#ghost x transmasc!reader

[buttdumplin]

For my dear sweet 🌙 anon, who asked for a piece in which transmasc reader clarifies his pronouns with the boys.

cw: poly!141 x transmasc!reader, established relationship, complex gender feelings, comfort

word count: 1070

It’s in the kitchen that you gather the courage, “Can we try something?”

Four heads turn to you, sandwich assembly line quickly forgotten. Maybe this wasn’t the best moment to speak up, your tummy is grumbling already. But you’ve started, so you should see it through. 

“Good god, keep your pants on. This is serious,” you say, voice growing quiet, “And about me.”

The boys swarm around you, eyes burning and ready. Sitting at the table was supposed to let you watch them as they work on lunch, but their looming turns it almost ominous. The sounds of you cracking your fingers, which you tend to do when you’re nervous, does not go unnoticed. 

Johnny chuckles, trying to keep the mood light, “Maybe shoulda phrased it a little differently, love.”

It took you forever to find the right dining table, one big enough to fit all of you and your plates. Days and weeks turned months as you scoured for the perfect one. But as they take their seats, it feels too small. The air is tight. 

“Do you guys remember that talk we had? About gender and me maybe not feeling wholly like a woman?”

They lean towards you, further dwarfing the table, waiting for you to continue. Your belly feels like it’s boiling, tumbling with nerves. That conversation went well, so surely this one will too, right?  If you take the time to look up at them, you’ll see their soft expressions. Simon hunches, blatantly trying to make himself smaller, as if wanting to create space for you to speak. Kind grins adorn Johnny and Kyle’s faces, remembering the conversation well and trying to be encouraging. John just looks proud. Silence breaks as you take a deep breath.

“I think I’m a guy,” you whisper. 

Smiles spread, bodies still, waiting for more. 

“I’m a guy,” you say louder, their grins coaxing yours out.

Kyle takes your hand in his, squeezing gently, “Watch out lads, I’ve got a boyfriend.”

What starts as a giggle soon overwhelms you, turning into a deep belly laugh and running tears down your cheeks. You cling hard to Kyle’s hand, wiping your face a little sloppy. It’s your first time saying it out loud, and there’s no way you could have predicted how fucking euphoric it would be. A spark’s been lit inside your chest, and you think that this must be what true happiness is. It feels so right, and Kyle’s immediate claim fuels you. Another deep sigh steadies you. The hard part is not quite over.

“I hope this doesn’t…” the words come out slowly, “Doesn’t change anything.” Your hand moves in a wide circle, gesturing at each of you.

Their bodies stiffen, caught off guard. Of everything you could have said, that was not what they expected. Worry melts their posture and brings their shoulders down to droop. John and Kyle exchange glances, failure written on their faces. If they’ve left room for this concern, they’ve clearly done something wrong. Johnny cocks his head, confused because why would that be a question? 

When Simon speaks, he almost sounds exasperated, “We’re all men.”

“Yeah, but-”

“All men,” he cuts you off, eyes locked on yours, challenging you to try again. “Boyfriends, like Kyle said.”

“Boyfriends,” you repeat, grin back in place. 

“Get to confuse the cashier at the grocery even more now,” he winks, relieved to see you smiling again. 

A calm silence settles the room again and easy breathing can be heard from all of you. The sinking pressure is lifted from you, letting you bask in the moment. Everything is okay. Your world didn’t crumble. Boyfriends, they said. Sweat threatens to slip your hand from Kyles, making his grip tighten. The pride on John’s face is loud, his dimples growing more pronounced. Johnny drops his chin into his hands, elbows on the table, an impishness about him.

“Logistics,” he says, “Pronouns, please?”

“He/him,” your voice shy.

He cups his ear, “What? Didn’t catch that.”

“He/him,” you say, fullbodied.

Under the table, he squeezes your knee with support. If you weren’t sitting, you’d be squeezing the life outta them, cracking their backs with the force of your hugs. They didn’t even fucking take a beat to respond, they were so immediately onboard. Darling boys continue to bring warmth into your life, erasing your doubts. Though truthfully, it was the possibility of losing them that you were most scared about.

“Terms?” John asks. 

You hesitate to respond, not having gotten quite this far just yet.

“Sweet boy?” he prompts.

Hearing it makes you gasp, your eyes widening and face burning. It hits sweet in your chest and the pleasure of it is visible. It’s the only confirmation John needs. Easing back into his chair, he crosses his arm with sweet satisfaction. The rest of the boys smirk, taking note, minds filling with more ideas.

Kyle has to clear his throat, and thoughts, before he speaks again, “Who do you want to include in this? How do you want to navigate it?”

“I’ve already told my doctors and it’s in my file,” you say proudly, and Johnny answers with excited whooping.

“He/him pronouns in public?” Kyle continues.

“Yes, please,” you eye your guard dogs. The four of them beam, chests swelling from knowing you have so much faith in their abilities to protect you, to keep you safe. 

“Please tell us if there’s ever a situation in which you don’t feel safe doing so. We play by your word,” he swears.

You nod in response, his words spreading a new and lovely warmth through your body. They must have done some homework after that initial conversation, always wanting to be prepared. And it couldn’t be more fucking soothing. Air returns to the room, bringing in levity once more.

“Lovely lads all around,” Johnny looks at each of you, wicked joy painting his face, “What a lucky bastard I am.”

His toothy smile is infectious, catching the rest of you until your faces hurt from mirth. Of course they were amazing with this, they’ve put so much work into maintaining this relationship. All those late nights working through clarifications, the probing answers and check-ins. And they’re doing the same thing now, meeting you head on. And eager to boot. Sweet boys stay sweet. 

“Well,” you say, giggles bubbling from your lips, “Your boyfriend is hungry, so yall best get lunch done.”

[syoddeye]

kinktober - day 21 - bath

ghost x transmasc!reader | 1.2k words | part of spoils cw: rape/noncon, bathing, choking, spanking, spitting a/n: like the rest of spoils—cunt, cock, and clit are used to describe genitalia of a transmasc reader’s body. reader has/had body hair, and hair long enough to grab. summary: you always leave simon’s company bleeding.  banner by @/cafekitsune | kinktober list

“Missed a spot.”

Simon rolls his shoulders, reclining like an emperor in repose, thick arms settling along the edge of the bath. With his eyes closed, you risk glaring at him as he lifts a massive leg out of the water, hooks your shoulder with his heel, and lets it rest. 

“My calf, Snipe.”

With a noiseless sigh, you dip the cloth into the sudsy water, attempt to adjust the weight of his limb, and start scrubbing slow circles into his pale muscles. Simon’s legs aren’t as mutilated as his face or torso, but your fingertips find the divots of old scars regardless. He doesn’t make a sound as you go, both of you pretending your speed reflects precision and attentiveness. You prefer to delay his post-wash routine for as long as possible. He tolerates it like a cat abides a bird with a broken wing. You’re not going anywhere, so why rush?

You ease his foot off when you finish, then edge toward the other side of the expansive tub. Simon usually soaks while you tend yourself, but he trips you beneath the water, sending you stumbling. Glancing back, eyes wide with confusion, you find him staring.

“Still sore from yesterday?”

Of course, you’re sore. Simon and Kyle are merciless teachers, flipping and tossing you onto their sparring mats, pushing and pinning—and that was before they fucked you stupid.

“Yes, sir.”

“Fetch a towel and c’mere.”

Simon herds you into the vast space between his legs, lathers soap, and then settles a broad hand on your waist to steady you. When the cloth meets your torso, you don’t flinch but swiftly avert your eyes. John’s bathed you before. Kyle’s wiped the sweat from your brow. Soap’s licked you clean. But it feels more perverse for Simon to do it. Wrong.

You suffer no delusion that it is anything other than another power play. It is not tenderness or intimacy. Simon scrubs your skin with mechanical precision, working across your body in long, indifferent strokes as if washing one of the hunting dogs. You see only detached obligation on his face. Like this is part of the ritual, a grim task before he defiles you all over again.

Inevitably, he tosses you over the edge of the tub onto your stomach. The smooth stone scratches your belly and cheek. Steam curls as he passes the cloth over the backs of your thighs and ass. You jolt when the towel abruptly drops in a wet heap beside your face.

He traces a finger over a sore spot. 

“Who ‘ad you last night?”

“Soap, sir.”

“Did you fight ‘im?”

You blink hard and try to twist your neck to look at him. “I didn’t—”

His palm cracks against your ass, the wet slap echoing off the tile. Your hands reflexively scrabble at the floor to haul yourself out of reach, but he yanks you backward for a second strike. Your legs kick and splash.

“What? Didn’t think you could? Think Gaz and I would waste our time trainin’ ya if ‘adn’t earned the privilege?”

The revelation shocks you into another stuttering pause, earning a third slap, and realization propels you to try and dodge a fourth. His hand connects with your hip as you roll, and you kick out again, finding his gut. Beneath the layer of fat, though, is muscle, and it’s like hitting stone. He quickly snatches up your wrist after failing to deflect once more. Water displaced from the bath sloshes onto the floor, gliding beneath your tender back as you struggle with him.

Frustration putrefies your stomach, a sick anger curdling breakfast. Defending yourself isn’t a privilege; it’s something that keeps your imprisonment interesting. Ever since you killed Soap in the woods and drove a borrowed blade into his neck—they’ve been more observant. Intentional. Not in the least bit afraid of your new teeth, but cognizant of potential, the bite, or so you flatter yourself. Deep down, you understand it’s a new way to play with their food. 

Simon wrenches your arm into the air, and when you kick perilously close to the monster between his legs, he forces yours apart. He easily avoids a clumsy punch from your free hand and seizes you by the neck mid-shriek. The pressure chokes it to a panicked whimper, and you claw futilely at his ironclad grip. Bullying his way closer, he forcibly bends you as he presses flush to your body, your calves slippery around his hips. His cock twitches atop your belly, weeping and slicked from the bathwater.

You’re out of breath, and he isn’t even winded.

He makes you practice punches, absorbing your pathetic excuses for hits on his chest as he probes at your tighter hole, fingers spit-soaked and stretching. Three fingers in, and you can’t lift your hands. Your arms lay useless beside your ears as you whine and writhe. He sneers, replacing his fingers with the flushed head of his cock, and licks his gnarled lip. You grit your teeth, chirping incoherent complaints, face going rigid with pain as he shoves his way in.

“Maybe next time you’ll try ‘arder.”

There’s a second of reprieve when he pulls out, and no more. He snaps his hips, stuffing back in and setting the same brutal pace he always uses. You don’t realize you’re wailing until his thumb corks your mouth.

Sucking is a reflex. He coos, but the words fizzle before they ever reach your ears. He fucks you on the wet stone, each thrust scraping skin, leaving it raw. You always leave Simon’s company bleeding. 

He pulls his thumb free and finds your neglected cock, swiping over its length.

Again, you’re reminded that nothing—not even your pleasure—is for you. He jiggles your engorged clit like an afterthought, but it works all the same. 

The lewd sound of him hammering into you fills the chamber. He leans forward, bracing a hand over one of your limp arms, bringing the pad of his stomach to yours. He grunts and spits a wad of saliva, missing your mouth but landing on your cheek. Your mouth mistakenly parts in disgust, and he repeats it, this time hitting your tongue. Watching you instinctively swallow only riles him up. He grins with smug satisfaction and renews his effort with your cock.

“Fuck, you tightened up,” Simon hisses. “‘Course ya like that, glutton for punishment, aren’tcha.” 

You yelp high in your throat, shaking your head violently in denial.

He laughs a deep and mean sound. “Yeah, you do. C’mon, be a good boy, and give it another squeeze.”

Trapped beneath his bulk and helpless to do anything but take it, you come screaming. Your cunt clenches around nothing until his hand slips from your twitching cock to cram its fingers in to pet the spasming muscles.  

“Simon–!”

He releases your arm to smother your cries, brutally pistoning his fingers, unable to match the erratic rhythm of his thrusts. You don’t come again, you can’t, not so soon—but your holes tense and tighten anyway, and he comes with a bitten-off curse in long, thick ropes buried inside you. He slows to languidly hump you.

It takes several painful minutes for him to ease out. You feel full, yet with your innards rearranged, like a house ransacked.

You lie there trembling as he wipes himself off and climbs out of the tub. The water’s gone tepid. Naked, he looms over you, then nudges at your shoulder with a foot. 

“Filthy thing. Clean yourself up, before John finds you.”

[captainjamster]

hihi!! I just seen your post about writing things for those who feel under represented in the community; and I was wondering... could you do one where Simon takes care of trans masc!reader on a really bad day of endometriosis pain?

Hey there anon, you're the very first request! Thank you so much for asking! This was originally going to be just 800 words, don't ask how we ended up at almost 3k lol. Sorry it took a few days, I hope you enjoy the fic! It's also on AO3 :)

Pairing(s): Ghost x transmasc!Reader w/ endometriosis (SFW) Warnings: Blood, menstruation, two off-handed mentions of sex Wordcount: 2.8k Summary: Simon takes care of your morning, despite your attempts to soldier on through a painful menstrual cycle. AO3 Link: Right here! <3

A/N: I hope this is enough "taking care" for you! Reader is indeed transmasc, but point of transition and upper anatomy is for you to decide. I might revise this one and upload an improved version, change the level of debilitation, add in HRT and increase how much Ghost does for you. But for now, here you go!! I think of Ghost as someone who conveys his love and affection through acts of service, and he'd die happy if you let him quietly manage every need you have. <3

Endometriosis currently affects around 10% - around 190 million – of women and girls of reproductive age. This statistic does not include the rate of endometriosis in non-women individuals with female reproductive genitals, which inflates the number even further. Despite the existing prevalence, endometriosis is underdiagnosed and overlooked within those who suffer from it, and this becomes even worse within trans individuals. I hope this fic can provide some love and representation for those struggling, especially my trans ppl <3

Full fic is under the cut <3

A dull throb in your stomach, pressed against the mattress is the first thing you register as consciousness slowly trickles through the thick fog of sleep. The sheets stick to your thighs as you try to roll over. Simon’s bulky, warm figure isn’t there to stop you from rotating flat on your back, encroaching onto his cold, empty spot.

You crack an eye open, looking at his vacancy in disappointment. The room is filled with an early, pale glow that peeks from around your curtains, brushing against the frame with each soft breeze from the open window. It’s not unusual for Simon to be up so early, but you miss the opportunity for morning cuddles.

A particularly sharp contraction in your stomach breaks the peaceful moment, your hand coming up to knead at the sore, bloated flesh. The last few days had left you in a pool of pain, the familiar ache creeping into your stomach and worming its way down your legs and up your back. Accompanied by the unsettling nausea and fatigue that wears you out even during a nap, you’ve resigned yourself to the fact that your least favourite friend would be making a visit this week.

Rolling back onto your stomach, you sit with the uncomfortable sensation throbbing through your midriff. It takes a moment for the damp, coldness beneath your pelvis to register, contrasted to the dry sheet your back was just resting on. Your eyes fly open, pushing yourself up and back onto your knees with a pained groan.

Even such a simple movement has a strong wave of pain flare through you, but your dismay at the mess staining your sheets is stronger. Your friend has arrived earlier and heavier than expected. The dark grey sheet is soaked in patches of black, tacky enough that you know it’s had more than plenty of time to steep into the fabric – thank god for the mattress protector Simon persuaded you into getting for other activities. Looking down, your skin is dappled with red, crusty and dried around the hairs scattering your stomach. The worst is pooled between your thighs, boxer-briefs drenched with a sharp iron scent that crinkles your nose.

Pushing through the wave of dizziness persuading you to the floor, you grab at the blankets frustratedly. You check them meticulously, scrutinizing them for even a speck of blood, but they’ve been far luckier in their escape of your mess. Throwing them haphazardly onto the floor, you set into action, working to hide the messy consequences of your cycle.

There’s no real need for the urgency that you move with, especially as every aching fibre in your body screams at you to slow down. Rationally, you know Simon wouldn’t react poorly to your calamity in the slightest, even if you asked him to change the sheets while you cleaned yourself up. He’s stayed with you during other cycles, never blinking an eye at anything menstruation throws at you. Yet he’s not here to help, and interrupting whatever he’s doing just to do something you feel capable of seems selfish. On another level, you don’t want Simon to see this right now. Frustration eats at you – for being stuck with this, for being surprised with an early cycle, and maybe just a little bit because you really wanted those goddamn cuddles. You’ve wrestled three of the four corners off when Simon catches you stripping the bed, a towel drapes around his neck, shirt damp with sweat that still drips from his hair.

“What’re y’doin’, handsome?” He rumbles, an eyebrow raised as he stands on the other side of the bed. His eyes flicker between the blankets clumped on the floor and the sheet you’re mid-tugging off the mattress.

Though his question is fair, the obviousness of your situation, and your irrational irritation makes it feel like he’s rubbing your misfortune in. Gritting your teeth, you wrench a little harder than needed at the fabric. “S’my fault, I’ll chuck it in the wash.” You grumble, pulling up the mattress to unhook the last corner, ignoring how your back groans with the motion. Simon makes a noise of protest, not unkind as he snatches the sheet you’re trying to bundle in your arms. “Don’t be daft, mate.”

His tone is flat and slightly exasperated as he pulls the sheet from you, looking at the myriad of stains on your front, glazing over the angry expression you’re giving him at his little quip. Before you can open your mouth to say something, he turns you by your shoulders, escorting you to the bathroom.

“What’re you doing?” You huff, taking your turn to ask an obvious question as you let him steer you to the ensuite. A grunt is your only response as he pushes you through the door, his warm hand leaving your shoulders to pull back the liner fully. You watch as Simon turns the taps, listening to the pipes creak as water begins to dribble from the head. He doesn’t make any move to pull off his sweaty athleisure, just fiddles with the tap, turning it much hotter than Simon would usually take his showers – oh.

Taking the hint, you pull off your boxers, wincing as the cold air hits your now-exposed, sticky skin. Simon’s hand is under the water, breaking the droplets’ fall as the water warms, but his attention is now focused on you. When you straighten up, tossing your briefs to the hamper, he meets your unhappy look with a question.

“Pancakes?”

You blink at him, indignance still plastered on your face in a grumpy scowl as your brain struggles through the pain fogging your thoughts, and Simon just raises an eyebrow.

“Eggs ‘n toast? Take-out?’

A moment of bemusement passes as you think for a second, until your mouth drops into a little o-shape, and guilt tints your cheeks red. “Oh.”

Simon huffs affectionately, echoing your “oh” as he pulls his hand back, waiting for you to answer.

“Pancakes?” You mumble, looking up at him through your lashes. The corner of his lips tug into what you’ve learnt is a forgiving smile, and he leans over your figure to press a soft, unexpected kiss to your forehead. His lips are soft – good, he’s had a drink after working out – and the appetising, musky smell of his BO fills your mouth as he leans in.

“Pancakes it is, darlin’,” he murmurs, pressing another kiss to the top of your head as he moves out the room, leaving the door slightly ajar behind him.

Before anything can drip from you and create an additional mess you can’t be bothered with, you climb into the showerbath, making sure the plug is hung up to avoid any water filling the tub. He’s perfected the temperature, and you feel like just lying down in the empty tub as your body goes boneless, feeling water drizzle down on you from the showerhead. It’s just enough to soothe the way your body aches, but not enough to make you feel any dizzier. By the time you’ve finished in the shower, your skin feels red and tender, but the heat has temporarily worked your muscles into a sleepy stupor. Though you swear the scent of metallic fetor lingers on your skin no matter how many scents you use, any visible remnant has been washed down the drain.

Pulling the liner back, a towel sits on the vanity, folded neatly with two painkillers resting atop the fabric’s surface and a half-full glass next to it. On the other side, a pair of your boxers and one of Simon’s shirts hangs from the edge. You didn’t even notice Simon slip in to leave them there – despite how long you’ve been with him, it’s still unnerving that such a big man can move without a sound.

Scooping the pills up, you take them with a mouthful of water, before unfurling the towel to dry yourself off. The ordeal is short, pausing to pull on your briefs and a sanitary product of choice before you finish drying your tender legs, hanging the towel to dry over the rail nailed to the wall.

A whiff of sweet, buttery batter permeates the bedroom as you step back into it, mentally bracing for a brutal war of ‘how many sides can I get on before one pops off’ with your goddamn super king sized bed. However, surprise stops you in your tracks, feet stuttering as you find the floor empty of blankets. They’ve returned to the bed, which has been made with a rehearsed, militarized perfection, corners tucked tightly in with barely a ripple across the taut fabric.

With one chore covered, you grab the hamper from the bathroom, walking out into the living room to the source of the smell. Simon is hidden in the kitchen, his back to the entrance as he stands over the stove, but the sound of your feet padding around the corner raises his head.

His hair is light and fluffy, the tips still damp as he puts down the spatula, walking over to take the hamper from you despite your objections. The musky sweat coating him earlier has been replaced with the artificial, clean scent of shampoo and soap - you have no clue how he’s managed to change the bed, wash himself in the spare bathroom, and make a start on breakfast before you finished your own shower.

Resigning, you move to the stove and take up the spatula, patting the pancake as bubbles rise to its surface. Barely a minute passes before Simon’s arms slip around you, taking the spatula back and letting it drop to the counter to interlock your fingers.

“Independent this morning, pet?” He murmurs, carefully placing his other hand over your stomach, feeling as it rises and dips with your laugh. The warmth that radiates from his palm is ridiculous, seeping into the sore muscles that are starting to ache again.

“C’mon, you’d call me feeding myself independent.” You tease, leaning back until your head meets his chest. It shakes as he huffs a quiet laugh, bouncing you slightly before answering.

“When I could be feedin’ you? Don’t reckon I’m wrong.” He grunts, wrapping your hand around the handle, his own still encompassing yours, smiling into your hair as he helps you flip the pancake with a flick of your wrist.

You give his retort an overly dramatic groan, but his attention is captured by an electronic beeping that sets off. The moment he pulls away, your body misses his heat, watching him open the microwave door to pull out a very familiar, tear-shaped heap of fabric. You step away from the stove, reaching out to take it from him as he extends it towards you. The cartoon-ish looking figure of a little ghost heatpack is hot to the touch, emitting the faintest smell of lavender and chamomile, and he gives you a small smile as you wrap your arms around it, holding it against your torso.

“You think of everything, huh?” You laugh, heart squeezing as he answers you with a lop-sided grin and turns back to the stove, pouring in the last of the batter.

“Not everythin’ – how ‘bout you make a cuppa and sit down, hm?” He rumbles, gesturing to near the fridge. Two cups are already coupled together on the counter, and you skip boiling the kettle again as lazy tendrils of steam already climb from its spout. Grabbing a couple of tea bags, you tuck the heating pack under your arm, filling up the mugs as you listen to the sizzling of the pan. Simon gives you a quiet “thanks, love” as you set down his mug next to the stove, but when you reach for a plate to start dishing out the cooked pancakes, you’re interrupted by a chiding “ah!” and large hands turning you around. “Go sit down love, I got this.”

The look you give Simon over your shoulder does nothing to sway his rejection of your help, big brown eyes staring back at you with an expectant look as he gently nudges you to the exit. Though it’s tempting to ignore him and stay, the effort of staying upright is slowly sapping any hint of energy you recovered in the shower.

Bringing your drink out and flopping yourself onto the couch, your legs scream in gratitude when your weight is finally shifted from them. The small ghost sits across your abdomen, radiating a relaxing warmth that soothes the muscles cramping violently underneath it.

Though it’s barely minutes that pass, Simon comes out to find you curled in the couch’s corner, wrapped up around the heating pad with a slight frown in your brow. The gentle clink of the ceramic against the coffee table stirs you from your light sleep, cracking your eyes open as Simon sinks into the couch next to you, his plate balanced on his thighs.

“Sorry love,” he murmurs apologetically, raising an arm to let you bury into him. You jump at the opportunity, shuffling yourself to press against his side, and a content relaxation falls upon you as his arm covers you protectively. Without moving you too much, Simon leans forwards to grab your plate, resting it on your lap and tucking a fork into your hand.

Looking at the pancakes, he’s given you an extra one in your stack, drizzled generously with your favourite toppings. Your chest squeezes at the sight, each carefully placed topping another homage to the tenderness that your lover struggles to verbalise.

“You’ve done so much for me this morning, Si.” You start remorsefully, eyes downcast to your stack of pancakes. With a grunt, Simon reaches for his fresh mug perched precariously on the couch’s arm, using a spare finger to hit the on button of the remote sitting next to it. “Not allowed to give my special boy some love when he’s roughed up?”

You give him a good-natured huff, digging into his side playfully. “Make it sound like I’m wounded, Si.” Simon snorts, pulling his eyes away from the TV to shoot you an amused look. “With the amount of blood, y’could’ve convince me.”

You laugh at the comment, letting the light warmth fill your chest until it’s dampened by the unspoken guilt still sitting miserably on your conscience. “Sorry for bein’ grumpy earlier,” you mumble.

Simon hums, pulling you tighter as he cuts into a pancake with his fork, raising it to your mouth. “Kinda figured you wouldn’t be top shape after seein’ the blood, s’alright pet. Y’ve told me that this shit hurts more than normal.”

Taking the mouthful, you give him a small, grateful smile, reaching for your own plate and cutlery to share a piece back. The pancakes are light and fluffy, not heavy enough to upset your stomach, but enough to be filling for how insatiable your appetite can get. “Thanks, Si. Still appreciate you’re patient with me, though.”

He hums thoughtfully as he chews, gently rubbing his thumb mindlessly against your thigh. “Patient? Nah. Johnny said y’deserve a ring for bein’ patient with my shit after deployment – he’d take the piss if I told him you’re thankin’ me for being patient.”

The way Simon drops the idea of marriage is so calm and casual, a significant contrast to how it makes your heart soars in your chest. Reigning in your excited response, you take another mouthful, giving him a grin that can’t quite hide how much you like the idea. “Hope you told him how useful this little guy has been,” you gesture to the ghost on your lap, “because it’s definitely my second favourite ghost since he bought it.”

The narrowed glare that Simon gives the plush heating pad has you giggling around a forkful of pancakes, looking at him with light-hearted exasperation. “Oh c’mon, I said second favourite!” You chuckle, watching him roll his eyes with a grumble.

“Yeah, yeah,” his tone is low and playfully grumpy, rumbling through you. “S’long as it’s me you’re cuddlin’ at night, ‘m not havin’ a toy steal my man.”

Mindful of your plates, you wrap an arm across his chest and ignore how your stomach complains at the movement, squeezing him lightly. “Never, Si. My favourite ghost.”

With a satisfied noise, he looks down at you, a mischievous half-grin on his face. “Good, that thing couldn’t fuck you half as well.”

The cheeky remark gets him a deeper dig in the side, enough to pry a grunt from him as he squirms, though he’s still careful with how much he jostles you. Silence quickly falls over you, Simon watching the news with a protective arm around you. He sips at his tea as you finish your plate, running a hand through your hair every now and then, placing a few kisses to your scalp.

When you’ve finished your meal, you put the plate on the coffee table, reaching for Simon’s to stack them together. Reaching forwards has you wincing, a pulsating pain in your core that makes your tailbone ache, and Simon swoops in to stop you in your tracks.

“Sit your ass down already,” he grouches, pushing you back into the couch as he scoops up your plate. “Told you, you’re bein’ dependent today.”

[simonsrileyhusband]

❤️ hihi! i don’t know if you’ve written this before, but what about Simon helping FtM reader after top surgery? picking them up when they’re finally good to go home, helping them eat, move around, things like that. i’m getting my top surgery soon and i’m mad nervous abt it, so i may or may not be channeling this here LMAO

ty!!! -🥩🦌

omg! congrats on your surgery, i hope you are doing fine.

simon is very delicate with you, very. he acts like you are the finest piece of china potery and so fragile that a soft movement will brake you. thats because he is afraid, he doesnt want you to be in pain or have an accident, so he does everything around the house.

the laundry? dont worry, he already did it. you need a drink? he already has a bottle of water, orange juice and a soda in hand, which one do you want? does your feet hurt? don't worry, he went to grab the lotion to give you a massage.

simon doesnt let you move if he doesnt think is necesary and that includes walking. he picks you up and carries you around. he even helps you brush your theet because "the movement of your arm cound mess with your stitches."

"lovie, are you sleeping?" he mumbles, pooking your arm softly. you hum a bit sleepy. "sorry love, its just weird that you sleep... tilted..." he pouts and kisses your hand, because he cant sleep without touching you, but for your safety he cant hug you.

once your scars are healed and you are fully recovered simon has a fixation with your bare chest and scars. he loves to trace them and just stare at them. he gives little kisses around them and whispers soft praises. "so pretty... you look so handsome my love."

[astr0exe]

CW / info : NSFW : tm! reader : he/him : no y/n

Camboy!reader who’s main donators are loser!Soap & Ghost. Both men deny being gay cause your lives are just a way for them to get off even though they jerk each other off to your delicious symphony of moans from through the screen

Camboy!reader who loves when Soapie and S.Ghost join your lives, making sure you put on a proper show for your favourite boys:(

Loser!Soap and Ghost who spend most their wages on Camboy!Reader, with donations and buying them outfits or toys. You even have silicone molds of both their dicks:(

Camboy!Reader who invites Simon and Johnny over as a thank you for all their donations and offers to let them fuck them live, in front of their audience.

Losers!Simon and Johnny who JUMP at the chance, pawing at you like horny dogs, whining and drooling all over your perfect body

Loser!Simon who tries to eat you out as Johnny plows into you but he doesnt know how but makes up for it in enthusiasm

[sexydoffyman]

*cough cough*

❗NSFW REQUEST❗

Ghost with Ftm!reader who's infertile

He can breed his manpussy without worrying about him getting pregnant.

HE DOESN'T NEED TO WORRY

navigation

genre: smut

characters: Simon Riley

A/N: If you know me irl don't read this.

He would have never guessed you were trans if you hadn't told him. It was a medical emergency. And of course, he was proper with his act thanks to you telling him. It ended with you being able to get the right treatment in time.

His views on you didn't really change. He had liked you way before you told him. But your actions gave him ideas. Ideas that he wanted to try.

The first time he got you in his bed, he was gentle, soft, caring. He was sweet with his words and actions. Poor you. You didn't even know what you were getting yourself into. He somehow managed to sneak a question into your conversation without being suspicious.

The question being, "Can ya have kids?" It seemed like a totally normal question that one would ask out of curiosity. Of course, you had to answer honestly.

He became obsessed with the idea of having you spread out on his bed only for him to fuck. Only for him to breed. He wanted to fill your walls white. He wanted to push your body into the mattress and whisper filth into your ear.

It was a while after training, and he was impatient. He wanted and needed to feel you. He approached you, talking awkwardly. He asked you if you wanted to fuck with him, to which you responded with the same level of awkwardness.

He had everything ready. It was a winter night, so he made sure the room was warm before letting you in. Even tho the heater was only on 1 it did the job. The blinds were shut. The light was dim. The bed was made nicely to impress you. And if anything went wrong, he had a plan b pill lying in a cupboard.

He was so fucking ready to do this. To fuck you up. To make you his. He was slow at first getting you used to his size, which was always a concern of his due to his and your size. He moved his hips softly, not being too harsh on you.

You always valued the way he didn't rush you. He'll be rougher from the start when you've shared a couple more nights together. Oh, don't worry. He lost himself after the first few minutes of being inside of you. The feeling was mesmerising.

He thrusted into you with no intention of leaving you able to walk in the morning. He stopped thinking and let his dick lead the way. You looked just perfect in the dim light.

He didn't last long that night for a very obvious reason. He finished inside of you, pushing any of his sperm that leaked out of you back in.

His dreams finally came true. It became very strange to others when they saw you leaving Ghost's room at midnight every now and then.

[nocturnesmoon]

Writing this while laying in bed and trying to combat my period pains. The painkillers are in fact not working, so maybe fantasizing about these two will instead-

Simon "Ghost" Riley x John "Soap" Mactavish x Transmasc!Reader

I just feel like Simon and Johnny would be amazing at caring for you, doing your period. Maybe they wouldn't be the most knowledgeable at first, but they are quick intuitive learners, and seeing their darling in pain isn't something they can stand for.

If they happen to be home during your period, expect the utmost and best care of your life. Don't feel like eating anything? Don't worry, they've made something just in case you get hungry. Need to take a shower but don't got the energy, don't worry, I'm sure both of them would be happy to help you out.

There is not a single craving they will not help satiate. Chocolate? Johnny's got something to spare, chips? Already in the cabinet, gummies? One of them is going to the shop while the other one cuddles you. That one very hype specific food craving that's really an absolutely ridiculous request? What do you mean ridiculous love, they've got it right here.

I normally get really bad cramps, and the only type of painkiller I'm allowed to take, doesn't help whatsoever. And if that was the case, I just have to believe that, the boys would then do everything else in their power to make you comfortable. They've got the heating pad ready in the charger, a hot beverage on the bedside table. If the heating pad isn't enough, they'll help with pressure instead, by either laying on top of you or having you on top of them and pressing their rough hands on the spots where it hurts.

You're not left alone for a second, unless you specifically request the alone time. If one has to go somewhere, the other will stay with you until they get back. He would put on your favourite movie, while you lay in his arms and snack on whatever it was you're craving. Don't feel like watching something? That's okay, you could read a book together, play a game, or even just lay and talk.

If there are chores to be done, they'll get it done for you, unless you insist that you can manage. Even then, once they see you huff and puff in pain, they'll practically order you away from the task, taking over for you and finishing up.

They know you're perfectly capable of doing it yourself, even in pain, but they'd rather have you resting on the couch, as comfortable as you can get, while they take care of it for you. You already do so much for them when they're home from deployment, doing everything you can to make sure they're resting, and spending quality time with you. Let them return the favour once in a while, making sure you're well cared for.

They know that your period can be a source of dysphoria, when it turns extra bad. They won't stand for your own self-deprecating thoughts. They'll reassure you at all the right times, as if they can read your mind. Reminding you that, you are their beautiful boy, the only man they could've ever wished for, that no matter what your silly head makes you think, they've always seen you as exactly who you are. It doesn't matter what you think your physical appearance might say, to them, you'll always be their man.

Maybe I'm just delusional, but I just feel like they'd be amazing for you. No matter what you might need from them, they'll do their best to provide. They love you so dearly, if there is any slight thing they can do to alleviate your distress, it's already been done before you can even ask.

I think the fact that I'm laying here alone, and I don't have a Simon or Johnny to take care of me should be a crime.

Anyways that's all Moon out-

[struckd0wn]

𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟏: 𝐔𝐧𝐢𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦- 𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭

Simon has you propped up on his thigh, fully dressed in his uniform. You had expressed your interest in his tactical gear, so he decided to indulge you. His idea of indulgment was to torture you. Ghost leaned back on the couch, watching a show and completely ignoring you. He refused to touch you until you made yourself cum on his thigh.

You were desperate at this point, clawing at his bulletproof vest in hopes maybe he'd just do something. Your whining was music to his ears as he watched you struggle to get off with the lack of his attention. Eventually, Simon gave in, bouncing the leg you straddled, but playing it off as if it were an idle movement. This did help you out though, the vibration of his leg under you combined with your movement and the friction of his jeans against your throbbing sex were enough to make you finally cum, making a mess all over the lieutenant's legs.

Simon is silent as he watches you ride out you high before collapsing onto him, feeling his jeans soak with your wetness. "Right. I guess you deserve that treat then."

[theunholybastard]

Kinktober: October 25th - Food Play (Papa Emeritus II x TransMasc!Reader)

IM SORRRYYYYYYYY about the not on time updates ! I would be doing so much better at this if I didn't have the damn flu 😭🙏 The missing days WILL all come before November, just unfortunately late </3 Hang in there !!!

Tags: Established Relationship, Minimal AFAB Language Used, Food-Play, Nipple Sucking, Cunilingus, Blowjobs, Cum-Shot, 2nd Person POV

Secondo had something special planned tonight for your anniversary. You expected something big and extravagant, like going out to some ridiculously priced restaurant and having him fill you up on expensive wines and cheeses, like what he usually does for your date nights. But tonight, he insisted on something more subtle, intimate. You were thankful for that, as much as you loved your usual outings. You really weren't feeling like getting drunk in public and spilling wine on yet another one of your suits.

He had made you dinner at your house. You knew whatever he cooked was going to be better than any fancy restaurant he could've potentially taken you to. He was a God when it came to cooking. The table was set, the room was lit with candles, your favorite music was playing softly on a record, and the meal was still steaming as it was being placed on your plate by yours truly. There were multiple courses, each one more delicious than the last. You knew he was intent on stuffing you to the brim, but this isn't what you thought he meant. Not complaining though.

You were already getting full, but your taste buds were screaming at you to continue, both because it tasted divine and you wanted to please Secondo. Just when you were reaching for another helping of carbonara, Secondo put a hand over yours. "Don't fill up too much now, you must save room for dessert."

"Oh, there's an actual dessert? I just thought that was a euphemism for your cock." You quipped, taking a sip of your wine to cleanse your palette.

"That too," He laughed. "But there is an actual sweet treat prepared for you, dolcezza. Would you like it now?" As bountiful as the feast he prepared for you was, your stomach was begging you to get it over with before it explodes. You decided to trust your gut, literally. You nod, and he eagerly stands up to go get it. He places the small plate in front of you; tiramisu. A relatively easy dish to conjure up, so it's not like he pushed himself with this one, but still a classic, flavored with a dash of coffee liqueur just how he likes.

You usually liked to drizzle a soft chocolate sauce on top, and tonight he allowed you no exception, setting a bottle beside you. "Help yourself, amore mio." He offered. "I don't want to overdo it and ruin your dessert." You obliged, squeezing the bottle over it in a way you thought was gentle, but apparently not gentle enough. Chocolate sauce splattered all over the plate, and a little on your cheek, the bottle making an embarrassing fart sound doing so.

"You're supposed to shake the bottle first, amore." Secondo chuckled, holding back a particularly hearty laugh to not make you feel any more embarrassed.

"I know that now." You frown.

"Oh, my poor boy." Secondo cooed, approaching you with a twinkle in his eyes. He eyed the chocolate dripping down your cheek. "Let me get that for you." He purrs lowly, dipping his head down to slowly lick the sauce off your cheek. You shiver at the feeling, but just as the arousal shot through you, it was over, pulling away and returning to his seat. "Eat up, dear." He says innocently.

With your hand shaking, you pick up your fork, digging in and taking a small bite. It was delicious, the soft, spongey tenderness of the cake held a taste that was bold and bittersweet, mixed with a sweet creaminess. The alcohol gave it a different kind of warmth. But you could hardly focus on the taste, not with Secondo staring at you like you were his next meal. You have another bite, then another. You don't even get halfway though before you slam your fork on the table impatiently.

"Let me cut to the chase. Are you gonna fuck me or not?" You spit, the tension too much to handle. Secondo grins mischievously. "Is that what you want?" He quirks a brow. This dickhead knows what he's doing. "Well... then meet me in the bedroom. And bring the chocolate sauce." He winks suggestively, voice low and seductive, walking off. Another shiver went up your spine.

Impossibly quick, you shot up and rushed to the bedroom where he was, holding zero composure, stopping only to grab the chocolate sauce you almost forgot. Arriving at your destination, you realized he brought some things with him too. Whipped cream, peaches in a basket, the whole nine yards. Now I know why he wanted to dine alone. Who knows how long he must've been thinking of trying this shit, watching you eat at those fancy restaurants, spilling and making a mess of yourself must've gotten him all worked up.

You speedily unbutton your dress shirt, imperative to not stain yet another article of white clothing. Secondo has already unclothed, half hard cock resting on his thigh, twitching appreciatively the more you strip for him. "Why don't you get on the bed so I can worship you, mio amato?" Secondo sighs, stroking himself lazily, his length growing steadily. Of course you instantly plop down on the bed, legs spread and ready for him.

Normally, he would delve into your cunt as soon as he possibly could, but he held a cocky smirk, inching down painfully slowly. Just when you thought you'd finally feel his tongue on you, your eyes shut tight in suspense, you felt a cool dripping of some sort of creamy liquid on your lower bits. You open your eyes in confusion and could not believe the audacity of this man.

The fucking chocolate sauce.

He squirted chocolate sauce on your fucking clit.

Finally, his mouth is on you, pulling away the laugh that was bubbling in your throat and replacing it with a moan, licking you clean of the chocolate. Even after a three course meal, he ate you like he was starved, slurping and sucking like you were his life line. Your orgasm was already building up, limbs tightening and stomach in knots, a knot ready to come undone. It's like he was sucking the soul out of you.

You came, hard and rough, your body feeling heavy and boneless. Still, you needed more, just a little more. You needed him, in any way, in any hole. The frustration is unbearable. He lapped up your arousal, savoring the taste somehow more than you savored any of his dishes. When he came back up, you expected him to pull you in for a kiss like he always does, but he hesitated, pulling out a ripe peach from the basket at the bedside. "Bite into it." He commanded. "I want to taste your mouth in a state even sweeter."

You bit into the plump peach, juices dripping down the front of your chest unabashedly. He watches with wide, hungry eyes, licking his lips at the sinful sight. The moment you swallow, he's on you, knocking the rest of the poor peach to the ground. Such a shame, that was a damn good peach. His tongue fought yours violently, something that is usually classic foreplay for him, but this time you suspect it's just to get as much taste as possible. Still not a bother to you at all regardless.

He pulls away from the kiss, strings of saliva connecting your mouths from the passionate encounter. He dips his head down, laving the leftover juices that ran down your chest. He uses the opportunity from cleaning you up to take one of your nipples into his mouth, swirling over the sensitive bud, alternating between sucking and biting. You writhe underneath him, fingers digging into his biceps, fighting desperately to keep yourself grounded. His mouth works wonders everywhere.

You feel his cock throb against your thigh, and have a wicked idea. While he continues to work on your nipples, distracted, it doesn't take much force to push him off of you, flipping so now you're on top. He smiles, enjoying the change in dynamics, excited to see where you were going. "You like playing with your food?" You tease in a sing-songy voice, taking out the whipped cream. He knew where this was headed. "Now it's my turn."

You spray some in your mouth at first, just for shits and giggles, before spraying some on the tip of his dick, which stood tall and proud, ready for you. Secondo laughs, definitely tipsy from the wine, way more entertained by this than he should be. You dip down and lick it off, slow and sensual. That make him suck back his laughter real quick, a deep pleasurable sigh escaping his lips. He lets his head fall back on the headboard, relaxing. You swirl your tongue around, the cool sweetness of the cream mixed with the heaty, savory taste of his manhood intoxicating.

His mouth hung in a perfect 'O' shape, brows furrowed, the pleasure overwhelming. "Cazzo..." He mutters under his breath. You inhaled him deeper, hollowing your cheeks in order to take him all the way. It was when your hand came to play with his balls that he felt his own orgasm approaching rather quickly. "Ah-! Amore..." His voice faltered in warning, breathing picking up. You removed yourself from his cock, finishing him up with your hand furiously jerking him.

He whined in protest at the lack of your perfect, tight mouth, but he quickly finished, cum spurting from him and all over his hairy stomach, catching on his abs and pooling in his bellybutton. As he came down, he looked down at you, dazed and still fueld with desire. "I'll give you a proper fucking soon enough," he huffed exasperatedly. "O-once I recover..." You smiled and nodded, happy to bounce on his cock the second your sensitive hole stops throbbing.

He sighed and pulled you close, sweat dampened bodies intertwined. He leaned in to your ear. "Caro, can I ask you a question?" He muttered. You stirred slightly, humming to show your interest. "You know I would never complain about such a thing, but I was simply wondering... why didn't you swallow? You usually do." You snickered.

"I'm full."

-

[ghoststhickthighs]

sfw - boyfriend!Keegan x transmasc reader

note: if you are transphobic, hate trans people and are going to be rude or comment hurtful things. block me.

boyfriend!Keegan who looks online for comfortable and quality material binders/ trans tape because you hate wearing bras and causes you gender dysphoria

boyfriend!Keegan who stands outside your stall door in public bathrooms because you’re scared of men and don’t feel safe going in alone

boyfriend!Keegan who helps you take your T shots when you’re too scared to/ or are too lazy to do so (he rewards you with lots and kisses and hugs)

boyfriend!Keegan who can’t help but smile when he hears the change in your tone of voice as the months pass by, you don’t think there’s that much of a change but oh boy— he hears it loud and clear and he’s so happy for you

boyfriend!Keegan who tells you it’s completely okay to wear crop tops, make-up, and clothes that seem feminine. Clothes have no gender. If you like the booty shorts, wear them

boyfriend!Keegan who asked you to move in when your parents couldn’t accept their “daughter” changing their name and look

boyfriend!Keegan who loves you for you and sees you as the man you are

[buttdumplin]

The boys ask you about your feelings on packers.

cw: poly!141 x transmasc!reader, established relationship, complex gender feelings, comfort word count: 1036

A/N: An immense thank you to @mikichko for having my back and encouraging me with this. Some shit got worked out and it couldn't have happened without her love and support <3

“It’s the potential for disappointment that scares me.”

You lay spread out on the couch in the living room and four sets of eyes turn to you. Simon and Kyle, already sitting nearby, inch closer and you welcome it. They’ve got your head propped up by the softness of Kyle’s thigh, your feet and lower legs resting on Simon’s lap, by the time Johnny and Price come in from the kitchen, lunch prep abandoned. Avoiding their unspoken pleas for eye contact, you turn your head and half bury your face in the warmth of Kyle’s belly. 

“What are we talking about here?” Johnny’s worry evident. 

“Packers,” Kyle explains softly, tracing your features with his fingers.

A little out of it, Johnny turns to Price for further explanation who simply grabs at his own crotch instead of speaking. Johnny nods, quickly back in the loop. He takes a seat on the couch arm, pressing close against Kyle. John settles on the floor, kneeling at your side. You all want to say something, move and offer your seat to him, to spare his knees, but the huff he gives warns that this is not the time.

“And what would the disappointment be?” he gets straight to it.

“I wouldn’t feel it.”

“You’d feel the heft of it, the pressure of your clothes,” Kyle offers.

Johnny follows up quickly, “Change the way you walk and sit too, feel the motions.”

“But I wouldn’t feel it. On me, sure. Against my body, yeah. It would change how I maneuver, but I wouldn’t be able to feel through it. I’m scared it will be a painful reminder of what isn’t.”

John gently cuts through, “Do you want what isn’t?”

You don’t have to deliberate over your response, “No, I’m happy with my growth.”

“So are we,” Kyle winks down at you, Johnny nodding along with a wicked grin.

You chuckle, easing open from the full-body curl you hid in, Simon’s hand squeezing your calf with encouragement. As much as concern might be pinching their faces, all the boys’ bodies are soft in that moment. They all lean towards you, engulfing you with their support, attentive gazes watching every move and response. It’s startling to think they can see so much of you, see through you, but it just envelops you in a nest of safety.

“Then it’s sensation,” John tries again. He eases back a bit when you nod, can’t help but feel a little successful as you open up.

Johnny’s eyebrows scrunch, “But you love the strap.” 

“Yeah, but that’s different.”

“How so?”

“It just is.”

“But you can’t feel that either.”

“I know that.”

The back and forth isn’t very long, but your rising frustration is evident. Just as you’re about to get up to take a break from the conversation, Simon speaks, big, brown eyes meeting yours with a vulnerability of his own.

“Is it because the packer would be specifically for you and not something to be directly used for someone else or their pleasure? Because it would be for you and how you feel and you’re worried how that might detract from any perception of the ‘usefulness’ of it, and that makes you feel selfish?”

Your tears answer him, your throat too choking full of emotion to do anything other than let them fall silently. Your fingers scramble across your body to take his hand, and he meets you with an almost terrifying force, his grip locking you into place as he bends closer to you. 

His eyes remain fixed to yours as he speaks, voice rumbling from his tears, “You deserve to have your needs met. All of them. They do not have to be convenient or in any way beneficial to others. They are your needs, and that makes them important. Doesn’t matter what they are, we will meet them.”

You pull him down against you as your breath finally breaks into a sob, drowning yourself in the warm weight of his body. You can hear him sniffle by your ear, his tears wet your temple. Wrapping your arms around him, comforting him with every little touch, you repeat thank you’s into his skin. 

Kyle stirs and you look up to see the other three boys. John’s face is serious as his speaks, wide shoulders set straight, eyes sharp. Kyle and Johnny take in every word, their posture rigid and familiar as they listen to their instructions. You can’t quite hear what they say over the roaring in your ears, but when John looks down at you with a smile, you know to trust their actions. 

After a couple of minutes of what must be questions and suggestions floating between the three, your breathing eases, as does Simon’s. He slowly peels himself from you, still staying within your reach, and you sit to properly clean yourself up with the tissues Kyle hands you. 

John turns to you, his tone firm, “You want to try.” You nod again and he smiles, shoulders dropping into a more relaxed pose, his voice softer this time, “Need to hear you say it, sweetheart.”

“Yes, I want to try.”

“Good. That’s all we need to know. Johnny will look into the packers and Kyle will find the appropriate wear for them. I know you’ve been wanting a jock strap for a while now,” there’s a hungry spark in his eyes and your face burns at his words. Trust him to remember that detail. Still, the fact that they’re willing to take on that work, to alleviate the stress and frustration and potential overwhelm of looking through options, makes your heart glow.

“They’ll bring you what they find so you can take your pick, at least this first time.”

You turn towards them and they meet you with smiles, eyebrow waggling in an excessive show of giddiness, but you can see a sincere eagerness to help clear on their faces. 

“Simon stays here, you two cozy up while I finish dinner. After we eat, we’ll come back here so the boys can show us their findings on the big screen.”

You startle a bit, “Oh, this is happening tonight?”

John shrugs, smile bright and wide, “Think of it as dessert.”

[syoddeye]

bespoke

ghost x transmasc!reader | 1k words tags: brief, mild mentions of transphobic experiences. simon riley's terrible and dirty jokes. brief scene at the end with makeshift restraints. otherwise, fluff. a/n: got hit with a wave of dysphoria. wrote this. bon appétit. 💀

He ties your tie. Insists. 

It’s not like you don’t know how. You do. You walked a tightrope for years. Lived through the height of twee and dapper, collected and wore neckties and bowties unironically. Tried and suffered through all types of aesthetics and accessories to find your style. But this is the first big to-do since you hard launched your ‘new’ identity. The first time you’ll wear such an outfit where you don’t force a laugh or tightly smile as others call it a gimmick or costume. Where your family isn’t around to call it the ‘offbeat’ fashion of a quirky niece or an eccentric daughter.

When you dressed, hands shaking with excitement, perhaps you messed up the knot. It looked passable. You weren’t about to ask him to check it. A lifetime of teasing and backhanded compliments led to a fierce independent streak. Nobody could pester you if they couldn’t get close. ‘Course, nobody could help, either.

But because it’s him, you allow it.

It’s been a long, lonely road. Worth it, though, in the end. To find and carve out your path. To meet the man who’s served as your most steadfast support, confidant, and protector. Whose hands smooth your lapels and straighten the knot. Whose eyes catch you staring and soften when he sees how glassy yours look.

“We don’t have to go.”  

“I want to.”

“You’re upset.”

“Believe me, I’m not. Far from it.” 

You wipe a pesky tear and survey yourself in the mirror. The secondhand suit fits like a glove, modified to perfection. The result of someone’s pestering. An indulgence difficult to accept when originally agreed upon but a triumph in the moment. It pays its dividends in confidence, making you stand straighter and feel as though you might float.

Simon bends, tucking his chin over your shoulder. The silk mask obscuring his face matches his suit, pure black, of course. His eyes drag down your reflections as his arms thread under yours, tugging you backward into his chest. 

“We clean up nice.”

“One of us does.” You smile, a bit pained from his continued sweetness. “I look like I raided my dad’s wardrobe.”

You regret it the moment you say it because you know how stupid it sounds. Hours of tailoring and craft adorn you. Enough care and attention to detail for it to appear completely bespoke and custom—not stolen or borrowed.

A big hand skirts up, fingers and thumb slotting over your face. He gently squeezes your cheeks. A habit when he thinks you’re acting foolish or chirping incessantly. He presses until your lips fold in an artificial pout.

“You got a mouth tonight.”

“‘M told s’good f’kissing.” You force out, not bothering to even try and remove his hand.

Simon squishes your cheeks a moment longer, staring hard in the mirror. Studying. He lets go and presses his lips to your temple. 

“Think you’re funny?”

“You usually laugh.”

“Not when you joke at your own expense.” 

The pout that appears on your face is genuine this time, and so is the instinct to flee. It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve tried to run away from the kindness of Simon Riley. It’s certainly not the first time he flexes his muscle, molding himself to you.

“Settle. Talk t’me.”

You shake your head and try to squirm free despite knowing all the good that’ll do.

“We’re going to be late if we don’t leave now.”

“Then we’ll be late.”

“To a wedding? Simon we can’t be the people that walk in after the bride.”

“I’ll walk her down myself if ya don’t start talkin’.”

It’s anyone’s guess how serious he is about that. Erring on the side of caution, you fuss a second more, then finally voice the fears eating you alive. The laundry list of worst-case scenarios and what-ifs. Your thoughts bend to dread like flowers track the sun.

“If anythin’ happens, we’ll handle it. Together.” Simon pinches your hips. “Or alone, in the small hours, after I drop you at home.”

That isn’t a joke. Simon doesn’t make empty threats. Not about that.

“Simon—“

“How many times do I gotta tell you, to get it through your skull, hm?” He murmurs, littering emphatic kisses over the side of your head. Nipping your neck. If he wasn’t holding you, you’d be a puddle.

“You can’t get rid of me. You got me, love. Let me worry about the hard things.” A squeak tears out when a broad hand skims down the front of your suit and cups the front of your trousers. His grip pulses over the packer, and you nearly skyrocket through the ceiling. “If you’re good and check in with me like you’re supposed to, I’ll have a nice hard thing for you later.”

To save face, as if you aren’t practically drooling at that, you shoot him a look in the mirror. Wrinkle your nose and curl your lip. The glint in your eye is unmistakable, however. 

“Simon,” You groan in feigned disgust. “You’re terrible.”

“Don’t I know it. C’mon.” He releases you entirely, stepping back to adjust himself and his shirt collar in the mirror. “Price’ll kill me if we’re late.”

Hours later, back home after a night of celebration, he ties your tie. 

Tight enough to keep your wrists together, loose enough to feel safe. He strips you slowly and thoughtfully. Takes his time setting each element aside. He inflicts sweet torture, showering you with praise and echoing compliments paid to you at the reception.

So handsome. Lookin’ braw. Don’t let the bride see ya.

Usually, such words would do you in. Gnaw and bite like flies, make you assume the worst. Assume people were just being polite and lying. But…Simon wouldn’t lie. As he looms over you, hooking a leg with one arm and bracketing your head with the other, he tells you to settle. Reminds you to let him worry about the hard things.

And because it’s him, you allow it.

[circusinthewalls]

Having evil T4T Ghost x Reader thoughts tonight

[foggyforest4169]

can i get ghost and soap x trans masc reader that's also part of task force 141? i love your work <3333

Yo wassup! I kinda forgot about tumblr with the stress of school but sure I’ll give it a shot!

SO I was thinking maybe a little bit of angst because I'm feeling devious >:) Hope you enjoy this!

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'𝙰𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑��� 𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚖' 𝙼𝚊𝚕𝚎!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚡 𝚂𝚒𝚖𝚘𝚗 '𝙶𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚝' 𝚁𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙹𝚘𝚑𝚗𝚗𝚢 '𝚂𝚘𝚊𝚙' 𝙼𝚊𝚌𝚃���𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚑

You were of the plane back to base with the rest of task force 141 after a difficult mission that nearly failed. You were being guided by another person watching the security cameras. Well the mission nearly failed since the guy told you the wrong turn and you found yourself fighting atleast ten of Hassan's men. Luckily you made it out with a few marks, nothing some bandages couldn't fix but the tension on the plane was bad.

"You know y/n... it's your fucking fault that we nearly lost that mission... I told you to take a fucking right and you took a left" Someone said with such a bitterness in his voice, stressed from the mission and needy to put the blame on someone.

"What? You told me to take a left so don't blame me for your mistake, you lead me to Hassan's men" You said make as you could see the look on his face... pissed. He stayed silent for a while biting his bottom lip trying to keep his mouth shut, but the anger and stress was too much and he couldn't

"You know what... people like you shouldn't even be allowed on the team. This team is made up of real men not people like you. God I bet Price just felt pity because you tried so hard, drawing your beard on, deepening your voice and taking them shots. You are not a real guy. you never will be" He said as the plane fell silent, his words laced with venom as they hit you like bullets in the most vulnerable places. Your fists clenched as you just looked at him, tears of anger forming in your eyes while he chuckled at you. "What? Is the poor tra-"

"ENOUGH!" Ghost yelled at him as he shut up, ghost looking at you while you just stared at the ground cracking your knuckles. Why would he say such a thing? Has he always felt this way? He was meant to be your teammate... and he's just said all that.

The plane landed and you stormed off to your room at base, slamming and locking the door as you swallowed the lump in your throat. You'd always struggled with your emotions and it helped in the army but you wanted to see as manly as possible so you took it as 'Men dont cry, if they do they're weak'. So you put your headphones on and listened to yours, Ghost's and Soap's song, Boys don't cry by The Cure. It always gave you that bit of comfort and distraction while you sat in your room and just calmed yourself down, bandaging up some wounds from earlier.

Soon there was a knock on the door and a familiar voice. "Y/n let me in now" The gruff voice of Ghost said as he knocked on the door. You knew you couldn't avoid him so you sighed and opened the door, him and Johnny outside as they made their way in. Once they were in the door closed and greeted you with a tight hug while you just stood there

"Am I disgusting..." You whispered as they pulled away shocked

"Why would you say that? You're not disgusting at all" Johnny said as he held your face while Simon had already gone to report to Price about what happened

"Well I mean like he said... I'm not a real guy... jus-" You tried to speak but were soon interrupted by Johnny

"Aye shut it, you're a man. You know that, I know that, Si knows that. You're our boyfriend now shut up and put that film on we were watching before the mission handsome" He said with a smile as he kissed your head. Soon Ghost came back and he gave you a hug while Soap went to go write an incident report. His rough hands rubbing your back as you rested your head on his shoulder

"Come on we can get in bed and listen to our song while we wait for johnny" He said as he kissed your head. Once Johnny was back you all watches a movie, cuddled up and relaxing as Ghost held your face and chuckled a bit "You need a shave you look like Price" He said as he made you laugh a bit, looking at Johnny feeling better knowing you felt better know

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Thank you so much for reading this! Im sorry if its a bit shit, you get a bit rusty after 5 months. Anyway leave some suggestions because I have 0 ideas, Bye!!

[astr0exe]

hi!! i hope you’re doing well<3 can i req maybe some bunny reader n owner price with also some owner simon n puppy Soap?? soap meeting prices sweet bunny boy for the first time?? please ignore if you’re uncomfortable with this!!

also have a great trip!! 🩷🩷

aghs eating this idea rn cause gdksgdkshis tysm for the ask darlingg !! 🩶🩶 I’ll try have a great trip but ima be so busy:(( its gonna be super pretty tho so thas good :))

would anyone want a pt.2 maybe ? :]

ALSO WTF THANK YOU SO MYCH FOR 200 FOLLOWERS M GONNA SOB 🫶🏻🫶🏻

// CW : tm!reader , praise , doggy , lots of hair pulling , degradation , creampie , aftercare

Your ears twitch softly atop your head as you sit on Prices lap, slightly curled up with Prices large hands stroking your large floppy ears. The anxiety is radiating from you with your twitches, your nose, tail and ears give away your slightly hyperactive behaviour whilst you gaze at the duo in-front of you curiously. A large puppy hybrid with a mohawk called Johnny, who is grinning sloppily at you and his owner, Simon, who’s staring down at you curiosity is shown on his face slightly.

Soap can’t help it when his dick hardens in his sweats:( you’re just too cute bunny, so fucking sweet to look at with your soft ears and twitching nose.. Your eyes are glued to his crotch when you notice the bulge, Price smirks when he notices what your attention is on, moving to murmur in your ear “You like the look of Johnny’s cock bunny? What?.. What is it lovie.. You want it don’t you?-“ your blush is prominent which makes all the men laugh “Oh my little whore is so needy huh.. so flustered…”

Whilst John is talking both Soap and Simon make their way towards you, their smugness shown on their handsome faces as Soaps tail wags rapidly, his arousal and excitement showing as he basically vibrates with energy, just itching to get his hands on you, to taste you on his tongue and to feel you clench around his cock. His face is inches away from yours as he finally stops moving, his lips pulled into a smirk as his hands move to hold you, his large hands gripping your waist as his eyes gaze hungrily at your lips, “Soap, calm down..” Is all Ghost can bring himself to say, mesmerised and turned on by the obvious tension between you and his Johnny.

But Soap can’t help but disobey his owner.. his mouth meeting yours in a passionate kiss, filled with teeth and light biting. The soft assault on your lips makes your tail shake as you moan softly into Johnny’s mouth gripping his ears and tugging on them, your hips grinding lightly on Soap’s leg. The action makes Simon grin, inching ever closer, looming over both you and Price, who is just sat back lazily watching his bunny get used and played with. Simon’s hand moves slowly between your legs, as it touches your soft thighs you jump, goosebumps litter your skin due to Ghost’s cold fingers.

Your dumb bunny brain just completely shuts off as soon as you feel Simon’s fingers on your soaked hole and dick.. Whimpering into Soaps mouth loudly whilst Price tugs your ears and two of Simon’s massive fingers worm their way into your tight hole, your juices make the intrusion so much easier. Your whines are like music to the men, even with Soap’s mouth muffling them. The rhythm Ghost starts is surprisingly soft, but once he realises you can take it, his resolve shatters as he hears your sweet sweet moans and your quiet mumbles of “please.. harder.. can take it fuck… sir.. Please..” and something shifts in Simon, something primal. His fingers roughly slide in and out of your cunt, your tugs on Soap’s ears only grow harsher with the increased pleasure but Johnny only laughs and groans. His eyes flutter shut with every tug.

Your legs shake slightly, pushing away Soap softly as you grab Simon’s wrist, leaning against your owners body as your eyes roll back and your tongue lolls out of your mouth, Price holds your waist as your body shakes from the pure intensity of Simon’s fingers in you. As soon as your eyes are open again, Soap is on you, pulling you off Prices lap and onto the floor carefully, manhandling you until you are on all fours, your back arched and face pressed against the hard wooden floors.

Simon can’t help the appreciative groan that leaves his mouth from the sight of your bare arse in front of him, Price only gazes down at you pulling on your fluffy ears until you make eye contact with him. “You look so good like this bunny, perfect little slut for us to play with huh?” Price smirks down at you, the grip on your ears tight.

Your eyes widen as you feel Soap’s thick dick against your sopping hole, the eye contact with John is intense whilst Soap thrusts into you. Your breath is punched out of you with every thrust, Johnny’s tail whacks against the floor as he moans. The symphony of sounds the both of you are making is enough to get both Simon and Price rubbing their dicks through their pants. “Fuck bonnie.. good boy.. g-good bunny-fuck..” Soap mumbles, completely pussy drunk, chasing his pleasure with his fingers playing with your hard cock.

Your legs are quivering, your eyes rolling back as your arms give out, the only thing holding you up is Price’s hold on your ears. He can’t help but laugh at how fucked out and sensitive you are, already cumming around Johnny’s thick dick. Your cunt clenching around him tightly, causing his hips to stutter, his orgasm brought on by your own as his cum spurts inside you. Your eyes focus back in, your soul feels like its returned back to your body whilst you get wrapped up in Simon’s arms. He is just holding you softly as John grabs you and Johnny some water. “Just rest bun, me and John will have our fun soon enough..” He says, kissing the top of your head.

[pendragon-writes]

Trans Man/Masc!Reader with Mw2 guys

Captain Price

Well it depends on whether or not you've already come out or not. But it’s guaranteed that he already knows since he has read your files.

If you’re pre transition/don’t want to medically transition he would not judge you what so ever and would help you in anyway he can, wether it be period products, heating pads, or some painkillers, he’d still see you as a guy/masc transitioned or not.

If you’re already transitioning/transitioned he wouldn’t make a big fuss out of it.

Keep in mind he may not be extremely educated in this so he might use outdated terms without realizing it, after you tell him he goes straight to researching that same night.

Ghost

Honestly, he’s just an unbothered king and we love him for that.

When/if you come out to him he’ll just be like “Okay” and then go about his routine.

I know very simple for him but I feel like it’s also fitting

Soap

Would joking get you a cake to celebrate with a poorly drawn picture of your face on it.

It’s not very noticeable but he will use more gender affirming words more often, not too much that it’s a bother but enough to make you feel seen.

If you two are on break together and pay attention to one of his bags you can see a small trans ally pin on it.

All and all very supportive love this man.

Gaz

Honestly all of them are Allie’s and so is he.

Very educated man, he does his research.

If you’re saving up for a binder or something like that he would pitch in.

Getting any surgeries? He’s also going to pitch in.

If you aren’t out to the others but want to he’d help you if you wanted him to.

Pre-transition or not he still see’s you as one of them regardless of how you present.

All in all very amazing guy and super helpful.

Alejandro

Compliments left and right!

This man will make you feel so secure with your gender identity that you’d be saying “gender dysphoria, who’s she?”

But in all seriousness he is such a sweet guy when it comes to you and coming out.

If you cry when coming out he’ll just ask if he can hold you and reassure you.

König

Also a very supportive guy.

If you confront him seriously so you can come out he’s going to think he fucked up 😭

Will wrap you in a blanket if you start feeling dysphoric and will tell you how you are very masculine and that nothing will change that.

Uses his height to confront transphobes, yes he is scared a bit but he knows they’re just pussies.