the might.” A man says, clearly not knowing who he’s up against.

“No!” Shouts a man who does, he wonders if they fought together before. Somehow that makes him all the more angry as he grabs an arrow from his quiver. “You don’t understand! This man plans for every fight.” An arrow flies through the air, stabbing him through the neck and the others shout, watching as he drops and the torch rolls away from his limp hand. Everyone scrambles away, fleeing down the hall. 

“Where is he? Where is he?” Someone shouts, his eyes as wide as they can go and he looks into the darkness. 

“Keep your heads down, he's aiming for the torches!” Someone else hisses and they all duck, holding the torches as high as they can manage without dropping it. 

“Our weapons! They’re missing!” Simon grins at the fear in the man’s tone, stringing another arrow. 

“We’re empty-handed,” Someone says, the realization that they’re fucked dawning on him. “Up against an archer.” He mutters, looking around the dark room. 

“Our only chance is to strike him in the darkness. We know these halls our odds can be titled.” Someone tries to comfort him before flinching at the sound of Simon’s snicker. 

“You don’t think I know my own palace? I built it!” Another arrow flies, hitting a man in the head. He walks after them as they run away. 

“It’s the old king!”

“No! Our leader is dead!” 

“Old king forgive us!”

“Let’s have open arms instead!” He stops walking, notching yet another arrow as he’s reminded of Gaz. His chest tightens when he remembers his friend, his brother. 

“No,” The arrow flies, he doesn’t care to see who it lands inside of. He knows Graves isn’t with this group and heads the other way; towards where he’d hidden their weapons. He’ll deal with the others later, for now only one person has a giant target on their back.

“Dammit,” Grave hisses as he opens the door to the armory. “He’s more cunning than I thought. While we were plotting he hid our weapons in here.” He waves the torch through the room, each weapon highlighted by the burning flame. 

“I find it hard to believe that the sharpest of kings left his armory unlocked,” A man mutters, his frantic eyes looking outside of the room because he knows what’s out there, waiting for him. 

“So what?” Grave scoffs as he grabs his sword. “Let’s make the bastard rot.”

“Behind you!” He spins, watching as Simon stabs a man through the chest with a sword, his piercing eyes glaring at Graves over the man’s shoulder. The man collapses to the floor while Simon takes the sword out, flicking the blood onto the walls. 

“Put the weapons down and I’ll spare you,” He tells the men and immediately they do but Graves doesn’t. Simon tilts his head, eyes flickering to the ten men around Graves. 

“How do you dare? Haven’t you seen what he’ll do to us?” Someone asks him, his hands held up in fear.

“The prince!” Someone shouts and Simon makes the mistake of looking behind him. The men in the armory jump on his back without hesitation, shouting to attack the prince that way he’ll have to stand down. Simon struggles against them, his sword clattering to the ground when he sees the torches illuminating his son. 

He chokes as he sees his son falling to the ground, scrambling to his dagger that had gotten thrown in the fight. 

“Stop struggling and we’ll show you mercy,” Grave whispers in Simon’s ear, holding his hair in an iron-tight grip. 

“Mercy?” A voice cuts and Simon feels blood running down his cloak. He hears the sound of someone being impaled and then another in quick succession. The weight on his back lessens and he charges forward. 

“Mercy?” Simon bellows, taking harsh steps toward the now-fallen Graves. Unable to find his footing again as more men die around him. “My mercy long since drowned. It died to bring me home. And as long as you're around my family's fate is left unknown. You plotted to kill my son.” In one motion he scoops Graves up, bringing him to his feet and then against the wall. The tip of his blade presses against the man’s neck as his eyes squeeze shut, feet trying to find purchase aside from the tips of his toes on the cold marble floors. 

“You planned to rape my husband! All of you are going to die!” He stabs Graves six times, huffing as the body slumps against him and then against the wall when Simon shoves him away. 

He stands tall, listening to the shouts of the scared, trapped men as their fates quickly find them. He knows who is fighting at his side; he knows so well but he doesn’t register it until everyone is dead. Until the torches line the walls and he sees his foes splayed on the floors. 

“Father?” The sword in his hand clatters to the ground as he spins around. Johnny stands where he was once pinned down, blood dusting his tunic and his face. None of which is his own, Simon thanks the gods for that fact.

“Son,” His voice cracks as he takes a step forward. His chest heaves as he looks at his boy, and how he’s grown into a man. Johnny rushes forward, pulling him into a hug. 

“I’ve waited my whole life for you. Twenty years,” He cries into Simon’s chest, his sobs growing as he feels his father's tight embrace. 

“Oh my son, look how much you’ve grown,” He whispers, fighting back his own tears. “Oh, my boy. My sweetest joy. I captured the wind and sky for you.”

“My son, I'm finally home.” He finally cries, looking at his son's face for the first time in twenty years. He sees you in him, he sees himself. Simon presses his forehead to Johnny’s, holding the back of his neck as he cries. He cries and he weeps, relief, something he hasn’t felt in years, floods his body as all of the suffering he’s endured has been worth it. 

“My love?” He hates to look away but he does, his chest tight when he sees you removing your helmet. Your sword stuck in some man’s chest as your feet carried you across the hall and into his arms. 

He calls you, your name falling from his lips and you cry into his neck. You’d nearly forgotten the sound of it on his tongue. 

“Is it you?” You ask, pushing away from him after the initial shock. He’d warned you all those years ago, not to trust anyone who looked like him. He knew the Gods and their tricks; you knew them, too. “Have my prayers been answered? Or am I dreaming again?” 

“I am no’ the man you fell in love with,” He admits as your eyes scan over him. You pick apart everything about him that’s changed over the years as doubt creeps in the back of your mind. “I am not the man you once adored; I am not your kind and gentle husband and I am not the love you knew before.” You frown as he takes your hands, falling to his knees before looking up at you. With a gaze, you tell Johnny to leave the two of you for now. 

“Would you fall in love with me again if you knew all I’ve done? The things I cannot change. Would you love me all the same? I know that you’ve been waiting for love.” He begs, his bleary eyes unable to look at anything but you.

You nod, holding his face before guiding him up to his feet. “What kind of things did you do?” His head dips down in shame as the two of you move to stand outside in your garden. Free of blood and bodies as you sit under the olive tree he’d planted for you all those years ago. 

“Left a trail of blood on every island. I traded friends as though they were objects. Hurt more lives than I can count. But all so I could come back to you.” He cries, holding your face, his cries growing as you lean into the touch. “Tell me, please. Would you fall in love with me again?” 

“If that’s true,” You start, moving his hand from your face and he falters, eyes darting between yours as if they’ll reveal your choice before your voice does. “Could you do me a favor?” 

“Anything,” He nods. 

“Just a moment of labor that would bring me some peace. See that wedding bed? Could you carry it over? Lift it high on your shoulders and take it far from here?” You ask, your eyes darting between his own as you wait. Wait as you’ve done for twenty long years. 

“How could you say this?” He asks, his hand moving from your face. “I built that wedding bed with my blood and sweat. Carved it into the olive tree where we first met. A symbol of our love everlasting! Do you realize what you have asked me? The only way to move it is to cut it from its roots!” He shouts, almost standing due to the anger bubbling in him. 

“Only my husband knew that!” You sob, holding his hands again. “You’re real! My Gods, you’re real!” He calls your name as you shudder. You shake your head, pulling him close as your hands search his body, holding him impossibly close. 

“I will fall in love with you over and over again. I don’t care how, where, or when. No matter how long it’s been. You’re mine. Don’t tell me you’re not the same person, you’re always my husband and I’ve been waiting for you!” He blinks, brushing your tears from your face before he kisses you. 

You crumble under his touch, your hands shaking as you cradle his face. He holds you tightly, pressing your armored chest flush against himself. You pull away first, tucking his now long blonde hair behind his ears to see his face properly. 

—

You don’t get a chance to admire the new Simon, not between the kissing and his insisting that you share the bed with Johnny for the night. You agree, of course, the two of you squishing Simon while he happily holds the two of you in his arms as the night draws on. 

Simon wakes up first, he’s gotten so used to being forced to share a bed with Calypso that he’d made his body wake up early to escape her. He looks at you and Johnny for a while, softly crying as he knows he’s home. Eventually, he gets up, hating the way the two of you whimper at the lost feeling between the two of you. 

He doesn’t venture far, just far enough to grab a bowl of water and a blade. Settling in front of a mirror, he shaves his face for the first time since he set out to Troy and then cuts his hair. He’s never seen his grey hairs before. Despite knowing that he was aging while he was out there he hadn’t realized he was aging. He wasn’t twenty anymore, he certainly didn’t look it either. 

He has scars on his face, he has grey hairs, he has the starts of wrinkles, eye bags— he could list them for hours. 

He looks back at you as you sleep. At your grey hairs, at your wrinkles and he smiles. You’re just as beautiful as the day he met you. 

Stepping towards the window he sees the castle workers dragging the bodies out of the castle and into a carriage. Tossing them unceremoniously and he makes his way down. 

“Load them and wait. Do not touch them any further,” He tells one of the maids without looking at her, his gaze locked on the men who had dared to try and defile his family. “Send word to the people of Ithaca. Meet at the pier by noon.” She nods, waiting to be dismissed by the king but he turns on his heel and returns to your room. 

You’re awake, rubbing your eyes as your sleepwear slips from your shoulder. 

“Did I wake you?” He asks, crawling into the bed and kissing the exposed skin. You roll your head at the feeling, holding the back of his head to keep him in place. 

“No,” You murmur, head against his. “I missed you.” 

“I missed you, too,” He pulls you onto his lap and you let him, too tired to fight back as he lays down again. “Trust me, ‘m not leaving ever again.”

“I like the sound of that,” You yawn, rubbing Johnny’s hair as he reaches out for the two of you. “We need to get up, though. Clean the halls,” 

“Already taken care of, love.” You hum, head resting on his bare chest, fingers tracing against his skin.

“You cut your hair,” You point out. 

“Mhmm, like it?” 

“Ask me later; ‘m too tired.” He chuckles and pets your cheek with his knuckles. 

“Rest my love, I’m not going anywhere.” 

The next time you wake up, he’s engrossed in a conversation with Johnny. He’s still holding you, but now it’s sitting up on the bed while Johnny all but bounces around the room. He talks about his own adventures with Athena, how he’d almost beat up Graves this one time, how you always kept a place for him. He talks about the stories he grew up hearing about the great King Simon of Ithaca. 

Simon listens, committing his son's voice to memory while he inhales the smell of your hair. 

A knock at the door stops their conversation and Simon calls for whoever it is to come in as he pulls the blanket over your body. 

“It is nearly noon, King Simon.” 

“Thank you,” He nods, watching the door close before he looks down at you. “How long have you been awake?” He chides upon seeing your very much awake eyes on him. 

“Long enough,” You respond but make no action to move. “What’s at noon?”

“You’ll see.” He lifts you with ease, picking himself up in the process and you laugh, holding onto his shoulders while Johnny gags and rushes out of the room. 

In the tub, Simon sits first, letting you slowly sit with him before he kisses you. His lips and teeth pull and suck at the skin of your neck while you coo, squeezing his shoulders. The cold water wakes you up more than the kisses do, but when his hand dives between your legs you swear you’re more than awake. 

“Mmm-mm,” You shake your head as you reluctantly push his hands away, he pouts but doesn’t fight it. “I want it to be in bed. To reclaim it,” His pupils dilate at the idea, you feel his pulse against his wrist and you grin, wrapping your arms around his neck. 

“I can do that,” He nods, instead moving his hands to start washing the two of you. 

The two of you dress together in your finest tunics, adorning yourselves in the royal jewelry and colors before getting Johnny from his room. Again, Simon finds himself between the two of you as you head down to your horses. Even more so when you’re all squished into a chariot. 

The wagon of dead bodies follows behind you, the smell of death present as the townspeople watch. People gasp at the sight of Simon, and whispers of the long-since departed king's return echo throughout Ithaca. 

Simon steps onto the platform, bringing you up with him and you stand next to him while Johnny stands in front of the two of you. 

He starts a speech, making a point about the dead men. He talks of the disrespect to his house– to his family. He dares someone else to try to ruin his family, to hurt his son, his husband. He declares himself back, the two kings of Ithaca ruling again. Merciful, he calls the act of bloodshed the two of you had committed the night before. He calls the men’s mothers, their fathers, their wives, their children. He tells them they can weave their funeral shroud for them. Or else he’ll burn them to keep your room warm. 

He watches as they collect their sons, their husbands, and their fathers. He holds you close, fingers a bruising grip against your waist. 

The two of you head back; Johnny stays behind to venture around the kingdom. You think it’s so the two of you can be alone for a little while. 

—

“I’ve missed you, husband,” Simon says, his head between your legs. He’s thrown them over his shoulders, his hands kneading the flesh of your stomach. He’s dreamt of this sight for two decades and yearned to dive his head between your legs again. Savoring the taste, feeling the way you’d clench around him. 

“I’ve missed you, husband,” You parrot, reaching down to hold his chin. He leans into the warm touch, eyes closing as he savors it. You trail your hand up, holding his hair as he dives down. You gasp when he presses his tongue flat against you, slowly dragging up and down while watching you. 

“I’m yours,” He murmurs, pressing sloppy kisses against your warmth while you twitch under his hold. “Only yours.” You pant, holding the cotton sheets for a reprise as his tongue makes figure eights around you, how he sucks and nips at your sensitive bud. He moves, sliding a finger into you; his eyes stuck on your face as your back arches. It’s an adjustment, just as it had been the first time you’d done this. 

Your body had almost forgotten the feeling of his fingers inside of you, how skillful they’d been during your marriage. How he knew your body inside and out, what points to press on, and how fast to go. He maintains a rhythm that makes you cry, your arm across your eyes as you try to compose yourself. Not let yourself come undone so fast. 

“Simon,” You breathe, trying to get to your elbows but he starts moving his finger. He's pushing and pulling, curling inside of you and it makes you fall back on the bed. He shudders, that tone in your voice, that feeling on his finger, the taste on his tongue. It’s all he’s ever wanted; it’s what kept him going all these years. “I need you,” You cry, eyes closed as your stomach tightens. He adds another finger, the added pressure makes your jaw drop. 

“You have me,” He swears. “Look at me, please,” You try, honestly you do, but the tightness reaches a high and your eyes screw shut. Your fingers tighten around his hair, your voice echoes in the room and Simon feels you clench around him. He almost laughs, not because it hadn’t taken much to push you to the edge but because he’d already come. It hadn’t taken anything, all it took was you saying his name and he spilled into the bedsheets. 

“You okay, moon?” He asks while crawling on top of you, his lips leaving scattered kisses across your body. You nod, face blissed out and eyes watery. “Can you take another?” 

“I can take a million more,” You breathe and he laughs, head dropping between your neck. You laugh along, legs raising as he bites your skin. He moves so he’s holding himself up with one hand, his other grabs his dick as it hardens again. 

“You sure?” He asks and you nod, kissing his shoulder. 

“I can take it,” You moan, feeling the tip move across your folds. It slips and prods before he eventually pushes inside in one fluid motion. Your back arches, pushing your chest against his as he fills you. 

“Full, ‘m so full,” You pant against him and he nods, moving your hair from your face. 

“Full ‘n’ tight f’ me, yeah?” He teases, slowly rolling his hips against yours. He relishes in watching your expressions, how your mouth drops open and you’re unable to control the sounds you make. “Waited so long f’ me, didn’t you?” As he’s speaking, he raises up from you, his right hand holding your stomach down while the left starts rubbing soft circles on your clit. “So patient, my love. Thank you.” 

His eyes dip down, looking at the bulge in your stomach as he slowly enters and exits you. He moans at the sight, eyes closing for a brief moment as he begins to pick up pace. You struggle to look at him, one hand holding the wooden headboard behind you while the other loosely holds the wrist that’s circling you. 

“Missed you s’much,” He moans. “Missed all of you.” He slurs, leaning down to kiss you. He bites your bottom lip before his lips capture yours, his hips pressing against your own with each thrust. “Gods, you’re so tight.” He grunts as he pulls away, moving your left leg to be over his shoulder while the right leg sits at his hip. He speeds up, twitching as your moans only grow louder. Your nails drag against his chest and circle to his back. 

He feels his scars under your nails, the sensitive skin prickling hot as you open his flesh. He hisses, the pain far easier to manage than anything he’s faced while away but so different. So loving. 

“Inside me,” You moan, finally able to look at him as you bite your bottom lip. It’s throbbing from the pain of him biting it but you don’t care. “Inside me, Si, please.”

“Who am I to deny you, my king?” He grins and then drops his head down to your neck, feeling your walls tighten around him. You hear him whimper and moan against you and it only eggs you on. He’d chased that feeling for years, spilling inside of you as your high starts approaching. He continues for you, continuing his bruising pace until your body stops moving, your mouth falls open and your breathing goes ragged. Tenderly, as he always used to do, Simon holds you close to him. Your head rests against his chest so you can listen and feel his heart beating against your ear. 

His hand stops circling your clit as he slowly pulls out from inside you. The sounds that come from him and you spur him on more but he contains himself. Instead, he watches as his cum leaks from you. On instinct, he pushes it back inside, loving the way your legs twitch when he does. 

“Do you need a break?” He asks, eyeing the sweat on your brow. You inhale, thinking about it before shaking your head. 

“I can take more,” You swear and he raises his eyebrow. “Please, Simon.” 

“Your wish is my command.”

[rodolfoparras]

Thinking about comfort sex but instead of reassuring words and gentle caresses it’s this big burly man hovering over your face, hand scruffing your neck before shoving you into his warm wet heat, riding your face like you didn’t just tell him you had the works week of your life and there aren’t tears prickling your eyes and a big fat knot in your stomach, treating you like you’re only a warm wet mouth solely meant for his pleasure, telling you to shut up when groans or grunts escape your mouth because toys don’t talk remember that, won’t let you touch yourself even though pre’s pooling on your stomach and you’re withring under him, being anything but gentle as he clenches his thighs onto your face and erratically ruts his hips, refusing to budge even when you claw at his legs in a desperate attempt to come up for air, practically on the verge of passing out when he finally finishes.

It’s only afterwards he tells you that you did well, hand gently cupping your cheek calloused thumb stroking the skin before he slots your lips together, tongue swiftly slipping past your lips, lapping at ever nook and cranny til all he can do is taste himself on his own lips “so good for me puppy,”

[heartfullofleeches]

Darling dared by their group of friends to walk past a bus stop known to be haunted by the ghost of a young woman looking for her groom - following those she deems to be a suitable partner home. They'll be totally fine and safe since they aren't a guy!

"G-guys?! There's somebody sitting on the bench. She's standing up and staring right at me!"

"Haha- Nice try, Y/n-"

"I'm serious! She's coming this way! I'm not even a-"

-

Trans Male Darling, years along the line - staring at himself in the mirror: ....

Trans Male Darling: ... Can't even say I'm surprised by how things turned out anymore-

Ghost Wife Yan, resting her head on his shoulder:<3

[stellewriites]

trans!soap who buys one of those dick molding kits and drops it in ghost’s lap, asks him to do it so he can have a braw cock to fuck his new girlfriend with.

“need something that’ll leave her weak-kneed, ya ken? an’ i know from personal experience that yers’ll do the job, lt.”

[astr0exe]

HYBRID AU !

(tm reader, puppy reader, dehumanisation(?), nsfw)

(pt 2.)

Soap definitely tries to convince the other to let you stay in his room, just so he can pamper (use) you, his little puppy:(

I feel like Price would have a dog bed in his office, UNDER his desk, so you can play with his dick whenever he wants you to, cause.. you dont know what you really want puppy, just suck on his dick for a little bit, it will help your confused brain he promises and he wouldnt ever lie to his favourite pet

Gaz would absolutely spoil and pamper you, like always sliding you treats, letting you use him, letting you curl up in his lap

Ghost would probably have a collar made for you when you first get bought by them, a pretty pet deserves a pretty collar right boy? he would probably wanna see your drenched hole stretch along him AND Johnnys dicks, just be a good boy and take it:(

[thegnomelord]

if you write a thing about the creaming the zussy i will kiss ur boots

The boots better be shining when you're done.

How To Cure Zombies 101

CW:NSFW MDNI, crackfic obv PiV sex, TLOU Clicker trans Ghost, Top Male Reader, established relationship, happy ending, dub-con because Simon consented before he got bit but reader is apprehensive, zombie sex (does it count as necro?) how does this work? idk porn logic. Don't ask me how this happened, i hope this doesn't become what my blog becomes known for.

When the Cordyceps spread across the planet and turned millions of people into shambling mushroom infested undead, the world ended.

When Simon got bitten. . . your world ended.

You still remember it like it had been yesterday; He came back bloody, an empty look in his eyes as he showed you the bite on his arm. Your hands shook as he wrapped them around the grip of the gun and aimed it at his head. You both ended up on the floor with you crying into his chest, unable to pull the trigger.

You remember the resigned look in his eyes when he had agreed to let you do whatever you needed to him to cure him, but both of you knew there was no way, what made you immune to the fungus was as mysterious to the rest of the world as it was for you. His lips had been burning hot when he laid a soft kiss on your forehead, the last sense of warmth you've felt since the docs took him to where they kept the infected for study, your heart leaving with him.

And now?

Now the scientists that have been prodding you like a lab rat since Simon got bitten nearly a year ago say they have a way to bring his mind back, to get Simon back.

And the way to do it?

"So let me get this straight?" You begin, your voice tense, your body even tenser. "You want me to fuck the corpse of my lover? And that will cure him?"

That. You're not sure how the eggheads arrived to this conclusion, frankly all of their scientific jargons had flown over your head. All you understood was that the man you had fallen since the first time you met him could be brought back.

You sincerely hope you won't make some type of super fungus through this.

Words can't describe what you feel as you look at Simon's (is it even Simon?) bound body writhing on the gyno chair, naked and bare to you. You doubt you even know what you feel, hope and fear simultaneously curling in your stomach— You hadn't had the courage to look at him ever since the scientists took him away; The harsh laboratory lights make it easy to see the mycelium filling his veins beneath the ashy pale skin, mushroom caps growing beneath his pecs and across all other scars he has. Red and yellow mushrooms have eaten away his nose and spread out to follow the contours of his face, growing in a way that makes the mushroom caps blend together into a skull shape.

Your heart aches when you see his eyes haven't been eaten away yet, the once deep brown turned milky white and staring lifelessly past you, thrashing about in the bindings, rotten teeth gnawing on the ball gag in his mouth, small hisses and malformed muffled clicks echoing through the room.

You try to look down and you stop at his stomach, forcing yourself to breathe in and out slowly because your heart is beating so fast it feels like you'll have a panic attack. You have no idea if this will work and doing this to Simon only to find out it's as useless as all your previous attempts to cure him. . . you're sure it would break you. Closing your eyes and counting to ten you will yourself to focus, your eyes opening slowly and following the trail of little mushroom caps down to his groin.

It's not what you expected., but it's. . . a lot; Mushroom caps have replaced the lips of his cunt, similar to the hard growths on his head but these look thinner and longer, almost like flower petals framing his cunt, bright red at the corners and getting progressively lighter as it nears his hole. A sort of morbid curiosity compels you to reach out brushing your fingertips against the caps. They're surprisingly softer than you had expected, smooth and slick with some kind of slime. You can't help but notice how a longer stalked mushroom grows from what had been his clit.

You jerk your hand back when a second brush of your fingers makes his body to jerk back and attempt to fight against the restraints, more angry clicks vibrating his throat.

But you also notice a kind of… sweet scent in the air and it's coming from him. Cautiously you brush against the caps again, slowly dipping your fingers under to touch the gills underneath. You keep your hand where it is when he thrashes again, but you're certain that smell is stronger now, and you catch the glimpse of clear viscous slick slowly leak from his hole.

Carefully you push a finger into his hole in an attempt to stretch him out. Logically you know that he probably doesn't feel it, but it feels wrong to just stick your cock in him; He's cold. You know he's dead but you had held out some hope that he would be warmer, that there would be some signs of life despite how stupid that sounds.

He's dry right now, but more of that clear fluid seeps around your fingers and lubes the way as you experimentally push your finger all the way up to the last knuckle, and you felt his muscles flutter around you, clenching down as if trying to draw you in deeper. His head continued to thrash around, no change in the feral behavior, but you still try to be gentle, pushing one then two fingers in and slowly scissoring him open.

You pull your fingers out when his hole has relaxed enough to let you easily slide your fingers in and out, and he's produced enough slick to completely drench your hand. You try to look at him as you press your cock against his fluttering hole, but the sight of his milky eyes almost makes you soft on the spot so you screw your eyes closed and slowly slide in.

Despite how cold and wet his cunt is, you haven't felt anyone's touch, even your own, since he got infected, and a part of you feels disgusted at how a bit of pleasure traces up your spine. He continues to hiss and click as you bottom out, his hips bucking wildly you have to press them down. You set a slower pace than you're used to, keeping your thrusts even and consistent, afraid to tear anything but your fear is seemingly misplaced. He's so much wetter than he'd ever get before he got infected, slick wetly squelching as you bottom out over and over again, clicks and snarls accompanying every move you make.

You're ashamed to say you don't last long. Fuck, is he tight you've been ignoring your body for so long that when you accidentally brush against the stalk growing from his clit and his cunt suddenly tightens up like a vice you cum on the spot, your hips doing little minute twitches as you empty so much of your cum in his cunt that your balls hurt. You pull out just as slowly, both of your mixed fluids leaking out and almost getting caught by the soft mushrooms framing his hole.

You muster up the courage to look him in the eyes, and your heart breaks when his lifeless eyes blindly stare back at you.

You feel like a fool when the first time doesn't work, he's still just a body pupated by a fungus. And you feel like an even bigger fool when you agree to do this a second time.

But the third time. . .

You don't know if it's just wishful thinking but he seems more. . . alert. His head always follows you when you approach him but now his milky eyes almost seem to be looking at your face instead of staring straight through you. He's strangely still on the chair, teeth gnawing on the ball gag but he doesn't try to get out of the restraints.

He doesn't screech when you gently caress the soft outer mushroom caps framing his cunt, instead his chest vibrates with more deep clicks. Nor does he start to wildly writhe on the chair when you slowly sink a finger into his cunt, finding it's already wet with slick. If anything he almost seems to chase(more like stumble) after the sensation, his hips doing small little movements to push your finger deeper into him.

Emboldened by childish hope you do something you hadn't before and reach with your other hand to slowly trace the long stalk of the clitshroom (not a term you coined), before rubbing the base of the cap like you would your own cock.

You nearly jump out of your skin when the gentle pressure of your fingers makes him buck into your hands and let out an ear-piercing screech that the gag has trouble muffling. You pull your hands away and that worsens the problem, the shrieking turning into literal chest rumbling snarls as Simon starts to struggle against the bindings.

Panic rushing down your system you put your hands were they were, gently stroking the 2 inch long mushroom growing from his clit. His hips buck up to chase after your hand, the snarls reverting back into shrieks, but as you stroke him longer they gradually die down to low pitched clicks and whistles. You're stumped; the clicks sound a lot like a cat's puff, his hole fluttering and clenching around your fingers as you slowly push them inside.

He's warmer now, not quite how he was before, but not cold as a corpse either. You know that you've gone completely mad by the fact he starts to gyrate his hips— grinding down just as you get knuckles deep so your fingers can brush against the sensitive spots inside him — makes your mind think that it's a bit of your Simon coming back.

You shake your head and pull your hands away, taking hold of his trembling thighs. You're greeted with another deep snarl but he quiets down immediately when you start to slowly push into him. He feels even tighter now, and you watch how his head falls back on the headrest, a long series of low clicks and whistles squirming past the gag.

His hips move to meet your slow thrusts, tight warm walls squeezing down every time you attempt to pull out just like he used to do. And that thought has your body increasing the pace automatically, your balls slapping against his ass, every sharp thrust hitting something spongy inside him and drawing out a sharp click, the rough pace leaving you panting.

Mindlessly you look up, too caught up in the moment remembering how Simon loved eye contact to remember the situation you're in.

He's looking straight at you.

You halt mid thrust, the low hiss he lets out falling on deaf ears as you tilt your head to the side. You're not insane, his eyes follow you. They're still milky, but they don't look through you. He's looking at you.

Another rough clicking sound leaves him and he thrusts his hips down against yours with enough strength to bruise, almost impatient. Despite how stupid it is you reach out and quickly unbuckle the gag with trembling fingers. "Si?" You say, unable to hide the hope in your voice. "Are you there?" You lean over him, looking hopefully into his eyes. "Do you remember me?"

His jaw moves like he's munching on a survivor, but all that leaves his mouth are more clicks and rough grunts.

Fuck. You are a fool.

A sob tears through your chest before you can stop it, ducking your head down to lay it on his chest. You're unable to keep the fresh tears from falling on him, watering the damned mushrooms that had taken him from you. You can't stop the sobs from coming, your back bowed and shoulders shaking as you cry just as much as the day you first lost him.

His chest vibrates with another long series of clicks and whistles, just pouring salt on the gaping would in your chest.

Your name rights through the room.

It's scratchy, rough, almost incomprehensible to your ears, but it's your name.

You look up so quickly you almost snap his neck. "Simon?" You whisper, staying in him even as you feel yourself soften. "Are you in there?" You slowly reach out to hold his face, careful not to cut your hands on the sharp mushroom caps along his cheeks.

He looks at you back, jaw moving still, but he doesn't try to bite the flesh of your palms despite your hands being right there. "Ckckck-" He clicks, pupils going from pinpricks to blown out, "Ckckrkck- Mo- ckck-ve." He manages, a thrust of his hips accompanying the order.

Your heart leaps to your throat and you can do nothing but follow it, sliding one hand down to dig your nails into his thigh, looming over him as you pull out until only the head is inside and them slam into him that there's an audible clap of skin on skin as you bottom out. A half shriek half click half "Yes!" escapes him as he throws his head back, slack jawed.

A whole range of noises escapes him as you hammer into him with all you've got, one hand remaining always on his face. You can feel him getting hotter the longer you pound into him, body shaking as each thrust nails his sensitive spot. He gets progressively tighter and tighter as you fuck into him, and you let go of his thigh to carefully strike along the long shaft of the clitshroom.

He shrieks at the top of his lungs and his cunt clenches down on you like a vice, fluttering around you and gripping your cock like it doesn't want you to pull out. It pulls you into an orgasm,

"Simon?" You whisper, staying in him even as you feel yourself soften. He's too silent compared to how vocal he had been a few moments ago. "Are you in there?"

His head rolls a bit, peering at you through through his lashes, tongue moving heavily in his mouth and lips twitching up into a soft of barely-there grin. "Cckck- l- ckckc- love- ckrk-you -ckkckrkckck-"

Taglist: @dead-end-stuff

[simonsrileyhusband]

Ftm (your choice of)hybrid reader x Simon Riley

Reader thinks they look stupid because they are a hybrid and Simon decides to show them how pretty they actually are.

(i just had to make reader a bunny hybrid, sorry)

nsfw:

"what did ya' just say lovie?" simon is leaning on the door frame as you stare at yourself on the floor lenght mirror of your shared room.

"i just said i look goofy... like, look at my ears, don't you think they are... stupid" you shake your head softly making your long ears wiggle against your head. "and my tail, so annoying to cut holes in every single jean and short i buy..."

simon walks to you, standing tall behind you, his hands slidding to your waist pulling you closer to him. "that's not the way to talk about my bunny." he kisses your cheek softly. "i think i have to remind my baby how pretty he is..."

his bulky arms pick you up, draging you to the bed making you sit on his lap facing the mirror. "do ya' feel that, mhm? tell me baby, do ya' feel how ya' make me feel." you wiggle on top of his hardening cock, his hands gripping your hips and making them move around, your clothed pussy rubs against his hard jeans making your sensitive area crave for more.

"simon please..." you whine out, looking back at him with big pleading eyes. "nu-uh, look at the mirror bunny, look at yourself. i'll make sure to fuck those stupud ideas out of ya"

[omegapropaganda]

🔥🍯🔥

Burnt Honey ch. 9

poly141 x M!Omega!Reader

omegaverse

"You have been a member of Shadow Company and Phillip Graves' omega for years suffering at his hand until you meet the members of Task Force 141. They help you learn to love again while you help them destroy Shadow Company from the bottom up."

John "Soap" MacTavish/Reader, Simon "Ghost" Riley/Reader, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick/Reader, John Price (Call of Duty)/Reader, John "Soap" MacTavish/Simon "Ghost" Riley, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick/John Price, Simon "Ghost" Riley/Gary "Roach" Sanderson (past), Phillip Graves (Call of Duty)/Reader (toxic), Rodolfo Parra/Alejandro Vargas

be very aware of the tags and read them thoroughly. Major trigger warnings for graphic descriptions of male on male non-con/rape, manipulation, degradation (not the fun kind), and general abusive toxic sexual relations. These are not romanticized and very much harm Reader.

please take care of yourself if you are sensitive to these issues and still decide to proceed with reading this fic. I will not be held responsible for your actions after you read these warnings, okay?

[lieutnt]

trans ghost getting eaten out for the first time maaaybe?😦

Simon doesn’t know what to expect - he’s never trusted anyone enough to let them get this far, this intimate, and when you first latch onto his puffy clit and suck, his thighs nearly crush your head with how quickly they try and snap shut, a ragged moan tearing from his chest.

You don’t give him time to adjust, running the flat of your tongue over his cunt from top to bottom and then back up again, bringing his clit back into your mouth and circling the bundle of nerves with your tongue. He can’t control his hips, body moving on its own as it tries to rock into your mouth, chase your tongue when you drag it down his pussy.

Your hands hold his thighs, fingers digging into the muscle in an attempt to get him to stop squirming, and all that energy travels straight to his mouth. You’ve never heard him so vocal, grunts and moans swiftly changing into rumbled praises, “Fuck, love, that feels-” he cuts himself off with a harsh intake of breath, eyes fluttering shut and body arching into your mouth as you suckle at his clit again, his orgasm approaching like a tidal wave.

He desperately clings to whatever skin he can reach, fingers clawing at your shoulders and moving up to twist in your hair, keeping your mouth on him as he crests that edge, his orgasm hitting him like a train as he gushes into your mouth, legs trembling either side of your head. You stay on him, tongue sliding through his cunt well into overstimulation and he has to pull you away, chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath.