#trans!ghost

[meowmeowriley]

Ghost: *grumbling, with a hand placed in the small of his own back, watching rookies run.

Soap: "Ye good, Lt.?"

Ghost: "No. These rookies are bloody awful, and my damn back hurts. All I want is to sit on a heating pad with some herbal tea, but these shitheads keep fucking up!"

Gaz, joking: "You on your period, sir?"

Ghost: "Can't spell menstruation without men, and most of frustration. And these men are certainly frustratin'."

***

Can't decide if this is trans Ghost actually on his period, or bunny Ghost with a bad back. (Cause bunnies have back problems)

[mactavishenjoyer]

Ghost:"OH GOD! STOP! STOP! PLEASE GOD!"

Soap, holding his T injection:"I've seen you get shot without reacting and this is what does you in."

Ghost:

Ghost:"shut up before I make you run laps, Sargent."

[cupidsworstcrime]

FTM!Simon x f!reader

thinking about this....

smut under the cut

You were straddling his lap.

You've been together for months and he's been putting off sex, cause sex meant telling you. But, fuck... How can he resist you?

God, that look in your eyes—half-lidded, wicked, hungry. Your fingers were already under the hem of his shirt, dragging it up like you were unwrapping a gift you’d wanted for years. And he let you, because he couldn’t bring himself to stop you.

Because this was everything he wanted—you, pressed up against him, whispering dirty little things in his ear, mouthing along his throat like you were tasting him.

Your hips rolled down against his and he felt himself get slick, even as a bolt of anxiety shot through his gut.

You don’t know. You don’t know what’s under these pants. And when you do… are you gonna look at me like I’m a fraud?

He clenched his jaw. He knew he had to say something. But then your mouth was at his neck again, your tongue flicking his skin, your hand palming him through his pants with a pleased little noise.

When you feel nothing—certainly not the bulge you were expecting—you pause for a second, then purr softly, "Not excited yet, baby?"

That was the tipping point. He grabbed your wrist—not harshly, but firm. And suddenly you were looking up at him, confused, cheeks flushed, pupils blown.

“Wait,” he said, voice low and gravelly. “I… I need to tell ya some'ing b'fore this goes any further.”

Your eyes searched his face, waiting. He swallowed thickly.

"I kinda... I kinda don’t have a dick?”

He cringes at his own awkwardness and the silence that followed made his stomach twist.

“If that’s a dealbreaker, I ge' it. Just… tell me now.”

Your expression didn’t shift the way he feared. No pity. No disgust. Just heat. And something more dangerous.... desire. You didn't even flinch when he said that.

You leaned in, lips brushing his ear.

“You think I only want you for your dick? No, Simon. I want you. All of you. Now shut up and let me make you feel good.”

His breath hitched as you pushed your hips against his again, grinding slow, unhurried—like you knew what that kind of friction did to him. And you did. You felt him, every twitch, every tremble under your hands.

Fuck. You’re not pulling away.

You kissed him—deep, open-mouthed, like you wanted to consume him. Your fingers slid under the waistband of his sweats, not rushing, just exploring. And he let you. It was terrifying. And it was liberating.

Your voice was a low murmur against his jaw:

“Tell me what you like, Simon.”

Not what you expected, not what he should be into. What he liked. You wanted him—really him. The way no one had before.

“You sure?” he rasped.

“I’ve never been more sure.”

So he nodded, barely, throat tight. His heart was racing, nerves and need tangled up in a way that made his skin burn.

“Touch me,” he said. “Just—go slow.”

Your hand slid lower, and when your fingers finally cupped him, the real him, through soft cotton, his hips jerked involuntarily. The moan that left him was low, strangled, real.

“There,” he muttered, eyes fluttering shut. “Fuck, yeah, righ' there…”

You nuzzled into the side of his neck, your voice a dirty little whisper:

“You’re so fucking sexy like this, you know that? Doesn’t matter what’s between your legs. You’re dripping for me, Simon.”

His whole body tensed at that, hips grinding up into your palm with a groan. That praise—God, it did things to him. No hesitation. No weirdness. Just filthy, honest want.

You peeled his sweats down slowly, reverently, and kissed your way down his stomach as he leaned back against the couch, panting, one hand fisted in your hair.

“Gonna make you feel so good,” you whispered. “Wanna taste you. Wanna hear how loud I can make you moan.”

Simon’s face was flushed, pupils blown wide. He was already so wet for you, aching and sensitive, and you hadn’t even put your mouth on him yet.

But when you did? When your tongue flicked against him, slow and deliberate?

He fucking whimpered.

And in that moment, all the fear, the shame, the doubt—it melted under the heat of your mouth and the way you worshipped every inch of him like he was exactly what you wanted.

Because he was.

You spread his thighs gently, reverently, settling between them like you belonged there. Simon was already flushed pink to the ears, his mask long gone, his eyes locked on you with a hunger laced in disbelief.

He didn’t flinch when you looked at him.

He flinched when you didn’t look away.

Your hands slid up his thighs, thumbs brushing over the muscle, and your voice—steady, soft, but thick with want—cut through the thick tension in the room.

“You’re so fucking perfect, Simon. Let me take my time with you.”

He groaned, head falling back, exposing his throat.

You leaned in and kissed the crease of his thigh first. Then another kiss, closer to where he was already soaked. And another—until your mouth was right where he wanted it. Right where he needed you.

You licked a slow, deliberate stripe through his folds, feeling the way he trembled, how his big, strong thighs tried to close around your head—how he gasped, sharp and broken, when your tongue circled his clit.

“Fuck—oh, fuck—”

Simon wasn’t used to this. Not the attention. Not the care. Definitely not the worship you were giving him now, mouthing at him like he was the sweetest thing you’d ever tasted. He was wet, aching, and already close because he’d never let himself want this before—never like this.

Your tongue flicked against him, slow and rhythmic, and your hands kept him spread wide, grounding him when his hips bucked, when his breathing went ragged. You groaned into him, the sound vibrating through him, and he nearly came right there.

“You taste so good,” you whispered against him, then sucked gently on his clit, and his whole body arched.

“Jesus—shit—don’ stop—”

You didn’t. You devoured him, flicking your tongue just right, circling, sucking, moaning into him like you were the one losing your mind. And when he finally came—loud and shuddering, hips rolling helplessly against your face—it was with your name on his lips like a prayer.

He was panting when you pulled back, lips slick, eyes blown, and God, you looked satisfied. Proud. Like you’d just tasted something holy.

Simon looked down at you, chest heaving, and for the first time in years, maybe ever, he felt seen. Desired. Worshipped.

“You okay?” you asked softly, lips still swollen, pupils still wide.

He reached down, hand cupping your jaw.

“I’m fuckin' incredible.”

And he meant it.

You barely had time to recover from the orgasm you just pulled out of him before he surged forward, grabbing your face in both hands and kissing you hard—deep, filthy, desperate. His mouth tasted like sweat, like need, like himself, and you groaned into it, dizzy from the rush.

“My turn,” he murmured, voice thick and gravel-rough. “Lie back.”

You blinked, half-dazed, still catching your breath. But he was already easing you down onto the couch, big hands trailing over your body like he needed to memorize every inch of you.

Simon kissed down your chest, your stomach, dragging his tongue over your skin like he was starving—and honestly? He was. Not just for sex. For this. For you.

“Tell me what you want,” he murmured, mouth hovering just above the waistband of your pants. “I want to hear it.”

The way he looked at you—eyes dark, intense, focused—made your whole body thrum. You told him. Maybe with words. Maybe with a moan and a grind of your hips. It didn’t matter.

He got the message.

Simon pulled your clothes down with a kind of reverence, like he was unwrapping something rare and dangerous. And when he saw you—laid out, exposed, wanting?

He groaned like it hurt.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he muttered, before lowering his head between your thighs.

The first swipe of his tongue was broad, slow, claiming.

You gasped—hips twitching—and Simon smiled into you.

“That’s it, pet,” he murmured. “Let me hear you.”

Then he went in with real purpose. Flattening his tongue, then circling your clit, then flicking just right—testing, adjusting, until he found the exact rhythm that made you moan his name like a confession.

He didn’t let up.

He held you there—one arm slung over your thigh to keep you open for him, the other hand sliding up to squeeze your breast, fingers rolling over your nipple in time with his mouth.

He was everywhere. Tasting, touching, worshipping.

And just when you thought you couldn’t take any more—when your body was tensed, shaking, right on the edge—he pulled back just enough to growl:

“Cum for me. Wanna feel you fall apart on my tongue.”

You did.

With a cry, a gasp, a full-body tremor—you came hard, hips rolling against his mouth, thighs trembling as he licked you through every last wave.

He stayed down until your body eased, until you whimpered from oversensitivity and tugged lightly on his hair. Then he came up, lips slick, face flushed, and kissed you like he was proud of what he’d done.

Because he was.

And when he finally settled above you, holding you close, he whispered against your hair:

“Yer mine now, yeah?”

Your answer? A breathless, satisfied yes.

You were still catching your breath when Simon shifted, his thigh slotting between yours like it was meant to be there. His skin was flushed, slick with sweat, eyes blown wide as he hovered over you—cheeks pink, lips kiss-bitten, and something wild flickering behind that gaze.

“Wanna feel you,” he growled, voice low and ruined. “Wanna feel you against me. Just—fuck—let me…”

You barely had time to nod before he was stripping the rest of the way, shoving off his sweats off this thighs and climbing between your legs again. When your cores finally met—hot, slick, aching—you both moaned.

“Oh, fuck—Simon—”

He rocked against you slowly at first, grinding your hips together, clits dragging in a rhythm that made you both shudder. The friction was perfect—wet, messy, intimate as hell—and his mouth dropped open like he was about to fall apart.

“So good,” he gasped, voice cracking. “You feel so fucking good—”

You wrapped your legs around his waist, dragging him down so your chests touched, so you could feel his heartbeat thudding in sync with yours. His body was solid and warm above you, but the way he moved—desperate, needy—made it clear he wasn’t in control anymore.

He was feeling everything.

“Don’t stop,” you whispered, nails raking down his back. “Simon, don’t you fucking stop—”

He didn’t. He found a rhythm that made you both cry out, hips grinding together in tight, delicious friction. You could feel every roll of his body, every desperate grind of his slick against yours—your clits dragging over and over in a rhythm that left you shaking.

It wasn’t slow anymore. It was hungry. Frantic. You clung to each other, skin slapping, moans spilling raw and loud into the room.

“Gonna cum—” he gasped, forehead against yours, sweat dripping from his brow. “Fuck, I’m gonna—you’re making me lose it—”

“Then lose it with me,” you breathed, bucking your hips up to meet his. “Cum with me, Simon—please—”

And when you both tipped over that edge—hips grinding in a feverish, sloppy rhythm—your cries tangled together like prayer and possession.

Simon shook against you, muscles seizing as he moaned your name into your neck, and you held him through it, grinding through every last pulse of pleasure until your bodies were trembling wrecks.

Afterward, you lay tangled together, bare and sticky and breathing hard, Simon’s thigh still pressed between yours, your fingers laced together across his chest.

“Didn’t know it could feel like that,” he whispered, voice wrecked.

You kissed his shoulder.

“It does. When it’s real.”

Self Indulgent Bonus

The smell of bacon hit first. Then the sizzle. Then the warm, golden spill of sunlight through the kitchen window, lighting up the lean figure standing at the stove.

Simon stood barefoot, hair a mess, wearing nothing but a pair of low-hanging gray sweats and the faint flush of fresh, satisfied sex. His back was to you, muscles on display under that broad, freckled skin, one hand lazily flipping the pan while the other lifted a mug of coffee to his lips.

You padded up behind him in one of his old T-shirts—huge on you, practically a dress, sleeves hanging past your elbows. You wrapped your arms around his waist and pressed your face between his shoulder blades with a sleepy little hum.

He chuckled low in his chest.

“Mornin’, dove.”

You didn’t answer right away—just let your hands wander up his stomach, over the taut stretch of his chest, then cupped both his pecs with a gentle squeeze.

Simon let out a snort, shoulders shaking.

“Got rid of those a long time ago, dovie.”

Still half-asleep, you just mumbled into his back, voice muffled and thick with morning rasp:

“Just lemme touch your tits, Si…”

He lost it—laughing so hard he nearly dropped the spatula. He set it down, reached behind him to grab your wrists gently, and turned in your arms, still grinning like an idiot.

“Tha' what this is now? Tiddy crimes first thing in the mornin'?”

You peeked up at him through messy hair, eyes bleary and full of mischief.

“I’m a criminal. Arrest me with your mouth.”

He barked a laugh, leaning down to kiss you, one hand sneaking under the hem of the shirt to grab a handful of your ass.

“You keep talkin’ like that, we’re not eatin’ breakfast."

You gave his chest one last greedy squeeze.

“Worth it.”

i am so so so so so so so normal about this i swear im not insane .... also, i figured out how to em dash and im making it your problem.

Part 2

[bajoslovan]

trans!Ghost + forcemasc!Reader for @ghouljams and "king forcemasc" anon (cw smut)

go read ghoul's #trans!Ghost stuff if you want more (threat) i'm only writing this because of for their brilliant au

You know how you had certain expectations for yourself when you first started transitioning? Yeah. Ghost's pretty much yanked those from your grip and put them on a shelf even higher to reach. He assures you often how much of a real man you are, how the two of you aren't like those other pussies pretending to be tough, but he's rough with you, rougher than he would be with others, because you're "a man and should be able to take it". He has pressured you several times already to volunteer for service, and you're starting to think it's not such a bad idea after all. Not when it means he would always be there to give you your t-shot and spank your ass afterwards, or fuck you into the nearest piece of furniture while going on about how hairy you're getting and how the scars at your chest are proof you've earned it; earned being treated exactly like this. Doesn't care if it hurts.

It's not like much would change, especially if he becomes your Lieutenant. He already makes you run drills when he's feeling particularly mean and makes you do pushups with his hand around your t-dick, telling you it's good for you to learn how to fuck like real men do, and to hold back your orgasms until he says so, because real men like the two of you have self-restraint and self-discipline, grabbing you by the scruff of your neck and yelling at you to get the fuck up if you tap out before he's gotten his fill of watching his gym bro hit whatever quota he'd set for the day. You wouldn't disobey your Lieutenant, fuck no, because the break you're getting is choking between his muscular thighs, sucking him with your nose pressed against sweaty skin and grinding against his combat boot for relief. Don't stop just because you've already come - you've learned the hard way after he slapped you for that, didn't stop until you got right back to it.

Maybe one day you'll be just as strong of a man as he is. Shaved hair, combat clothing, and a bunch of stick-and-poke tattoos provided by yours truly bring you a step closer to that, especially the defined muscle brought by Ghost's insistent pressure on you. But you get it - this is what it takes. He's only got your best interests in mind, Private.

[reaping-the-benefits]

Trans masc Ghost who will play with your pussy for hours, making you cum on his tongue and fingers. Will fuck you will a strap on until you're seeing stars.

Who, oddly enough, isn't comfortable with you touching his pussy.

But after some time, and maybe a few drinks, he finally let's you between his legs. And God does he regret not letting you do it sooner. The way you suck on his t-dick while fingering him had his legs shaking faster than he thought it would.

You find out that night that he's a squirter.

[cod-fishing]

Just got a random spike in activity on my trans!ghost fic on ao3. To those readers and everyone else in the cod fandom - happy pride month!!! Writing that fic to process some of my own feelings re: transition, fathers, and the military was incredibly rewarding and important for me, and I’m so glad it resonated with so many folks. I go back and read the comments often - Not a day goes by when I don’t think about you all.

[rahmown]

as much as i enjoy ghosts fat horse cock i am also a trans!ghost truther and i think its such a funny thought that maybe ghost bought a packer that was just like way too big but he didnt have time or energy to order a new one so he just starts sporting a big cock everyone can see and Soap is obviously intrigued bc he’s John “Cockslut” “Free Use” “Just a hole, Sir” Mactavish and then when he finally gets ghosts pants off he’s jokingly like “damn false advertisement” but at the end of the day they still fuck bc they’re in love and Soap is bisexual anyways so its not like he cares 🤷‍♀️

[gothghostiie]

See I think I got kinda fucked over because I read a wattpad fic when I was really young g that was about a (surprisingly realistic, and quite healthy) BDSM relationship between a pan girl and her dom, a trans dude who was also a wrestler. So now I think my brain automatically goes “Guy with Pussy? Get on ur knees for him right now girl” and while I’m not complaining I do think it’s kind of odd

Anyway Trans!Ghost whose top surgery scars blend in so well with the rest of his scars that they’re almost unnoticeable. Trans!Ghost who absolutely loves his T-voice and thinks it sounds so sexy (he practices dirty talk in the mirror because he’s a dork). Trans!Ghost.

felt that bestie and that's so real tbh, who wouldn't have that reaction???

trans!ghost my beloved, he's such a little idiot. top surgery scars blend in incredibly well with his scars, muscles and tattos, they're barely noticeable unless he specifically points them out to you.

and now all I can think about his catching him practicing dirty talk in front of the mirror. I'm haunted

[poisonedprose]

*rubs my paws together* hehehehhe it’s boy time >:)

Where do I even begin to talk about Ghost? Maybe how when he gets close to cumming, when your fingers crook right there in that spot- he gets all squirmy, trying to get away but fuck himself down onto your fingers. And oh, he loves to be played with, no matter how much he refuses. He’s wrapped around your fingers, literally- the way his cunt squelches and gets slicker when you coo a good boy into his ear- maybe he will behave more, if it gets him this far. Sometimes, when he’s feeling bold, he’ll allow a pair of fuzzy handcuffs to be put on him, or tied back with fuzzy rope- calves bound to thighs, kneeling in front of a mirror- or stretched out on the bed, top surgery scars on display, and those pretty little nipples of his- he really out to get them pierced. And his cunt.

Oh, his pretty, puffy, pink little cunt.

Just begging to be eaten out, stretched, fucked, throughly used- he knows when to stop running his mouth at you, but sometimes he can’t help it- he really wants to be a good boy, he promises he’s trying- but he always ends up bratting in the end. Other than when he’s drooling, eyes glassy from how many times he’s came, or fat tears rolling down his cheeks from denied orgasms as he twists and squirms under the bindings with sobs of ‘’please, I promise-‘’ or the rare times when you can get him to squirt. He’s glorious when he cums, eyes nearly rolling into his skull and pussy clamping down onto whatever he’s wrapped around (most likely fingers or a dildo).

Anyways I’m a lover of men and women. And boys with cunts and girls with dicks. Local bisexual out

-⚕️

I AM GIGGLING AND KICKING MY FEET.

to add on, he'd try to be all dominant but it'd last 5 seconds before he just succumbs to you.

[meowmeowriley]

Rabbit shifter Ghost likes to be stuff on Soap's hoodie pocket even if he won't fit. Soap ends up getting one of jumpers with a cat pocket to accommodate this.

Maybe a clear bag some cats travel in to keep Ghost contained when needed.

Ghost, being a Flemish Giant, does not fit in Soap's hoodie pocket, to his own dismay. However, when Soap steals a hoodie from Ghost, one that's oversized even on Ghost himself, and has just a huge front pocket, Ghost can't help himself. He shifts mid sprint, after having spotted his favorite hoodie on his favorite Sergeant across the training field. Goes from running full tilt to hopping at the speed of light. A grey streak, cutting the field in half. A missile, lazer guided and target locked. The target: the pocket of that hoodie.

Soap barely has time to brace himself after spotting the gray blur approaching out of the corner of his eye at mach Jesus.

Ghost's aim is true, he leaps, front paws catching the hem of the pocket and pushing it out of the way enough to stuff himself into. His head pops out the far side, ass, and feet stopping him from shooting straight through because he's a thick boy. His momentum, being a 20 pound (10 kilo) ball hurtling towards Soap like a meteor, yanks Soap off balance and he fails wildly and careens forward whilst trying to catch his balance again, so as to not squash his damn Lieutenant.

The soldiers Soap had been lecturing were stunned silent.

Soap had no way of knowing the hoodie he'd stolen was Ghost's designated digging and tunneling hoodie, that he owned it specifically so that he could stuff himself into the pocket. What he did know, now at least, was that he would be stealing this particular hoodie every chance he got.

Soap did not address what had just happened. He straightened back up, cleared his throat, and went back to instructing. Ignoring the rabbit chinning the hem of the pocket, or his hand when he went to pet him.

The soldiers, to their credit, also remained silent about the bunny butt, feet stuck out backwards and tail flashed high, sticking out the other end.

Soap later found himself on Amazon looking at the hoodies designed to carry cats in, desperately checking reviews to make sure they could handle an extra large cat (or in this case, rabbit). He may have ordered himself several of them.

[mactavishenjoyer]

Soap:" ready for your shot tonight?"

Ghost:"I'm ready to be shot."

Soap:

Ghost:"in the head."

Soap:

[cupidsworstcrime]

FTM!Simon x reader

part 2 of this

smut under the cut

It was just sitting there on the bed. Glossy black silicone, sleek and menacing in its harness. You’d left it out on purpose—half as a tease, half as a very pointed suggestion.

Simon stood in the doorway, arms crossed, sweatpants riding low on his hips, brow furrowed like he was trying to figure out whether to be turned on or to run.

You looked up from where you sat, legs curled under you, playing innocent as hell.

“Hey, Si. Like your present?”

He stared at it like it was alive.

“Dove… that thing’s massive.”

You smirked. Knew he’d say that.

“It’s not that big. You’ve taken my fingers just fine.”

“Your fingers don’t look like they’re gonna split me in half.” His voice cracked on the last word, somewhere between panic and arousal.

You crawled across the bed on all fours, eyes glued to him. Your voice dropped.

“C’mon, Simon. You’re not scared of a little strap, are you?”

He gave you a look. One that said 'this is not little' and also 'I’m thinking about it anyway.'

You reached the edge of the bed, tugged gently on the waistband of his sweats, letting your fingers dip just under his hipbone. Soft, reassuring.

“We go slow. We do it together. I’ll talk you through the whole thing. You trust me, right?”

His breath hitched. He nodded.

“Yeah. I trust you.”

You leaned up, kissed his throat, whispering:

“Then let me wreck you a little, yeah?”

He swallowed thickly, groaned low.

“Fuck. Alright. Just—be gentle. Or I swear to God I’m gonna end up cryin’ into the mattress.”

“I want you crying into the mattress,” you purred.

Simon groaned again, louder this time—half mortified, half turned the hell on.

“You’re evil.”

You kissed him, slow and deep, before murmuring against his lips:

“But you’re gonna let me fuck you anyway.”

You had him on his back, legs spread, pillows under his hips—propped up and exposed, flushed all over. His hair was a mess, cheeks red, lips parted in soft gasps as you trailed your fingers along his thighs, coaxing his body open inch by inch.

The strap was still sitting on the nightstand. Not forgotten, just... waiting.

Your fingers moved slowly through his slick, teasing soft little circles around his clit before slipping lower, pressing in with that practiced confidence he trusted. He whimpered, hips twitching up into your touch.

“Fuck,” he muttered, arm thrown over his eyes. “Feels—fuckin’ good, dovie. But I swear, that thing’s still huge…”

You leaned over, kissed up his stomach, his chest, his jaw.

“You’re already taking my fingers so easy, baby,” you whispered. “You’re gonna take all of me. Nice and slow. Just like this.”

You curled your fingers just right and his whole body shuddered.

“God—shit—don’t stop.”

You didn’t. You worked him open with the kind of patience that made it better than fast could ever be—scissoring gently, sliding in a third finger, stretching him while you kissed his throat and praised him between every panting moan.

“So fucking tight. So good for me. Look at you—taking it like you need to be ruined.”

Simon groaned, biting his lip, eyes fluttering open to meet yours.

“I do need it.”

That was all the green light you needed.

You pulled your fingers out slowly, slick and glistening, then turned to reach for the harness.

Simon’s breath hitched again watching you buckle it on. That thick black strap rising between your thighs made him press his own together instinctively.

You knelt between his legs, running the tip slowly through his folds, teasing, not pushing in yet—just watching his face twist in anticipation.

“You ready, Si?”

He nodded once, hard, both hands gripping the sheets like he was preparing for war.

“Yeah. Fuck—just do it.”

You leaned down, kissed him slow, deep, and guiding the head of the strap to his entrance, you whispered:

“I got you. You’re mine, Simon. Gonna take care of you.”

And as you started to press in, inch by inch, his breath stuttered—and he moaned, low and desperate, like he’d just been split open with love and lust all at once.

You hovered over Simon, both of you trembling with anticipation as the strap slid against his slickness. The air was thick with the quiet sound of his breath, shaky and unsure, and the faint sound of your own heartbeat in your ears. Your hands shook just a little, but it wasn’t fear—it was desire. The kind that made everything slow and deliberate, every movement carefully planned. You wanted this to be perfect. You wanted him to trust you completely.

“You’re gonna feel so full, Si,” you whispered, lips brushing against his ear. “So fucking good.”

Simon squeezed his eyes shut and nodded, a tight, trembling breath escaping him as you pressed the head of the strap against his entrance, just teasing him.

“You’re ready, baby. Trust me.”

His hips jerked slightly in response, but he stayed still otherwise—waiting, needing this to happen. You guided your hips forward, just an inch, and he gasped, his body quivering beneath you.

“Fuck, dove… it’s… so big.”

You smiled softly, leaning down to kiss him, gentle but firm. His mouth parted as your tongues met, deepening the kiss as you slowly began to press in, inch by inch. Simon’s hands gripped your arms, nails digging in just a little, but you didn’t mind—his body was accepting you in slow, measured waves, his walls clenching, giving way bit by bit as you worked him open.

“I’ve got you,” you reassured, your voice soft but firm, “Just breathe through it.”

He did. Slowly, his breath calming as you pushed forward, inch by inch, the head of the strap finally breaching him, stretching him open. He whimpered softly, his lips parting as his whole body reacted, muscles tensing and then relaxing in waves.

“So good for me, Simon,” you praised, voice thick with desire. “You’re taking it so well.”

You paused for a moment, letting him adjust, giving him space to breathe. You could imagine the feeling of him around the strap was intoxicating—tight, warm, perfect. You waited, watching his face, seeing the way he bit his lip, his eyes flicking to yours, asking for more but needing just a moment to catch his breath.

Finally, he let out a soft, shaky breath, his hips twitching, and whispered, “More.”

That one word was all the encouragement you needed.

You pushed in slowly, carefully, your hips moving just enough to stretch him further, sliding deeper, filling him in ways that made both of you moan, a low, shared sound of pleasure and longing.

“So fucking tight, Simon,” you groaned, finally buried all the way inside him, feeling the way his nails were still digging into you.

Simon’s head fell back into the pillows, eyes closed, breathing shallow as he adjusted, hands sliding down your back to grip your hips. You didn’t move right away, letting him get used to the feeling of being full, of being stretched so wide. But his body was already responding, hips shifting, craving more.

“Move,” he gasped, voice hoarse. “Please—move, love.”

You smiled, your hands finding his waist to steady him as you slowly started to rock your hips, slow and steady. The feeling was so different—so *intimate*—every thrust making Simon gasp, his body shaking in response. His back arched as you slowly slid in and out, each movement just as deliberate as the last, your hands holding him steady, keeping him from breaking.

“I’ve got you,” you whispered again, your voice trembling with the same need that gripped him. “You’re doing so fucking well.”

You picked up the pace slightly, but only just enough to make him feel every inch of you. Simon’s moans were deep and desperate, his hands gripping you tighter with each thrust.

“Fuck—please, harder—please,” Simon begged, his voice cracked and ragged as his hips tried to thrust up against you.

You couldn’t deny him. Not now. Not when he was so desperate, so willing, body trembling with need.

With a low groan, you slammed into him harder, the sound of your bodies meeting, slick and messy, filling the room. Simon cried out, the pleasure starting to overtake him, and you kept pushing him, kept making him feel every inch, your rhythm fast and rough, but still careful enough to let him breathe through it.

“Fuck, you feel so good, fucking greedy cunt... sucking me in,” you panted, hips snapping into his, each thrust driving you both closer to the edge. “You’re taking it so well. So fucking well.”

His body was a wreck under you, gasping, moaning, hands pulling you closer, needing more, his hips lifting to meet every thrust. His eyes were barely open, face flushed with pleasure and desperation.

“Don’ stop—please—” he whimpered, a tangle of moans and breathless pleas.

You reached down, fingers brushing against his clit, and the combination of your thrusts and your touch made Simon break. His body shuddered beneath you as he cried out, cumming hard with a hoarse shout of your name.

You collapsed on top of him, breathless, slick, and spent—despite not being touched yourself—as the two of you held each other through the aftershocks.

For a long while, neither of you moved, your bodies tangled together. Simon’s hands slid up your back, tracing soft patterns, and you leaned down, kissing his forehead, his temple, any place you could reach.

“You okay?” you whispered, voice soft and full of concern.

Simon smiled, breath still shaky, his chest rising and falling beneath you.

“Yeah,” he said with a soft laugh, “I’m better than okay.”

And in that moment, you knew—you had him, and he had you. And this? This was real.

SELF INDULGENT BONUS MWAHAHAHA

The two of you had collapsed back onto the bed after everything—skin still warm and glistening with sweat, limbs tangled lazily under the covers. The room was quiet, save for the soft hum of the fan and the rhythm of your breathing as you lay beside Simon, both of you coming down from the intensity of the moment.

You were tracing lazy circles on his chest, your fingers slow and soothing, while Simon kept glancing at you, looking at your face with a mix of fondness and something else—something a little unsure.

After a few beats, he cleared his throat, his voice low and soft. You looked up, meeting his eyes, sensing the slight tension in his posture as he fidgeted a little.

“Hey, uh… dovie?”

You lifted an eyebrow, giving him a soft smile. “What’s up, Si?”

He bit his lip, shifting a little, as if he were weighing his words carefully. It was endearing, how shy he was about this, especially after everything you’d shared.

“Next time…” He trailed off, eyes flicking between yours, not quite meeting them fully. “Can I, uh… Can I top?”

The words hung in the air, tentative but full of something real—desire, curiosity, and a bit of vulnerability.

You smiled, a soft, warm grin spreading across your face as you shifted closer, lifting his chin gently so he was forced to look at you.

“You want to top me?”

Simon nodded, just a bit, his cheeks flushing a soft pink. “Yeah. I mean… If yer okay with it. I just… I dunno. I think I’d like to try.”

You leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead, before meeting his gaze with an expression that was full of reassurance.

“I’m so okay with it, Simon. You can do whatever you want. We’re a team. You’ll be amazing.” You smiled, the promise in your voice soft but firm. “It’s all about what you need, baby. I’m not going anywhere. I trust you.”

He blinked at you, eyes softening with relief, the tension leaving his body as he smiled shyly back at you. His hand reached up to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear.

“Really? You mean tha'?”

You nodded, brushing your lips over his for a quick kiss.

“Of course, Si. I want you to feel good too. We’ll go slow—whenever you're ready.”

Simon exhaled like he’d been holding his breath, his shoulders relaxing as he pulled you into a soft, tight embrace, his lips pressed to your neck.

“Thanks, dove… I’ll make sure it’s worth it.”

And in that moment, with his arms wrapped around you and his body pressed close, you knew—whatever happened next, you'd both be exploring this together. And that was more than enough.

can you blame me for wanting to fuck the big man??? bottom Simon bottom Simon bottom Simon bottom Simon bottom Simon bottom Simon bottom Simon bottom Simon bottom Simon bottom Simon bottom Simon bottom Si-

PART 3

[cod-fishing]

Rated T, trans!Simon Riley, soapghost, completed Simon has always been alone, long before his family was ever taken from him. He can’t let anyone see him, not really - every time he’s ever tried, they didn’t understand. 20 years later, he finds someone new. Maybe, for him, he’s willing to try again.

Trans ghost! This is a trans origin story, so watch out for the transphobia portrayed and such. It's not super heavy-handed but it's there! Soap, of course, is loving and accepting, and we're all happy in the end. I love projecting myself onto giant burly man characters :)

[demigod-of-the-agni]

Quick little drawing of our favourite queer Spideys 😌

Guys you can use this as a banner or a background or a header or whatever, as long as it’s credited you’re free to do so <333

[meowmeowriley]

🤣 Yes! 🥰

Soap made a tiktok account and it's all videos like this, shot around base. Captioned 'horrible training accident' or something similar.