I’m So Sorry But I’m Such A Simp For Big Men In Masks. This Is Very Self Indulgent Buuuuut Could

i’m so sorry but i’m such a simp for big men in masks. this is very self indulgent buuuuut could i request a ghost x reader who is shy and relatively unexperienced with sex? like has been with maybe 1-2 people but kinda just let them take charge? also really want some size difference in there too if possible? like i’m 5’6ish and underweight due to health issues but i can’t stop thinking about being tossed around by that mountain of a man

i have no excuse on why this took so long to get to babe, i'm sorry! he might be ooc in this idk, i just got done with a lengthy price oneshot so i need to warm up on ghost. corruption kink with ghost warnings: size kink, painful sex (kinda)

You don't tell him - not on your own volition, anyway.

But Ghost has seen you gut men twice your size, ripping their pancreas from between cracked ribs, dousing your hands in viscous red that still encrusts your cuticles days afterwards. You hold your weight on the team, your ledger stained with anyone who dares question it. He doesn't ask, but he only assumed the brash confidence to extend to every aspect of your being.

Which is why, when he cups your face or growls an obscene request in your ear, it throws him off guard to see you withdraw. Flushed, your cheeks warm with babydoll humility. You've never wavered with anything as much as you did him; not death, not merciless fusillade. It's a bizarre contradiction with everything he had you pinned down as.

It doesn't take him long to figure out why. You eventually blossom, just the slightest bit, and find yourself in his bed mere hours later.

"Gorgeous fuckin' thing. About stuff you full."

"Haah- I... You're huge, shit."

"You're a big girl, pet, you can take it."

"I've never- fuck! Slow down, please, please..."

His body locks at the first crack of your voice. You've got your face hidden in his shoulder, tucked between his neck and a thick muscle. He can't see it, but he knows. Your lashes flutter, damp on his skin, a hot pool of fresh tears trekking the scant space between you.

Simon pulls out, only a third of the way in, and detaches from you. He doesn't exactly have the words for comfort - his vocabulary whittled down to military jargon and bad jokes - but he rests his hand on your calf while he waits for you to collect yourself.

It's enough. A voiceless agreement permeates your relationship, some quick-trick tool for times when war unravels; one nod over the body of a gun, a pat on the shoulder as you fight your separate ways. It holds relevance, always, even now.

So he waits, because it's the only thing he can do. Waits, and reels over what went wrong. He'd thrown you over his face, sucking your honeyed slick directly from the source, until your body shook with concerning violence. He'd pumped you with two fingers, stretching your tight hole in preparation. He'd kneaded your supple flesh until you spilled to a puddle underneath him. All of it has usually sufficed before now.

It isn't your full-bodied heaves stop that you break the silence.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. You didn't do anything, it was just... overwhelming. I've only ever been with one person before, and they were-"

"Bad."

"Smaller, asshole. God-"

He grabs your wrist, wrapping it in a large hand.

"Did I hurt you?"

"Not nearly. Just-" You gesture to yourself. "Like I said. Overwhelming."

"Shy, then."

"Si-"

You're practically squished when he bends over you, full lips grazing your jaw when he gruffs his intrusion.

"We have all night, pet. Plenty of time to get you to open up."