#ghost fanfiction requests

[ghoulelegy]

Hey bro! Can you write a coming out fanfic of a ghoul coming out to Copia as nb (or any other gender tbh ^^)

I think I’d like the Y/N ghoul to be like nervous and all that, and also I’d like if the other ghouls were around you to support and all that 🥺

Love ya!! 💖

Absolutely - I would love to provide you with wholesome Copia and Ghouls content. Thank you for the request *gives you a cookie* You Will Never Walk Alone

Summary: You connect the dots one day and realise you're nonbinary. You decide to come out to Copia and the ghouls. Pairing: Nonbinary reader X Copia and Era IV ghouls (put in Aether and Sunshine too for good measure) Wordcount: 2,867 Contains:

Content warning: Negative thoughts Some brief mention of wanting to claw at your own skin. Gender Dysphoria Safe for Work Coming Out Platonic Cuddling (Cuddle puddle) Emotional Hurt / Comfort

Read You Will Never Walk Alone on AO3

You felt like something was wrong, for a while now.

Of course, it was whenever you would catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, your heart would sink like a stone into a bottomless well of despair. Your reflection, a stranger staring back with hollow eyes, felt like a cruel apparition haunting your very soul. A leaden weight settled in your chest, and a solitary tear traced a melancholic path down your cheek, leaving a trail of salt and sorrow in its wake.

You despised your name; it left a bitter taste in your mouth every time it passed your lips. The way people saw you felt like a thousand burning eyes, each gaze a searing judgment etching into your skin.

They weren’t looking at you.

They were looking at what they thought should be you.

The mere sight of your reflection in the mirror was an electric shock coursing through your veins, igniting an overwhelming urge to claw at your own skin as if shedding the shell that felt foreign and constricting. What had once been a distant, lulling hum in the background had morphed into an unrelenting roar, an emotional tempest you could no longer silence or ignore.

But it only hit you when you googled the almighty “Am I transgender” quiz when the realisation that you were not what you were told your whole life was like a punch to the gut.  

And just like that, you began to unravel. The dissonance spread like a subtle but persistent ache, seeping into every corner of your life. It was as if the realisation had triggered a growing storm of dysphoria, casting a shadow over even the simplest moments.

The ghouls could sense that something was distressing you.

 You wanted to tell them, you really did.

You wished coming out wasn’t necessary.

You wished that you didn’t have to come out. -

You held your tail close to you during dinner that night on a particularly bad dysphoria day. Your body was hunched as you ate your food with Papa and the Ghouls. You found yourself nervously bouncing your leg, self-soothing stimming to try and get yourself to ease away your nerves. With each twitch, you tried to ease away the gnawing tension, but it only seemed to intensify.

Tonight, I’ll do it. I’ll come out to them.

Of course, there was no deadline for coming out. All this pressure to come out was all in your head. There’s no “coming out Olympics.” Everyone’s advice on the internet was that there was no need to rush, no need to meet any arbitrary deadlines. You could come out to others in your own time, at your own pace, when you felt ready. In the end, it was your journey, your truth, and your happiness that mattered most. Which helped to ease your anxiety, but, hiding yourself away made you feel like you were wrecking your soul.

Before long, dinner was over, and you found yourself mechanically washing your plate and cup in the sink. You struggled to get yourself to focus on the mundane task, seemingly fighting yourself to even begin to focus, but you needed to physically get yourself to move. The clinking of dishes and the soothing sound of running water filled the air, providing an attempted distraction to the turmoil swirling within your mind. Every scrub of the sponge, every rinse of the plate, and every drop of water felt like a monumental task. The weight of the upcoming conversation with Papa and the ghouls bore down on you, making even the simplest of actions feel like a Herculean effort.

What if they don’t understand? What if they reject you? What if they abandon you and leave you isolated and alone?

As you mechanically moved from one dish to another, your thoughts raced, darting in all directions like a swarm of panicked birds. The room around you blurred, and your surroundings became a mere backdrop to the relentless storm of emotions within.

You felt a gentle pressure on your shoulder. Startled, you turned, your eyes meeting Papa's. His presence, though unassuming in casual attire, radiated a quiet strength and unwavering support.

“Hey, are you okay?” Papa asks gently “The ghouls were telling me you…seem like you’re in distress. Even earlier, the way you kept fidgeting – it’s like something is really eating away at you”.  

You turned your gaze away from Papa's concerned eyes, unable to hold his steady gaze. The weight of your hidden truth pressed down on you, making it difficult to meet his gaze and acknowledge the distress that had been building within you.

"I'm fine," you chant like a mantra, your voice wavering slightly. It was a reflexive response, a shield you had constructed to guard your vulnerability. Admitting your inner turmoil felt like exposing a fragile part of yourself that you had kept hidden for far too long.

“Chiaramente, non stai bene, Tesoro” He softly mumbles “Something is bothering you and you won’t speak up about it. I won’t press you about it but perhaps if you tell me…. I can help you.”

“I want to, I just don’t know how to…. say it”.

“Take your time, there’s no rush”.

You twirled your fingers, trying to organise your thoughts.

“So umm well I’ve been thinking about this for a long, long time," you stammered, your voice quivering. Your fingers anxiously twirled a strand of your hair as you continued, "And I didn’t know at the time what I was feeling. And now I recently realized what it was called, and I wanted to tell you for a long, long time, but I was terrified. But—"

You paused, anxiously twirling your hair again, your tail whirling back and forth reeking with stress as you feel your heart pounding in your chest.

"I’m scared I won’t be accepted, or perhaps even kicked out, but Papa…I can’t live like this anymore. So, I just want you to know" Another pause, and you took a deep breath.

This is it, this is the moment

"I’m nonbinary."

“There’s no turning back now,”

 you thought to yourself, a whirlwind of doubts and fears swirling in your mind.

“I said it, I cannot unsay it.

 What if I made a grave mistake?”

 Panic began to creep in as you watched Papa processing your confession. Each second felt like an agonizing hour, your vulnerability lay bare before him.

You stared intently at him as his expression softened while he absorbed your words. He didn’t say anything but wrapped his arms around you. You felt yourself trembling still, as you laid your head against his chest. But he held you tightly, cocooning you with warmth.

“Thank you for trusting me with this, Tesoro. I love you, no matter what. Your identity doesn’t change anything.”

As Papa spoke those words of acceptance and unconditional love, tears welled up in your eyes. It was as if a dam within you had finally burst, releasing a flood of emotions that had been pent up for far too long. You felt a mixture of relief, gratitude, and vulnerability, all swirling within you.

Your body tensed as this cacophony of emotions washed over you, the weight of your secret and the fear of rejection slowly being replaced by the warmth of his embrace and his reassuring words.

"Let it out, sweetness," he softly cooed, his gentle encouragement providing the safety and permission you needed to release the pent-up emotions. And so, you did. The tears flowed freely as you sobbed, your shoulders trembling with the weight of it all.

You felt yourself sink into his embrace, your body relaxing but simultaneously releasing so many pent-up tears you buried in yourself for so long. As you sobbed, he gently caressed your back holding you as you just cried it out. His embrace was a sanctuary where your vulnerability was met with love and understanding. It was a moment of catharsis, a cleansing of the heart and spirit, and a reaffirmation that you were cherished for who you truly were.

“Tesoro, I have to ask, why did you fear that I’d kick you out or reject you”

 As you hesitated, thoughts of countless stories and news articles flooded your mind. You'd read about people's coming out experiences, the ones that had gone horribly wrong, the heart-wrenching tales of rejection, and the pain that had shattered lives. Those stories were etched into your memory, cautionary tales that reminded you of the potential risks of revealing your true self.

You swallowed hard, your voice quivering as you tried to convey the fear that had gripped you for so long. "I've...I've read so many stories, Papa. Stories of people who came out and were rejected, disowned, or worse..."

Papa's expression softened even further, and he nodded, understanding dawning in his eyes. "I see, Tesoro. It's only natural to be afraid, especially when you've seen the pain others have endured. But you don’t need to be afraid of me”

 You and Papa stood together in the dimly lit kitchen, your tears and fears laid bare. His comforting presence had provided a lifeline, and as you slowly regained your composure, he gently asked,

"Does anyone else know?"

You took a moment to collect your thoughts, the weight of your confession still heavy on your heart.

"No, just you," you replied, your voice steadier now. "But…I'd quite like to tell the ghouls."

Papa nodded understandingly, his fingers tracing soothing patterns on your back. "I'm sure they'll accept you, sweet, but I understand if you don't want to tell them tonight."

You hesitated for a moment, considering the support and warmth that the other ghouls had shown you in the past. "I...want to," you finally admitted, your nerves still present but overshadowed by a growing sense of determination. -

With Papa's arm on your shoulder, you made your way to the ghoul's common room. To no one's surprise, the Ghouls were lying in a cuddle puddle.

Aurora, with her ethereal presence, lay atop Swiss' chest on the couch, her fingers interlocked with those of Cumulus who reclined beneath them on the floor mattress. Rain like a delicate droplet of water, rested upon Aether, who in turn reclined atop Mountain. Phantom, always enigmatic, curled up beside Cirrus and Sunshine, as he nestled in with their heat. Sodo, in the typical manner of the mischievous one, decided to make a grand entrance into the cuddle pile. He grabbed a nearby fluffy pillow and dramatically leapt into the centre of the pile, shouting, "Surprise cuddle attack!" This unexpected intrusion sent ghouls tumbling in all directions, laughter erupting throughout the room. Eventually, he found himself nestled amid the chaotic cuddle pile, laughing along with the rest of the ghouls.

“You’re back!” Cumulus happily chirped as she saw you “We were about to have a movie night, but we decided to wait for you”

“Actually, there’s something I’d quite like to tell you”

Papa stood by your side, his grip on your shoulder gently tightening. You knew that this moment could change everything, and the uncertainty gnawed at you. Yet, you couldn't let fear hold you back any longer. With a clearing of your throat, you garnered the attention of the ghouls. Their masked faces turned towards you, curiosity in their eyes. Papa's presence beside you was a silent source of support, a reminder that you were not alone in this.

"I, uh..." You began, your voice quivering slightly but growing steadier with each word. "I've been holding something back for a long time, and tonight, I want to share it with all of you."

You break the news.

The ghouls exchanged glances, their masked expressions unreadable. But then, one by one, they began to nod, their gestures of understanding and acceptance offering you reassurance.

“So uhh…you guys don’t…hate me?”

"Nonsense, we'll never turn our backs away from one of our pack," Aether spoke up, his voice filled with pride.

Swiss chimed in "We love you for who you are, not how you identify."

"Guess what, you’re still stuck with us weirdos” Sodo perks up “whether you like it or not.”

Tears welled up in your eyes once more, but this time, they were tears of gratitude. The ghouls rose from their seats, forming a circle around you and Papa, and the love and warmth they exuded was overwhelming.

Without a word, they pulled you into their embrace, creating a cuddle pile of support and affirmation. In that moment, you felt truly seen, accepted, and loved for exactly who you were.

“Come here, buddy” Cirrus pulls you in on the cuddle pile, her arms wrapping around you. Sunshine and Phantom quickly joined, encasing you in a mound of warmth and acceptance.

Rain and Mountain squeezed in from the other side, their presence offering a sense of security. Cumulus reached over and gently patted your head with a reassuring smile, while Aurora, with her graceful touch, placed a comforting hand on your shoulder.

"I told you, we'll always have your back," Sodo said with a mischievous grin, pulling you closer into the cuddle puddle.

The mixture of emotions swirling within you was dizzying - relief, joy, and an overwhelming sense of belonging. It was as if the weight of the world had been lifted off your shoulders, and you could finally breathe freely.

"I...I don't know what to say," you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion.

"You don't have to say anything," Phantom replied softly. "Just know that we love and accept you, no matter who you are or how you identify."

As the ghouls held you close in their embrace, Aether and Swiss didn't hesitate to join in. Aether, with his calming presence, settled in beside Phantom, his arm draping over your shoulder, offering a reassuring squeeze. Swiss, with a warm smile on his face, carefully moved closer, ensuring there was enough room for everyone. He placed a gentle hand on your other shoulder, completing the circle of support. With Aether and Swiss now part of the cuddle pile, you felt even more enveloped in warmth and acceptance. The ghouls had created a protective cluster around you, and you couldn't have asked for a more loving and supportive albeit chosen family.

“Ahem,” you look up, and see Copia awkwardly shuffling “mind if I join? You look….cozy.”

You couldn't help but grin when you heard Copia's voice and saw him standing there, looking somewhat awkward but clearly intrigued by the cosy cuddle pile. Without a moment's hesitation, you reached out and pulled him into the midst of the ghouls, making room for him.

"Of course, Papa, there's always room for one more," you said with a warm smile.

Copia chuckled softly as he settled in, finding his place among the ghouls. As he leaned into the cuddle pile, you felt a sense of completeness wash over you. With Copia joining in, it was as if all the pieces had fallen into place, and you were surrounded by the people who truly cared about you, regardless of who you were.

"Wait shit, hold up," Swiss exclaimed, digging deep into his pockets. Out came some vape, lipstick, a lighter, some coins, and even a rock (which Mountain pounced on with a happy and chirping “THERE YOU ARE, BARTHOLOMEW”) before Swiss pulled out a giant nonbinary flag and wrapped it around your shoulders.

“Swiss, how the fuck –“ Rain was astounded, unable to finish his sentence before bursting into laughter.

Swiss grinned mischievously. "You know, I like to be prepared for any occasion," he quipped, his playful tone lightening the atmosphere even further.

Rain couldn't help but laugh at Swiss's unexpected flag reveal, and soon, the entire room was filled with giggles and chuckles.

Aether chimed in, his calm demeanour contrasting with the laughter around him, "Well, I guess Swiss does carry a bit of everything with him, but I never expected a flag to be in the mix."

Swiss feigned offence, putting a hand to his chest dramatically. "Hey, you never know when someone might need a flag, right? LOOK I EVEN HAVE THE SWISS FLAG IN HERE SOMEWHERE HOLD UP.” He takes off his boots prompting an explosion of glitter.

“We don’t talk about the glitter in my underwear by the way”. Swiss laughs

“WHAT”

"Well, you see," he began dramatically, "I believe in living life to the fullest, and that includes adding a little extra sparkle even in life’s shittiest moments – such as when you’re taking a shit.”

The ghouls erupted into laughter once more, the sound echoing through the room. They weren’t treating you any differently. You were just….you.

And you were exactly where you belonged.

As the laughter died down, you felt a deep sense of contentment and belonging. The ghouls had not only accepted your true self but had embraced it with open arms and playful humour. It was a beautiful moment of connection and understanding, and you couldn't have asked for a more supportive and loving chosen family. With the nonbinary flag draped around your shoulders, you lay in the middle of the pile.

You look at Mountain who was shuffling for the play button on the remote. 

[cherryredstars]

Construction worker!Ghost x Teacher!Reader? They're married and every time Ghost comes home he's instantly pussy drunk at the sight of the reader and hurries up finish eating so he can get to 'dessert' and makes sure his lovely wife gets absolutely cock drunk to remember forever like he always does?

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley" x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Oral Sex

Unedited

His back aches.

A common occurrence after lugging around bags of concrete and bricks. There is an uncomfortable knot that always flares between his shoulder blades, and Simon sniffs in discomfort as he shifts his hard hat between his arm and side. He's long decided that if a warm shower doesn't help his muscles let up, he'll ask you for a massage. Maybe he'll even ask for you to use the really expensive, nice smelling lotion you bought as a treat to yourself.

His keys knock together as he opens the front door, the scent of you and homemade food instantly flooding his senses. The house is pleasantly cool, drying the sweat that still clings to his skin from the long day in the summer sun. He can hear whatever you're watching from the entrance as he hangs up his work vest and hat, turning to find you sitting in front of the coffee table. Colorful paper in different shapes is spread out in front of you, no doubt something for your students. You turn at the sound of him entering and you give him that breath-taking smile that still makes his stomach dip.

You get up from your spot, letting him get a clear view of the outfit you wore to work today. It's a pretty little summer dress with splashes of color and a skirt flowing just below your knees. Simon can feel saliva pooling on his tongue as you approach, his fingers twitching. You have to balance on the tips of your toes to reach his face, your hands grabbing his cheeks as your soft lips press against his chapped ones. You smell like glue and the summery perfume you wear to match the season. You pull away far too quickly for his liking, and his hands grab at your waist so you don't go too far.

"I've been waiting for you," You declare, hands planted flat on his paint-stained shirt. "Dinner is on the table."

Simon hums, his thumbs rubbing at your sides through the fabric. He lets you lead him to the table when your hands slide down to capture one of his, tugging him along behind you. He can't help the way his eyes follow the curve of your spine, dipping down to the soft swell of your ass. He licks his lips as he sits down at the table, hungry for something more than a home-cooked meal.

You just look so tempting as you sit across from him, giving him that cute smile before you begin eating. You don't even act surprised when Simon starts devouring his plate, already used to his unending appetite. You're barely halfway done with your food when Simon cleans his plate.

"Do you want seconds?" You ask him, looking up at him.

Your stomach drops when you meet his heated eyes. Something in you stirs, and you have to look away for a moment to avoid being sucked into his hypnotic stare.

"In the mood for dessert," Simon grumbles, leaning back in his chair. You gulp, the meaning of his words hitting you straight in your chest. Still, you decide to play coy.

"We have some cookie dough I can pop into the oven real quick?" You offer, pushing yourself away from the table. "Or I can get us some ice cream if you want something cold."

Simon says nothing as you begin to gather the plates, but he pushes away from the table and follows you inside the kitchen. You can feel the heat of his body searing your back as you place the dishes in the sink, hesitantly turning your head to face him. He towers over you effortlessly, and you gasp when his large hands grab at your hips and turn your body to face him.

He lifts you onto the counter top without a single sign of struggle, the back of your dress becoming wet from small spots of water. Even now you have to turn your head up to look him in the eye, and your mouth slightly gapes as he leans in.

"Craving something else." He finally responds, hands grabbing at your skirt and yanking it up to your waist. You gasp, watching as Simon bends down to inspect his next course.

Your panties already have a darkened patch of arousal, and you make a noise of embarrassment when he presses his nose to it and inhales the sweetly tangy scent of your slick. He pushes further, letting his tongue lap at the spot and groaning as if he could taste the full extent of your drooling cunt. Your hands fly to his hair, the short strands filling your palms as you moan out.

You can feel the bastard smiling against you, his warm breath driving you crazy. One of his hands slips away from your skirt, the fabric draping over your thigh and bunching on the counter as he uses it to move your panties aside. The cool air against your core makes you gasp, but it's quickly replaced with the hot suction of his mouth. His mouth is scolding as he suckles at the tiny bud between your folds, wasting no time in taking his desired fill of you.

He alternates between long sucks and rapid licks, toying with the bundle of nerves before moving to your dripping slit. The tip of his tongue prods at it, not quite penetrating the leaking hole. Simon groans softly against you when you throw your feet over his shoulders, your heel digging into a sore spot in his back. But the pain just heightens his senses, pushing him to finally tongue fuck you.

A string of moans and whines escape your lips, hands tugging at Simon's hair as waves of pleasure fill your stomach. You try to call out his name, attempting to tell him how amazing it feels- how quickly your high is approaching- but it gets lost in the mind numbing pleasure that fogs your brain. You're left shaking when the build up explodes, your body slumping and your hands trying to push Simon's face away. He grunts, fighting you as he laps up the last of your release, savoring the taste as it coats his mouth. He pulls away with one last, harsh suck to your clit, chuckling when you whimper from the sensitivity.

He lets you catch your breath as he stands up, fixing your panties and skirt. Your body is lax and sluggish, and you don't protest when Simon begins to carry you out of the kitchen and to the bathroom. He whispers soft praises into your ear, telling you how well you took his feasting and how pretty you looked while doing it. You smile happily to yourself, tightening your arms around him as best as you can in your sedated state. As Simon carries you, he realizes that the annoying knot in his back has disappeared.

Maybe all he needed was a good taste of his wife's pussy to heal him.

[tacticalprincess]

ok ok but imagine being simon’s gf and könig just being so infatuated with u :( he likes you so so much, believes you deserve better than simon and just pines after you ^_^

very im on fire of him

könig’s never been one to be discreet about his feelings, especially toward you. he doesn’t owe simon anything, much less loyalty. his crush has become an inside joke amongst the crew, has gotten dirty looks thrown at him by simon too many times to count for being just slightly too touchy to be friendly, too intense in his yearning. tuning in intently whenever you talk, doing small favors for you whenever he gets the chance, asks after you when you’re gone. too close for comfort, oughta get himself in trouble, simon says.

its hard to ignore a stare that burns a hole in the side of your head, weighted like a caress on all the exposed parts of your body. könig gets some sort of satisfaction out of watching you squirm under his intense gaze, eyes trained on you most of the time he’s around, because at least he makes you feel something. he wishes to sliver underneath your skin and infiltrate your thoughts just as you’ve done to him, sending his emotions into haywire just by way of existing. smiling at him so brightly, extending a fraction of the warmth and kindness that comes naturally to you, craves it when he’s alone at night. your boyfriend can’t blame him.

simon’s weird, quiet teammate, helplessly infatuated with you, his too cute, too sweet, too soft girlfriend. could only dream of experiencing the parts of you that are exclusively for simon — wonders how someone like you even ended up with a man like him. looking far too out of place under his tattooed arm, bottom lip tucked between pearly teeth bashfully while he chats to the group of guys in typical boyish manner. the occasional ducks of his head to kiss your forehead when he remembers you’re there is not enough attention showed to such a pretty, doting thing like you, in könig’s humble opinion. it’s not even that he believes he’s better than him, but a selfish part of him would rather you end up in his calloused hands than anyone elses. his mind strays the longer he observes you, imagines all the ways he’d treat you better, take care of you like you deserve. would’ve probably already proposed to you by now given the chance. you might seem happy enough, but that doesn’t stop him from searching for cracks in the polished porcelain. always waiting for a spot to slip in.

he finally gets you alone one night, finds you where you wandered off into price’s basement to fetch more beer. coming behind you to grab the case from your delicate hands like lifting a feather off the ground.

“boyfriend not here to do this for you?”

after you regain your composure from the startle, you scoff, peering up at könig through your lashes. “just thought i’d do something nice for him.”

“sweet. does he always allow you to do a man’s job?” sarcasm bites at his words.

“allow me—?”

“do you think he even noticed your absence, maus?” he presses a bit harder, his face holding the same indifference it always does under his mask, tone flat around his accent. “as i did?”

his eyes search yours for a second, looking for any sign of reciprocation for his feelings, and somehow you can tell he knows you don’t know how to respond. as a show of mercy, he steps to the side to let you squeeze past his frame and up the stairs leading back inside the house, heavy footsteps following slowly behind. he watches as you so easily slip back into simon’s side, how his arm finds its home around your shoulders without effort. concern knits your boyfriend’s eyebrows together as he leans down to peck your lips, never breaking eye contact with könig over your shoulder, a petty display of ownership. he watches.

[moondirti]

JIGSAWS [ surgeon! simon riley x f! reader ] — masterlist / each part can be read separately : dealing with cruelty is hard when stress has a crippling effect. simon gives you a place to find comfort, however unconventional

dom/sub. dubcon (power dynamics). adjustment disorder. sexual harassment and battery. dacryphilia. hurt/comfort. biting. marking. brief fluff. medical settings. 2.8k

"Fuck aff, ya useless pillock."

At 0600 hours, a belligerent intake is the last thing you need.

Fatigue works her wily fingers into you, kneading staunchly into your shoulders to add resistance for every step forward. The sun hasn't yet peeked over the horizon, pellucid blue sky outside somehow consolidating every misery from the past week. If your exhaustion felt impregnable during the bright stretch of summer, autumn encroaches vindictive, dreary winds intent on teaching you to count your blessings, next time.

"Good morning, Mr. Cook. I'm one of the daytime neurosurgical residents, here to see how you’re doing since your admission last night at... 2100, is that right?" The script, if not plainly artificial, is a cornerstone for when you cannot muster your own words. Too often, you opt to lean into its guidance – a habit you picked up the hard way during intern year. Control all variables. That way, if things go sour, you can be almost sure that the error did not lie with you.

But perfunctoriness doesn't always bode over well. Mr. Cook's face twists into something foul, sunken eyes assessing you spitefully from his cot. You should have known to affect a different approach. He called you useless after all, for what you assume is frustrated reason. No one likes spending their time here without answers.

Try cutting to the chase, then.

"I see from your chart that you came in complaining about headaches, fever, and nausea. I understand how tired you must be. If it's alright with you, I’d like to perform a quick exam to get to the bottom of things."

"Ye'd be wasting my damn time, girl. Jus' lookin' at ya, I can tell the only thing ye're good for s'wetting my cock."

You sip a startled breath, consoling the erratic stutter of your heart with oxygen and four fingernails curled into your palm. It's not a serious threat – that much is evident by the slurred cadence, the unfocused hands he waves accusatorially in your direction. The overnight resident hadn't noted any aggression on his chart, either; which suggests this is new. Exacerbated by his condition, else the pain has loosened his tongue.

(And Kyle knows better than to schedule you with the tough ones. It's noted especially in your file, documented as a corrective action plan in prim, red ink.)

Though the smile has long since slipped off your lips, you amass what sympathy you can, nodding like it'll do anything to dissuade his suffering. Useless. "A little civility would help things run a lot smoother, Mr. Cook. It's just a few questions that will give me insight to your malaise. I'll even forward those to a senior physician, if you would prefer more qualified care."

Just one face refines itself in your mind's eye. Deep-set brown eyes, prying behind a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. Sentiment that teeters the tightrope between indifference and affection. The days have buried their thumbs into your obsession, urging it deeper, beyond professionalism. Nudging your lungs, finding place amidst life-sustaining organs to become one of its own. Now, veins wire through, supplying blood to what should not be encouraged, should not be sustained–

You think of him, anyway.

"A'll tell y'what." A blurry shape swipes for your face. You flinch, neck snapping back, before finding that the rest of your body can't follow suit, arm held in a vice grip by a set of gnarled fingers. Mr. Cook's hold curls into bone, urging a whole world of pain to match the terror storming through your head. Your blood pressure skyrockets. Stress whistles sirens behind your ears. "How 'bout you call a proper doctor in now, and put on a li'l show for me in th'meanwhile, eh?"

A multitude of scenes, each more harrowing than the last, unfurl at his implication. If you cannot wrench yourself from him, what's to say you can fight back should he decide to pull you closer? Oh god. Your wrist struggles, thrashing wildly, disregarding its wellbeing for the opportunity to screw out of his grasp. The clipboard clatters to the floor. Your heart palpitates arrhythmically, unsteady palpitations battering war drums on your ribs. Though you've been trained for this, you cannot regulate your response to adrenaline. The exercises given to you by your therapist scatter at the first sign of real turmoil. Your body shuts down. Things spiral out of your control.

But your assailant's condition is not usual. Where a healthy man would only grow more determined in your struggle, he lets his aggression get the best of him. Roaring, his legs kick from beneath tight-fitted sheets, arm shuddering with the force it takes to keep you tethered in place. Eventually, your panic grows too much for him to subdue. With a final push of your heel off the floor, you free yourself, stumble three steps back, and fall flat on your ass. Hurt, but safe.

Mr. Cook grumbles, moving on too quickly for someone who had been so passionate just moments ago.

Safe, safe, safe.

You force yourself to repeat only that as you straighten yourself out. Hone in the truth of the matter, and not what your body tries desperately to have you believe. Safe. It's just another patient with neurological deficits. Safe. You have reason to hand his check-ups to someone else.

Safe. There's a place you can go to sap this off your chest.

"I'll order a CT scan for later this afternoon. We will do our best to help you once the results come in. Have a good day, Mr. Cook."

Still, as you scuttle out into the white-lit hall, you feel anything but.

"Come in."

Dr. Riley's office is comparatively dark to the fluorescent rest of the hospital, brightened only by the warm light of his desk lamp. Though his curtains are drawn shut, beams of pink from the vibrant dusk outside sneak their way through, casting everything in a rich glow. The day has been long, leagues more taxing than usual. Stepping into the space offers brief respite, then, like sinking into bed to reach for better dreams.

He looks up at you, impassive. There's never any indication to how he truly feels – whether creeping adoration curls around his heart at the very sight of you, or if he reserves it for after hours – but you've found that the puzzle attracts you more than it pushes you away. You like feeling pinned under his scrutiny, a little lab mouse tested for its wit. Even now, with a whole host of real matters to discuss, you can't help but pick apart the minutia in his expression.

"Dr. Riley," You whisper, careful not to disturb the tranquillity.

"Yes?"

"Um, I'm so sorry to bother you–"

"No need for that." He clips, the liquid of his eyes shifting as they coast back to assess his screen. The monitor projects stark shadows onto his face, harsher than usual. Despite your... relationship, it's hard not to feel discouraged. He wouldn't look away if he were interested in what you had to say. "We're alone."

"Right." Clearing your throat, you shuffle through the glossy prints in your arms. Cross-sectional imaging from Mr. Cook's CT scans, annotated in your illegible hand. The aftershocks of your stress are evident in the writing; loopy letters boasting sharp corners, a liberal use of shorthand where it wouldn't be allowed. When you place them on his desk, you pray he doesn't take heed of it. "A patient who was admitted last night. Though the tomographs are nonspecific, I have reason to believe it might be a brain abscess. If that is the case, I'd like to schedule him for surgery as soon as possible, and I know you're in the OR tomorrow, so..."

He doesn't look up at you while you speak, opting instead to skim the analysis you've left for him in the margins. Only after a long moment's silence do his lashes quiver, a voiceless acknowledgement to your request. The details come later. Tomorrow morning, likely, assigned by Kyle upon clocking in.

"You'll serve as my resident."

Your lips part. Seeing Mr. Cook again, even while under the effects of anaesthesia, brings a queasy ache to your stomach. It's about the most unprofessional thing you could voice, however – more so than any nasty promise Dr. Riley whispers to you in private – so you settle on keeping it to yourself.

"Okay."

But he doesn't miss a thing. The warble in your tone catches his attention like steaming gore to a predator, jaw ticking as salivate floods his mouth. You should have schooled your emotions better, should have given it a good, long mourn before coming to see him – because if you know anything, you know that there's nothing he loves more than seeing you cry.

And now–

Now, it's too late to renege. You're on a fixed path, the only variable being a matter of time until when. The rush of it already devastates your throat, stone lodged in a white river rapid of sentiment. Warmth fogs your eyes. Prelude to collapse, tremors buried deep beneath the earth's crust come to light.

"Out with it." He says.

And your body serves him, better than it could ever serve you.

A sob breaks the dam, first – snarling, ugly thing, face screwing up in a vain effort to tamp the subsequent flow of tears. Your head feels heavy, weighed down by briny devastation and the culmination of your pressures. Yet catharsis never fails; immediately, you feel it unravelling, hiccups picking the presumably impossible knots in your chest until they are nothing more than strings, meant to eventually tie back up again.

So it goes.

But it doesn't matter here. Can't. Not when Dr. Riley scoots his seat back, clearing a space by his legs. Parting heaven's gates, a little sanctuary for the desperate. You run to it, crumpling to the floor to bury your wet face in his trousers, hugging the wide breadth of his calves. It is as though your troubles melt off your skin, wax held close to a flame. No cologne or scented-soap veils the true essence of him; him, who's able to pacify you with little word. Musk, traces of sweat, a sage and cedar-wood body wash that still clings to him, despite the day and several layers. You suck in a chest-straining whiff of it all, stitching your eyes shut to etch the smell into your memory.

"H-He was awful. Said I was... was good for n-nothing but bei-ing a whore." You sniff, curling tighter around him. A lab mouse indeed, basking in the hand that feeds it. His own – large, dry, warm – pets your nape, tugging a little at the baby hairs below your ear. Idly playing, as though your grief does not necessitate his full notice.

"Comes with the job, little thing." You know that. You know that – have heard it many a time from your parents, your therapists, your peers and higher-ups. Anyone who has ever been privy to your condition has warned you that the medical field is never stressless, that you'll spend years miserable until it grows to be too much. And he must feel your bristling, the discomfort his advice affords, for he moves on sooner than you can state your case. "Did he touch you?"

You doubt it's meant as more than a simple inquiry. Still, you fumble for the right answer. Though the one you tend to is yes, yes he did – a childish grasp for some cosseting – you wonder if he'll take your minor wounds seriously at all. Does it count if what you have to show for it are surface-level contusions? Or will it only warrant mention if you can match the fissures of his flesh?

Tucking your arm between your legs, you shake your head no. Dr. Riley's forehead creases, brows knitting together reflexively. The move must not have been subtle enough, because he extends an expectant hand, impatience igniting his tail. Bones work under the scarred skin of his knuckles, muscles rippling in the quarter-length of an exposed forearm. He doesn't need to say anything. Just sits there and waits, the ire emanating off him enough to urge you into lift your bruised wrist.

(Splitting to his will like brain matter to the knife.)

Anyone would look delicate when set against him, yet you marvel at the contrast nonetheless. It resembles porcelain, fine china in his grip. His thick fingers twist to inspect the splotchy discolouration, set there by Mr. Cook's hold.

"Does it hurt?"

"Only when– ah," You huff. His thumb presses into the tender flesh, recalling the pain you've worked all day to ignore. "you do that."

"Hm."

The words tumble from your tongue before you can catch them.

"Are you mad?" You ask, softly, then cringe as the question finds its place in the lull. It's an awkward echo, like the ocean gnawing desperately on shore, trying to make its mark in the sand. No matter how hard the spume and saltwater crashes, no matter the devastation it wreaks, it will always be pulled back, away from what it hardly affected.

(You used to liken him to choppy waters, feeling drowned in all his callousness. Yet as you wipe your tears with the back of your hand, your passions warring with each other within a vessel that cannot contain it, it has never been more clear that he is the earth. The ground. Unfixed, unmoved. It is an impossible endeavour for you, whose impact is as thin as the tides.)

More than anything, you covet an admission of his concern. Warmth to feel him in your corner, eternally there, even as your sight’s set on other horizons. With it, you'd be able to stand it all, you think.

"No." He says. "Brain abscesses can exacerbate aggressive behaviour. I don't fault him for that."

It needles right over where it hurts, mangling the softened muscle of your heart.

"Oh."

"But," Dr. Riley adds, guiding you to a wobbly stand. If he didn't plan on transferring you to his lap, you would have fallen right back down. As it is, though, he uses your fawn-like strength to nestle you across his thighs, brushing the flyaways from your temple. "Don't like seein' the marks on you."

Your cheeks heat. Pressing them into his collarbone, you speak against his pulse. It flutters, tandem to your breath. "I'll put a warm compress on it tonight."

"Better. Should only be mine you carry, pet." His voice vibrates through you, sound waves absorbing to become one with your body. Never did you think it could feel so good, yet as he continues to speak, you find yourself wishing that he’ll do so forever, eternal, so that you may weld together eventually.

"Sir…"

"Lift your head f'me." He whispers, nipping your jaw when you follow his instruction. Thin lips scratch your neck, chapped from the tight constraints of his mask and the dry hospital air. You dizzy to think of wetting them with your tongue, running the muscle along his cupids bow, sharp canines, dunking to map the inside of his cheeks. But that isn’t what this is; he’s made sure to clarify that, of all things.

So, you dip your head, neck arching to widen the canvas to his onslaught.

His groan is hot, ticklish as it fans over the area. You wriggle in his firm lap, coming to expect something much more permanent once he latches to your sweet spot. Practiced, trained to the hollow of your throat. Blood rushes to the capillaries sitting just under the skin there, bursting when it grows to be too much. Building pressure that takes away from your brain, your numbing extremities. Your cunt throbs, balmy and slick. He keeps a large hand anchored between your thighs as if he’s aware of what you’ll try to do without direction.

As a high whine pitches from your chest, and you darken to the shape of his maw, Dr. Riley doesn’t budge. He pushes further, rather. Digging his teeth into you, laving over the iron that surfaces. It hurts something terrible. If it weren’t so late into the night, you would doubtlessly be interrupted as a louder wail splits the sheltered office space, carrying through the labyrinth halls. Pain eclipses any internal worry, though. And perhaps that was the intention, mind buzzing with white noise once he pulls away.

Blinking, you clear the gossamer webs of delirium off your eyes. His mouth comes into view, first; swollen, tinted with a diluted wash of ichor, purpling with a bruise that no doubt mirror yours. You can only imagine what a mess he’s made of you, if the evidence of his own undoing is so stark.

The dual marks brings a dumb smile to your face.

“There.” He resolves, at last. It sounds like pride and feels a lot like damnation. “Good.”

You can’t help but agree.

(Even the earth will eventually erode away. Even the earth.)

[sweetnothingtm]

Request? Please for the love of god something spicy where a mid/plus size reader gets herself stuck in handcuffs and ghost finds her struggling

I know for a fact that simon is a chubby chaser bc he told me himself! plus size readers unite!! no triggers besides the mention of the reader's body/weight.

you used to think that men like simon riley would never treat you right. your weight was never a fatal flaw, but it always seemed to be a talking point with your partners - and although you were pretty and smart and had a heart of gold, every man left you with a broken heart.

until you met simon.

at first, you think that he’ll be like all the other boys before him - bland, immature, and unable to get you off. you’ve been with men like simon, they start off sweet and gentle before they inevitably disappoint or demean you. they never asked you to ride them, never got hard at just the idea of burying their face in your tits, and they definitely never begged to eat you out every time you bent over - so why is it that simon wanted all of this and more?

and why does he talk about how good you would look handcuffed and riding him? you’re so naive that one day he finds you shyly browsing the store collection when he takes you shopping. and fuck - if simon was a good man his cock wouldn’t be twitching when you accidentally lock them around your wrists, whining about how embarrassing it was to have him get the key from the poor sales clerk only to buy them immediately after the fact.

simon loves how curvy you are, the way your body seems to mold itself to his touch. he loves how your thighs shake when he’s lapping at your cunt and curling his fingers to make you squirt all over his tastebuds. he’s obsessed with you, letting his hands wander over your skin and tracing stretch marks like he’s charting the constellations. and when he says that he’s been waiting for you all his life, you realize that you’ve never been with a man like him before.

he talks about how he’d fuck a baby into you if you let him, tells you that he’d retire early if it meant he got to bury his head between your thighs. simon likes to squeeze your tits when they’re squished into a tight crop top and says he’s never wanted anything more than you.

he calls you babydoll and gropes your ass until his nails leave an imprint in your skin. he falls asleep with his head on your chest after talking about how he’d just love to fuck your thick thighs and cum on your stomach before he actually does it. he binds your wrists together when he fucks you from the back, saying that he just can’t help it when you always squirm on the length of his cock and beg him to fuck you harder.

and when he asks you to ride him for the first time, you’re biting your lip and crossing your arms over yourself - saying something like you wouldn’t want to be too heavy for him, and that you’ve never really ridden someone before. but simon just cocks an eyebrow at you, one hand slowly jerking himself off while the other grabs your chin and forces you to look at him. his eyes are dark and heavy with desire, his breath faltering as he lowers his hand to wrap around your neck.

babydoll, you really know how to tease me, huh? come be a good girl and sit on my lap.

and you’re such a doe, so hesitant and nervous at the way he’s got his hands on your waist while he guides you onto his cock. he’s muttering filthy curses and screwing his eyes shut when you’re fully seated on him, your fingertips digging into his chest as you breathe erratically. you think he’s uncomfortable, with the way he stills your hips from moving while avoiding your anxious gaze. you’re certain he’s regretting asking this of you, with how he’s gripping your ass and looking up to the ceiling in anguish.

but when you move to get off him, feeling embarrassed and ashamed, he tightens his grip and forces you down fully. and is it just you, or did he whimper when you rolled your hips against him?

before you know it, simon has your arms pinned behind your back as he gently clicks the handcuffs into place. he’s planting sweet kisses all over your tits, biting at your nipples just to feel the way you jerk in his lap and moan breathlessly. he’s telling you that he’ll never wear a condom again, that he wants to wake up to this every morning, and that the feel of you bouncing on his length is just oh so heavenly.

and afterward, simon reaches for your bound wrists, tugging on them as he pulls you off his leaky cock that has beads of cum weeping from it, talking about how you're just too good for him while he lays you back and spreads your thighs apart. simon tells you to sit there and be pretty while he laps at the creamy load he’s left in you. and what can you do except indulge the poor man?

[cookiescribble]

spencer x british!reader

as a brit i would love to see a fic of a reader with a british accent and spencer adores it and mimics her sometimes

Taking It In (Spencer Reid x British Fem!Reader)

A/N: Thank you so much for the request! This is a bit of a team effort because I’m a bit more knowledgeable about British culture (in no means an expert, I just had a hyperfixation on the Beatles and Doctor Who in middle school/ high school lmao) but Mod Angel is usually the one who writes for fem!readers. Also, we’re both American so we hope this is what you wanted! Sorry for the little wait - Mod Ghost

We also just binged season 2 of Heartstopper and tried our best to pick up on some of the language because we thought this was a really cute idea and wanted to write it as best we could! - Mod Angel

~~~

“Coffee? I thought that people from the UK drank tea?” Spencer piped up from behind as his girlfriend was pouring coffee into one of the paper cups she’d found around the canteen. 

“It heavily depends on who you’re talking to, Spencer. I feel you should know just as well as I do that everyone’s different. You didn’t profile me as soon as we started dating?” Y/N joked, to which he looked puzzled.

“Wha–no, I usually try to keep my job separate from…personal relations.” He replied sheepishly, starting to mix up his own mug of coffee. 

“That changed when we started dating, didn’t it, love?” She teased him, patting his shoulder.

It made him blush and stutter like mad, his hands waving around as he tried to scramble to find something to say. It was rare to see him speechless, but she couldn’t help but to smirk as she watched him struggle. It only lasted a few more seconds before she cut him off, reaching out and gently touching his hand.

“It’s alright, I was just being cheeky, that’s all. C’mon, let’s go back to workin’ on the case, okay?” She chuckled, leading him away from the counter with the hand that wasn’t holding her coffee resting at the small of his back as they walked. 

“I knew that!” He squealed in his own defense, which made her giggle loudly. 

*

A few weeks later, the BAU were out to dinner, taking a small break while in the middle of a case. Though, it wasn’t much of a break, considering they were still talking about the profile.

Spencer pointed to a plate in the middle of the table. “Can I have a chip?”

A confused silence fell over the table as they all looked in his direction. Spencer stared back at them, an eyebrow raised in his own confusion.

“What?” Spencer asked finally, breaking the silence.

“What did you just say?” JJ responded with a smirk, raising an eyebrow at him. 

“I asked if you could pass me a chip” he answered, pointing to the plate again.

“Where do you see chips?” Hotch chimed in, concerned for his mental stability. 

Still confused, Spencer pointed to the plate again.

“The fries?” Penelope clarified, gesturing to the same plate finally. 

“Oh.” He nodded awkwardly. “Yeah, can you pass me a fry?”

“You’re really spending too much time with that girlfriend of yours, aren’t you?” Morgan teased, grinning and playfully nudging his shoulder.

He smiled and shrugged. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said in a faux-English accent as he finally got the ‘chip’ he wanted as the rest of the table laughed. 

“Speaking of Y/N, where is she tonight?? I miss that girl.” Garcia complained from the other side of the table, 

“Oh, she went out with one of her mates–” Spencer started before Prentiss cut him off from where she was sat next to him, 

“Mates??” She asked incredulously, seconds away from giggling as he groaned and leaned back in his chair. 

“FRIENDS! Her friends.” he grumbled, finishing his food and making a mental note to not only tell but blame his girlfriend, Y/N, for everything he’d been through tonight. Not before giving her a kiss, though. The fact that she wasn’t here just made him realize how much he missed her, and it made him wonder if there was a correlation between missing her and talking like her.

The girls dropped him off at home a few hours later, where the first thing he said when he saw Y/N was ‘this is your fault’.

“Do you…want to elaborate on that or…?”

“Later.” Was all he said before he was hugging her and burying his head in her shoulder. 

She tugged him close, feeling him start breathing deeply against her shoulder as if he was falling asleep and tapped him to wake him up a bit so she could start leading him to their room. “Come along, darling, let’s get you into bed. You seem tired.” 

“I know that they’re fries but you say chips…it’s cute…” he mumbled as he walked, only adding to the confusion but she chalked it up to him being tired from a long day and let it go for now as she tucked him in with a smile at how cute he was. 

[the-kr8tor]

Hiii! I just wanted to request a Baby's breath and ⭐/❣️ for Simon Ghost Riley for the apothecary. Ghost and the reader could be going on a family trip with their baby to the zoo or aquarium. I'd like to kind of see him stuggle with his past, and wonder why his father couldn't enjoy his time with his kids like he does. I'd also like to see him go to the reader for comfort too.

A Simon req!! Thank you so much for requesting! Hope you like it ❤️❤️❤️

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x fem! reader

Word count: 1.3 k

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, dad! Simon, mom! Reader, fluff, hurt/comfort, cw abuse mention, cw panic attack.

Katy's one year celebration 🎉

Perks of wearing a mask at work means that no one recognises you once you're out of it. Another pro, is that no one will bother you at the yearly family day that Price shamelessly told his lieutenant that it's mandatory for the entire 141 to join. Even though Simon knows it technically isn't, he still decided to bring you and his little ones to the zoo just because, A. The entrance is free, and B. He gets to spend time with you, little Tommy and baby Ellie, which is rare these days. A win/win for Simon, as long as nobody recognises him and decides to chat him up while his kids are clinging onto him like peanut butter on bread.

The entire zoo's speakers are blaring with random animal noises that irks Simon. Cows mooing, monkeys screeching, dolphin noises and snakes hissing; he has no idea why a zoo would even play animal noises when the animals themselves are particularly screaming in his ears. The sun is blasting on him, making the back of his neck sweat, and his kids irritable. Baby Ellie gurgles on her stroller, shielded by the folding canopy (and her towering dad) with a portable fan clipped on the handle. She's comfortable and happy enough just staring at the colourful parrots flying around. While Tommy is clutched behind his leg, afraid of the pointed beaks, and sharp claws. He jumps when a bird suddenly flaps its wings too close to him. Even with all the sounds and his kid grappled around him, he truly enjoys their company. He smiles down at Tommy, fingers brushing along the boy's soft curls.

His mind wanders back to his childhood, that his own father never showed the same enjoyment when he's out with his family, enjoying his time more with a bottle of amber liquid in between his crooked fingers instead of spending time with them without a metal hanger in his hand.

Simon pats Tommy atop his head, cowering and hiding his face on Simon's denim. “'s alright, just a bird.”

“I know dad, but they're so scary when they fly. I want mum.” He mumbles back, Simon can feel the tears coming as his son's fingers dig into the denim of his pants.

“Mum’s comin’,” he hears sniffles, and he thinks he's not doing a good job at this. “She's gettin' your drink remember?”

Tommy looks up, big brown eyes filled with tears. “I don't like the birds, dad.”

“Okay, let's move along then. Want to look at the giraffes again?”

Tommy sniffles again, pouting but nodding a quick yes. “Carry?”

Simon sighs with a brief smile, eyes crinkling at the corners, surrendering to the whims of his five year old. “Right, arms up, Tommy.” With one swift move, his son is wrapped around his arm while his free hand pushes the stroller away from the bird enclosure. Wheels squeak, and Ellie is out of the trance signaled by her piercing shriek. “Damnit,” Simon whispers, going around the stroller, he takes his crying daughter in his other arm like a professional. “You're okay, El, what's wrong?” Ellie continues to cry, mouth wobbling, eyes that are similar to yours look at him through tears with her fists wrapped around her dad's shirt.

“Dad, the birds!” Tommy hides behind the crook of his dad's neck, crying in tandem with his sister when he realizes that they haven't gone that far from the scary birds.

“Tommy, they're just birds.” His son wails from his accidental cold words, and in turn, making Ellie sob louder. People stare at him, stopping to give him the stink eye, some even stop to stare at where the ruckus is coming from. It's like he can hear their thoughts, ‘look at that dad who can't handle his own kids.’ or ‘What is that big brute doing to his kids?’ He doesn't care what they think of him, but he doesn't want them to think that they're crying because he hurt them. He'd never do that, he'd never be like him.

All the noises, the heat, the pointed stares, and how Simon's heart pounds at every cry of his children, children that he can't even calm down without your help. It all makes his breathing stagger, muscles tightening, and his palms clammy and tingling. Symptoms that he's awfully too familiar with.

He thinks after having two children he'd be good at this, not great or even amazing, just okay, average at raising his kids so they'd grow up normally and well adjusted. Is he even built for this? Is he capable of loving without leaving teeth marks? Without turning out like his father? Or is he ruining everything?

“Lieutenant, is that you?” A sudden voice calls out, a head of dark hair and bushy beard pops out from his peripheral. Great, someone that recognises him without the mask. Just what he needs.

“No.” Simon answers gruffly above the cries while he uselessly bounce his wailing kids in his arms.

“Nah, I know that's you! I can never forget those terrifying eyes of yours.” The sergeant bounds up to him, he remembers him from the last three missions the man was a part of. Simon regrets lending him his lighter once, now that he's all friendly to him. “That your kids? They're adorable.”

“Sergeant.” No, I stole them, Simon wanted to quip back. The man clearly cannot read the room while his babies are bawling their eyes out. He suddenly wants to punch something. Or just walk away, huffing and puffing. “A bit busy here—”

“They look a lot like you! I never thought you had a face under that skull mask.” If looks could kill, Simon has committed murder in the middle of the zoo. In front of the bird enclosure for that matter. “‘The Ghost’ being a dad,” the sergeant shakes his head in bewilderment. “Sounds weird,” he backtracks quickly, “a g-good kind of weird though.”

Simon's seething, his blood rushing in his ears as everything overwhelms him. From how Tommy's overalls scratches on his side, from how the sweat flows down on his back, snaking along his spine. And the noise, people chatting endlessly, birds squawking, the fucking speakers blaring— he swallows thickly, jaw tightening, eyes darting along the crowd, alert, and pupils blown out. Then, a hand reaches out to his bicep, warm, soft and comfortably familiar over his searing skin. His heartbeat slows down at the mere sight of you.

“Hi,” you smile, eyes roaming around his ‘deer in the headlights’ look. Squeezing once, twice and thrice for good measure, you quickly place the plastic bag full of cold drinks on the stroller. Without missing a beat, you take Tommy in your arms, easing his cries almost immediately. “You must be sergeant Willems, it's nice to meet you but can we take a raincheck on the pleasantries? A bit busy here.” Smiling sweetly, Simon's subordinate nods, giving you and Simon a curt nod and then scampering away.

Simon gazes upon you with softness in his brown eyes, saccharine affection as he slides next to you closer. Hip to hip, he tries hard not to melt into you. Even if you glance at him with the same tenderness.

“Mummy,” Ellie murmurs, tear stained cheeks greeting you. You pat her back as she lays her head down on her father's chest. Lips still frowning, and nose scrunched, she looks like Simon during Tommy's birth. Her cries subsides, a tiny fist wrapped around your finger.

“I'm here, baby.” You coo, fixing your hold on Tommy while you flick your eyes towards Simon, meeting with his own. “I'm right here, Si.” You seem to always know what's going on inside his head, knuckles brushing along his cheek, you wipe away a bead of sweat. He wants to lean into your touch, if not for the numerous eyes roaming around.

He inhales shakily, a restart button for his breathing. Muscles relaxing, forehead pressed on your own briefly and palm spread across the small of your back, he lets his ugly emotions fly away with the wind as you chastely peck his jaw.

“You're good, Simon.”

[coffeeghoulie]

Could we maybe get a little thing with Swiss having chronic back pain from his little "I meant to do that" fall, and Phantom finding out about it and making sure he gets a little extra quint to help take that edge off (just fluffy stuff <3)

I'm really feeling this one bc my shoulder pain is acting up, hope you enjoy!

Technically takes place after one of my mushy may fics, but you don't have to read that to read this one.

Divider by @ghuleh-recs <3

For all of Mountain's ministrations last night, Swiss's back isn't better in the morning. At least, he thinks it's morning. He wakes from the pain radiating through his shoulder, down his back, up his neck. He groans, tries to settle back into the hotel bed and catch a few more precious moments of sleep, but it's fruitless. The pain is too much, too distracting.

Swiss slowly gets up, careful not to disturb Mountain sleeping next to him, his toes hanging off of the end of the queen bed. They all miss their nests back home in the Abbey, but Mountain the most of all.

He's careful unlocking the door. He's as quiet as a shadow slipping out into the hall, shirtless and barefoot, and he winces at the bright fluorescents. Swiss wracks his mind for the room number he knows they're staying in. Aeon had been rooming with Aurora, he knows, but it's a safe bet to guess that she's curled up with Cumulus and Cirrus in theirs.

Swiss pads unnaturally quietly down the hall and counts room numbers. When he finds the one he's pretty certain Aeon's in, he reaches out as gently as he can with his mind. It's anyone's bet if the bug is awake or not. They and Aurora are still so new that they have what the ghouls have dubbed Pit Dreams: night terrors of summoning, things that happened Down Below.

Bug, he whispers mentally. He winces, realizing what this must look like; a creep standing outside of someone else's hotel room. Psst, buggy, are you up?

It takes a moment for a response, and Swiss can hear rummaging behind the door. Jus' a sec, a slurred voice filters into Swiss's mind, and if he were unglamoured, he'd tuck his tail between his legs. He woke them up.

The door opens, Aeon's thin fingers curling around the door itself as they poke their head out. They're unglamoured themself, a mismatched purple eye glowing in the darkness. "Wha's up?" they mumble, a fist scrubbing at their white eye. They almost look like a kit.

"Hate to do this to ya, bug," he whispers, pulling a nonchalant front up, smiling easy. "Sorry to wake ya, but woke up with my shoulder bothering me something awful. I'd get myself with some quint, but we know it doesn't work on ourselves for some Lucifer-blessed reason. Could you spare a little juice?"

Aeon nods, reaching for his wrist and pulling him into the darkness of their hotel room. The air conditioning is cranked as low as it will go, and Swiss shivers, subconsciously kicking his body temperature up a few degrees. He doesn't know how Aeon's just in boxers if he's this cold in his sweatpants, body unnaturally warm to boot.

"Shoulder, you said?" Aeon asks, rolling their neck and sounding far more awake.

"Yeah," he nods. He watches Aeon's face shift into a deeply focused expression. Their brows furrow tight.

"Swiss, what the fuck, how are you even coherent right now?" they ask, their good eye darting over his face searching for something. "I just got a sense of it, it just hit me, that's so much pain, Swiss."

He shrugs with his right shoulder. "You get used to it, after a while."

Aeon takes a deep breath, eyes suddenly very far away, somewhere Swiss can't follow. "Yeah, I get it." They shake their head, shaggy hair falling over their eyes. "But I can help, a little bit. You wanna lay down?"

He smiles, easy and genuine this time. "How'd you know this is just a ploy to get into my little buggy's bed, huh?"

They roll their eyes, turning to head back to the one mussed bed. The other is untouched, proving Swiss correct on Aurora's whereabouts. Aeon arranges themself, limbs sprawled out and starfished, and they pat the mattress. "Whatcha waiting for?"

Swiss gives them a little chuckle, padding over to the bed. "How'd you want me, sweetheart?"

Aeon cocks their head, their violet eye pinning on his face in the dark. "C'mere, lay on me. The way you let me lay on you."

He smiles, stupid with fondness as his love for the bug wells up. He carefully lays down half on top of them, head over their sternum and arms wrapping around their waist. He hums happily, senses flooded with their scent. Already, he feels better as they settle a hand between his shoulder blades.

Swiss jolts, peering up with a toothy, sheepish smile when the first spark of quintessence passes between them. His muscles instantly relax, chuffing happily into Aeon's collarbone. "Fuck, thank you, sweetheart. Tell me if I get too heavy, right?"

"Mhmm," they hum, craning their neck to nuzzle into his locs. They chuff back, a little less sure of themself than Swiss. "Anythin'. If I can ask, what was it? Or did it jus' happen?"

He exhales hard through his nose, settling more comfortably against them. He laughs, a little awkwardly. "Last tour, before you came, I got a little too into Year Zero. Misstepped the stomp and missed the edge of the platform. It's a long way down when you're tall," he chuckles, rubbing his stubbled cheek against the spattering of hair on Aeon's chest like a cat.

Aeon winces, puts a little more quintessence into Swiss's system, reaching to pull the blankets over them. "Ouch."

"Yeah," Swiss agrees. His cheeks burn, and he hopes that Aeon thinks it's just him trying to stay warm in the chilly air. "It's mostly better. Just likes to give me shit now and then. It was- I meant to do it." He spits that last part, halfheartedly repeating the lie he's been telling for a year and a half.

"It's okay if it was an accident," Aeon whispers. "I mean, what do I know, I wasn't there. But you're still hurting and we'll help you. Just gotta ask."

Swiss smiles, kisses the crook of their neck. "Too sweet to me, bug," he hums. "It's a fight. Hate admitting when I'm not doin' good. Feels like I'm bearing my belly to bigger ghouls."

Aeon pulls him closer. "Fuck, I know what that feels like."

He knows they do. He can feel the scars under his fingertips. Swiss holds them tight, the quintessence and late hour making him drowsy. His gold eyes flutter shut, too heavy to stay open. "Love you, bug."

He hears Aeon's soft exhale, feels a kiss between his horns. "Love you too."

[ghoulelegy]

Hey there! I was wondering, do you write ghoul x ghoul fics, maybe some Dew x Mountain if you're okay with it?

Please take your time and don't force yourself :>

Yeah of course I write ghoul x ghoul fics! Let's go. I barely see Dew and Mountain stuff so I'm happy that I'm able to provide <3

This post in particular is very fluffy and wholesome, and includes interactions between Sodo as a fire ghoul and Mountain. I decided to leave it up to the readers imagination if they are in an established relationship or not.

I went over this a hundred times but there still might be some mistakes - so apologies in advance!

Voluntary Work - A Mountain X Dewdrop fanfiction.

Mountain is volunteering at the animal shelter when he spots Dewdrop petting an animal, in need of love.

Features: soft love, safe for work, mild swearing, brief mentions of animal abuse, sassy Dewdrop and a very patient Mountain. There’s also a dog. Long post (1500 words)

-----------------

Papa Emeritus IV heavily encouraged voluntary work when they weren’t on tour, an opportunity many of the ghouls found themselves flocking to. Mountain found himself signing up with the local animal shelter, a non-profit organisation that took in any animal, but mainly cats and dogs. As a volunteer, Mountain’s duties usually consisted of providing the animals with a companion and administering food and medication. He was by most definitions a gentle giant, and the animals he worked with could vouch for that, with many of the fluffy creatures yearning for his attention, and he would often stumble back to his abbey home with the fur of very cute and adorable cats and dogs, much to the dismay of Sister Imperator.

It was a lovely Saturday morning when he came into the shelter with his usual voluntary attire, and after a hefty drumming practise session that morning, he felt the need to see the happy little wagging tails of the dogs and the purring of the cats. He started to walk around the kennels, greeting each dog and cat he walked by, and they all responded with overjoyed barks or unrelinquished purring. He gained the trust of the majority of the animals with time, all except one—the one whose kennel he was standing right in front of—a cinnamon-coloured pitbull who answers to the name of Beans.

Beans was a recent addition to the shelter, joining the many other pitbulls that were left abandoned or abused in some way, and it was only natural that he would be wary of the environment. He wasn’t aggressive, despite the common myth that many people seem to believe that pitbulls are always aggressive. He was often found curled up in the corner, facing the wall. Mountain was hoping to help break the ice that day and try to gain Bean’s trust, but to his surprise, he found Dewdrop hunched in the kennel, his back facing towards the doorway of the small room.

"Who’s a good boy, Beans?" Dewdrop cooed as a very happy Beans flopped on his back, showing off his belly with his paws flapping in the air.

"Hey! Sodo! What are you doing in Bean’s kennel?" Mountain called out, amusement lingering in his voice. The very startled Dewdrop looked up.

"Wassup, big guy?" Dewdrop muttered, his amber eyes locked in very intense eye contact with Mountain before turning his attention to the now whining dog.

"You did not tell me you were going to be here today." Mountain replied.

"Oh, wow, do I need to ask permission from you to come here now?" Sodo spat out, seemingly without thinking.

“Woah there, Stompy," was Mountain’s shocked reply before stopping himself and taking a breather. "I see you’ve been acquainted with little Beans here."

"Sorry, that was a bit rude." Dewdrop smiled sheepishly, his eyes darting away briefly.. "And umm, yeah, I was just going to take him out for a walk; do you want to join?"

"Sure, I’m glad he’s warmed up to this place."

Soon enough, they found themselves in the yard of the shelter as they threw the ball to the bundle of joy.

"Fetch boy! Good job, little one." Sodo knelt on the floor as he petted the little creature.

"He really brings out your soft side, Dewdrop." Mountain commented.

"Shut up, Mountain," Sodo hiccupped, but his eyes shoot so clearly that he’s amused. "And it’s Sodo now," he chants as he throws the ball again.

"Dewdrop is just cuter; it just fits you more at this moment. But I can call you Sodo, since you're, y’know, boring."

"I’m not boring, and I’m NOT CUTE EITHER; I’m an angry little FIRE DEMON sent from the bowels of hell by the Dark Lord himsel- DANG IT BEANS, STOP LICKING MY LEG; YOU’RE NOT LETTING ME PROVE MY POINT BECAUSE I AM MELTING RIGHT NOW."

"You were saying?"

Oh, please, I never want to hear you speak ever again." Sodo grins, showing off his fangs.

"You are goddamn fucking adorable; you know that, right?" Mountain cooes, his voice sweet and flowing like satin.

"shu-"

"no"

“Well, I guess not then," Sodo smiles. You see him trying to hide his flushed face before bonking Mountain right in the head. “I usually reserve this for Aether, but he’s not here right now, so.." he pulls out his two hands before throwing them both in front of Mountain, the middle fingers prominently the only ones erected "Fuck you."

"Getting sassy in front of Beans?"

"HE’S MY SON; HE CAN HANDLE SOME SASS, BUT ALSO DON’T MESS WITH HIM; HE IS ONE TO BE FEARED. HE WILL BE TRAINED AS A CREATURE OF DARKNESS, JOURNEYING THROUGH FIRE AND FLAMES. HE WILL BE FEARED BY MAN-BEANS!" The fire ghoul toppled back, with the jumping dog pouncing on his legs, his musings turned into laughter as Beans licked his face.

"He’s a better kisser than you-“ Sodo's words were cut off by a playful laugh from Mountain.

"Oh really? Mountain recoiled, hands on his hips. "Oh no you broke my heart! Mountain's voice held a mockingly dramatic tone. HOW CAN I EVER EMOTIONALLY RECOVER FROM THIS MOMENT? Anywa-”.

"See Mountain" Sodo's words cutting in like a knife "The answer to everything is Dog. Feeling sad? Dog. Stressed out because you couldn’t break into the chapel of the abbey to steal some wine? Dog. Mountain being shit? Dog.”

"You know what? You’re right, Sodo," Mountain sighs.

"That’s a new phrase from you, Mountain; did you just learn it?" Dewdrop recoils, his brow furrowing in mock annoyance." before being interrupted with a bork from Beans.

“Actually no, I think Beans here just cleaned out your ears for you, so now you can FINALLY hear, ya deaf egg”

After a moment of silence, Sodo proceeded to break said silence "Get down on the floor with me," he said quietly.

"Why?"

"Because the good boy here covered me with UNHOLY slobber, and I would quite like a break."

"Fine" Mountain retorted as he sat down cross-legged next to Dewdrop. "Come on here, good boy," he cooed to the panting pitbull. "You stopped being so shy, you are a little good boy." He petted the smiling Beans and was then taken by surprise when Beans laid his head on his legs.

"Tired, little one?" Sodo sounded at Beans, who should probably get his name changed to "Sleeping Beans." He then looked at the tall ghoul on his right and opened his mouth, "Mountain?"

"Hmm?"

"Can I ask you something?” Dewdrop spoke.

"Before you ask, no, Sister Imperator still doesn’t want pets. She is already on thin ice with Papa’s rats or whatever. But yes, I want to adopt Beans too."

“Yeah, that too, but actually, I just want to say, thank you”

"What for?"

"Making me feel less like a burnt-out matchstick bug and more like an evil, devilish gremlin who steals candy from children and sets fire to God."

"You’re…welcome?" Mountain's voice held a gentle note of uncertainty.

“So, uh, can I uhh…hold your hand? Before it’s too late?" Sodo murmured, looking at Beans.

“Wait," Mountain replies, kissing Sodo on the forehead. "I thought me being an Earth ghoul would automatically make me the most hardheaded and stuff, but no. It turns out it’s some dumb fire ghoul or whatever," he laughs. "Oh, wait. I forgot. You prefer Bean’s kisses over mine."

Shuttup!" Sodo groans as he erupts into a voluminous fit of giggles.

Beans, with his tail wagging contentedly, found the perfect spot nestled between them. His head rested on Mountain’s leg, and his eyes gleamed with a mix of excitement and relaxation.

Dewdrop, although known for his gruff exterior, couldn't help but let his fingers gently run through Beans's soft fur. With each stroke, a hint of a smile tugged at the corners of Dewdrop's lips. Beans's tail thumped rhythmically against the fire ghoul’s chest, a canine rhythm of happiness. Mountain stretched out beside them, and Bean's curiosity got the better of him. With a yawn and a stretch, he moved closer to Mountain, his head finding its way onto Mountain's thigh. Mountain's hand found its place on Bean's back, fingers rhythmically tracing the contours of his fur. A bond of comfort and trust seemed to weave between them. Dewdrop, not one to be left out, scooted a little closer to Beans's side. His hand hesitated for a moment, then gave Beans a gentle scratch behind his ear. The sensation seemed to ripple through Beans's body, bringing forth a deep, satisfied sigh that seemed to say, "This is exactly where I want to be."

As the world around them seemed to slow down, the trio found themselves wrapped in a cocoon of warmth and companionship. The steady rise and fall of Bean's chest as he breathed in the scents of the outdoors and although Dewdrop's exterior remained a bit prickly, his touch was tender, and Mountain's playfulness was balanced with a sense of protectiveness. Beans, in his own way, seemed to bridge their differences, creating a space where cuddles were not just an action but a testament to the unspoken bond between them.

~ Fin ~

[ghostchems]

polite request for a lil bit of breeding kink Cardi 🥺🫶🏻

(bonus points for him keeping his red cassock on, god I will cream)

about 1.5k words of exactly this. mdni. 18+. ao3 link.

The Cardinal touches the side of your neck with his thumb, stroking gently as he toys with the collar of your habit. He hums as your lips part and a soft sigh escapes them, his hand shifting down to the buttons holding you together. Cheeks are so flushed and you can’t bring yourself to speak. He tilts his head, a dangerous smile playing on his lips as one finger tugs at the top button, easily coming undone. You exhale slowly, getting goosebumps from how his hand slides inside your habit and inches down your chest, popping open the buttons as he goes.This is not how you thought this would go when he first approached you.

“Such smooth skin, tesoro.” Copia purrs and presses a kiss just below your earlobe as he cups your breast in his palm. You give a soft moan and press in closer to him, fists balling into his red cassock against his chest. The need is so strong, the ache between your legs nearly making your knees give out. He told you that you were chosen out of everyone to assist him in this important endeavor for the Ministry and he’s taken such care with you since you’ve accepted. He dips his head lower and nips at the skin where your neck and shoulder meet while he peels away the rest of your habit, letting it drop to the floor. You followed his instructions: you wore nothing underneath. Copia’s hands roam down your curves and grip onto your ass before traveling back up to pinch your nipples, his eyes tracing over your body.

“Lay back on the rug, per favore.” He whispers against your neck. You suck in a sharp breath and nod, pulling away from his soft cassock. Eyes settle on the rug in the center of the room: a pentagram rug. Did he have it specially made for this occasion? Or did he find it in a closet deep in the abbey? It’s soft beneath your bare feet. You lay on the rug, all too aware of how wet you are between your thighs, and keep yourself propped up on your elbows. He has his back to you for a few moments but when he turns you see the offering bowl in his hands.

“*O-oh.* Sorella, you are so perfect.” He’s breathlessly sweet as he kneels in front of you and dips a fingertip into the bowl. You’re burning up, the anticipation building inside you as you spread your legs further for him. The Cardinal’s gaze drops to your cunt and he groans deep in his throat, nearly forgetting the next step of his carefully planned ritual. He clears his throat and lifts his finger from the bowl to begin drawing sigils and symbols on your bare stomach that you barely remember from your studies. “*Nema*.” Copia whispers to himself and closes his eyes for a beat in silent prayer. Something about his extreme care in this situation has you nearly begging for him to fuck you now. He opens his eyes and they meet yours, a shy smile on his face as if he knows what you’re thinking.

“The Morningstar has shone his light on you and I see it, cara mia.” Copia hums as he toys with his cassock until he’s able to unzip his pants and free his already leaking cock. You chew on your lower lip and try to sink closer to him. He leans down and drifts his lips along your hip bone, hot kisses and nips up your stomach as he slot himself between your legs. “You were made for this.” His mouth reaches the curve of your breasts, his teeth dragging along the sensitive skin. Impatient. You need him *now*. A hand slips between you and grips his cock, angling it toward your slick entrance. Copia moans against your chest and bucks his hips, the head of his cock pressing inside you. Your arms loop around his shoulders and arch your back as he sinks himself deeper, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

“I’m going to fill you up, sorella.” He hisses against you with a forceful thrust. And fill you he does, your walls stretching around him as your eyes flutter shut, mouth open in a silent moan. “Fill you up over and over again until we produce an heir. The savior of the Ministry.” Copia’s nose drifts up your neck, mouthing along your jaw as he curls his arms around you until he’s fully on top, hovering just above your lips. You’re still propped on your elbows but you lift one hand to brush your thumb along his sideburns and then rake your fingers through his soft brown hair. He sighs against your lips as they touch his, melting in a kiss and holding himself in place inside of you. He deepens the kiss as your body relax against him, guiding you on your back until you feel the soft carpet beneath you.

“How beautiful you’ll look while you’re carrying my child…” Copia growls and angles his hips forward to start a slow sensuous pace. You’re blissed out, panting into his mouth while your nails scratch against his scalp. Such expectations and importance has been placed upon you and it’s *overwhelming* but Copia’s words echo through your mind, giving you the confidence to truly indulge. Your heels dig into the back of his thighs and you move your body with his, bringing your hips up to meet each of his thrusts. Low growls and heavy breaths fill your ears, the soft fabric of his cassock sticks to the blood on your stomach, smearing it further along your body. Heat pools in your abdomen, muscles tense in your thighs as you wrap your legs around his waist.

“*In nomine Dei nostri Satanas Luciferi Excelsi.”* You choke the words out. A fire lights in the Cardinal’s eyes and his grip on you only tightens, trapping you against his body. He fucks into you with reckless abandon until you’re trembling from the sheer force of him slamming into you. Tears sting your cheeks as you cry out, nails digging into his hair to cling onto him. You think about how Copia is this sweet man with a towering presence in the ministry, a true passion for what he does and how he’s borderline animalistic. His face is back to being buried in the crook of your neck as your head tips back and your body arches into him.

“S-so fucking good, taking my cock while I breed you.” He moans against you, his fingers digging into your back. Your body is set alight by his words, eyes squeezing shut while you choke out a broken sob. Your walls flex and tense around his cock as you come hard, drawing an urgent groan from his lips. In a matter of seconds he’s flooding you with his seed, his thrusts becoming uneven and frantic until they slow to a stop. Haze settles over you as you blink away the tears in your eyes and relax against the plush carpet. Copia pants into your neck as his grip on you loosens. “Stay still, tesoro.” He holds himself inside you, plugging you up for a few more moments before carefully slipping out.

“We… we have to be sure that nothing is wasted.” He sits back on his heels and grabs you by the knees to push them to your chest. You hold your legs in place for him, face still flushed red. Copia’s eyes settle on your cunt, his gloved pointer finger circling your hole as he gathers any cum that has leaked out. You bite back a groan while he pushes it back inside you. Nothing can be wasted. You prop yourself back up on your elbows as he removes his finger, your legs extending with a crack of your knees. He starts to stroke along your hipbones, bringing you back down to Earth.

“*Nema*.” You give a breathy exhale. Lips twitch into a small smile as you finally focus on him, the messy hair and smudged paint, the look of sleepy satisfaction on his face.

“Ah… we will meet here later tonight for another session.” He wipes some of the sweat from his face, smearing the black paint around his eyes further. You nod, arousal already brewing inside you at the thought of him breeding you again. Copia offers a small smile and pulls you into his chest, his arms securely around you. “Thank you. Thank you for embarking on this unholy journey with me, sorella.” He presses a kiss to your temple.

“Lucifer has blessed us.”

[koisuko]

Reader with an OF, but for mw husbands

*blush*

Tw: OF stuff, mdni, gn reader, OF is only fans for those confused, no use of y/n

Ft: Simon “Ghost” Riley, John “Soap” MacTavish, Kyle “Gaz” Garrick, John Price

Simon “Ghost” Riley…

Is against it, 100%. This man has killed, blood on his hands in the name of war. He would be damned if he shared you with anyone. He’s possessive, broken and maybe a little insecure on the inside. He doesn’t want others even having the chance to look at you.

He’s definitely punishing you. He’d have your face buried into the bed, back arched so much it’s almost painful. His fingers gripping on a handful of your hair, tugging back to force your half lidded gaze up towards the ceiling. Ghost would watch from behind his skull mask. His deep brown eyes, burning with fury, stare into the screen of your phone. “Delete it,” he’d demand, “I want to see you do it.” He’d feel your walls clench around him, only to stop his thrusts abruptly. “I said,” his masked face lowered down to the shell of your ear, “delete it.” Any sign of hesitation would earn a swift spank to your backside. Youd whimper, tears of overstimulation prick at the corner of your eyes. Your shaky fingers would hit the delete button. Ghost would rub soothing circles over the now reddening skin of your ass, “good job, pet,” he’d praise.

Before you even ask, no, he’s not joining. No matter what you said or do, it’s a definite no. This man thrives in the mystery he creates around his identity. Plus, doing lewd acts for the pleasure of others seems so pointless in his mind.

John “Soap” MacTavish…

Is not against it, but not for it either. He’s a bit torn between whether he likes it, and whether he wants to be possessive. He definitely wouldn’t be as strict as Ghost. He’s more lenient about the idea of you doing only fans. If it’s something that pleases you, than go for it.

Yes, with enough convincing, he would join you. He’d even put his face in it, this man would probably smirk at the camera. He’d like to take some photos for you. Have you pose in the perfect positions, barely able to contain himself. Than after, he’d rip that lace covering your body and ravage you for hours.

Eventually though, you’d come across his insecurities in having you do this. He’s supportive sure, but he doesn’t entirely like the idea of having something so private shared with strangers. You’d sit down and have a talk, figure out what you two would like to do going forword. Eventually agreeing on leaving the app entirely.

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick…

Is against it, lightly. He wants you to himself, and prefers if your body is kept private for just the two of you. He wants to worship your beauty, without the prying eyes of strangers. He’d support you, of course, if you truly only want this as a career. But he wouldn’t seem to want to stay if you aren’t willing to compromise.

No, he’s not joining you, at all. He won’t be the camera man either. Just the thought of it, you posed in lewd positions and sharing it to your subscribers, makes his skin crawl. His lips would form a frown, and he’d avoid the situation entirely. His mind would run wild with insecurities. He’d wonder why he isn’t good enough, and why you’d prefer others attention over his.

You love him, of course, so you’d delete it entirely. And to make up for it, you’d wear the lingerie. You’d pose for him, let him take photos for private moments at the base. A wild night sure to come shortly after.

John Price…

Is neutral on it. He doesn’t mind what you do for work, a paycheck is a paycheck. If you were to tell him how much money you make, his eyes would go wide with surprise. “Might need to make one of my own,” he’d jokingly say.

He’d be intrigued by the app when you’d explain how it works. He’d even offer a strategy to rack in more subscribers and money. If you are happy, so is he.

Yes, he’d join, but only on occasion. Even when he does, it’s only parts of him in the camera. He avoids showing his face entirely. He prefers to watch from the sidelines, smirking at your pretty little poses. When he does join, it’s mostly his lower body, his chest is preferred. He loves the photos of you sat, his cock sunken inside you, and your fingers tangled in the hairs of his chest. Or the photos from his angle, your face red and lips glossy while you fuck yourself on his tip.

[ghostlychief]

first off love your writing !!!!!! I was wondering if I could get a story about ghost where the reader is pregnant and they’re doing the baby shower and it turns out to be a boy and ghost is extremely happy???💞

thank you so much!!! apologies for such a late reply, I know you sent this in awhile ago. hope you enjoy <3

---

beautiful boy

Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader

wc: ~620

warnings: none; fluff

---

You’re currently upstairs, laying on your bed, with a ribbon held in between your hands. A soft smile graces your lips as you look down at the baby blue material, thinking about the little bean growing inside of you.

Your baby shower was today, and in fact, is still going on downstairs. You hear the muffled chatter amongst your guests throughout your house from upstairs, and a feeling of gratefulness washes over you. You’re currently five months pregnant, and as much as you love a good party, your feet were aching after standing for hours, hence the reason why you are currently in your bedroom and not downstairs with everyone else. You came up to rest only for a short bit, before you head back down and join everyone again.

You opted to wear a light yellow babydoll dress, wanting to be neutral for the gender reveal. You honestly did not have a preference, and were just ecstatic that you were expecting, and celebrating with all of your close friends and family. The light yellow, and the cut of the dress complimented you well, making your complexion glow, and highlighting your ever-growing baby bump.

Simon was speechless for a minute or two when you finally popped out of your bathroom, showing him your finished look before all of the guest arrived for the party. After his momentary pause stuck in awe, Simon breathed out, “You look absolutely beautiful,” and wrapped you in a warm hug. It was a quiet and intimate moment you guys shared before your house started filling up with guests.

Simon also decided to dress neutral but as your eyes moved up and down assessing his outfit, you noticed the subtle blue socks covering his feet. You always knew he wanted a baby boy, but you knew he would be happy and grateful for a girl or boy, just as long as you and baby were healthy. It’s just one more thing that makes you love him as much as you do.

You decided not to comment on the socks, and simple beamed at him saying he looked just as handsome as when you first met.

The gender-reveal itself went smoothly, and of course Simon was over the moon that you were having a baby boy, and since then, the quiet grin that bloomed on his face has not left.

The memory of the reveal plays over in your mind, and you’re lost in thought as you stare at the ribbon. You’re unaware that Simon has entered the room until you feel the bed dip behind you. Simon lays behind you, wrapping an arm around your middle, and his hand gently rubs on your bump. He rests his chin on your shoulder, looking down at the blue fabric you’re holding. He leaves a kiss on your shoulder, and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and his embrace envelops you, and you feel tears start to form in your waterline.

You bring your hand up to rest over his that’s still on your tummy, and you manage to choke out, “I haven’t even met him yet, but I know that he’s going to be the most beautiful boy.” You lightly sniff, and the tears finally fall down your cheeks. Simon reaches over you to catch your tears with his thumb, and he gently caresses your face, giving you a kiss on your temple.

“I know, sweetheart.” He leaves another kiss on your temple, “You are his mom, after all. Of course he’s going to be beautiful.” You let out a laugh, and squeeze his hand.

Simon and you continue to stare at the blue ribbon, committing this day to memory, and dreaming of what’s to come.

[alfredosauce50]

Night at the Museum

[America x reader]

Rating: M Word count: 5, 887 Synopsis: You and Alfred decide to visit New York’s Museum of Natural History for old time’s sake. In a stroke of bad luck, you two get locked in overnight, unaware and unprepared for the dangers lurking within. It’s where history comes alive, and he ends up in a dangerous game of cat and mouse with a bloodthirsty warlord. The whole time, he’s also wrestling with his feelings for you, and he doesn’t know which is harder. Solipsism: knowledge of anything outside one’s own mind is unsure; the external world and other minds cannot be known and might not exist outside the mind.

“The more you know about the past, the better prepared you are for the future.” — Theodore Roosevelt

“Man, we haven’t been here since we were little kids,” Alfred took it all in as he made it inside, to where he was greeted by the skeleton of Tyrannosaurus rex in an awe-inspiring pose. With its head bowed toward the entrance, he and other patrons were greeted by a set of razor-sharp teeth grinning down with a hunger for the ages. “I wonder if anything’s changed. Probably a lot.”

“A bunch of stuff, actually. But it looks like they did a huge revamp on all the wax figures,” You lifted your gaze from a brochure you collected from the front. The museum of natural history wasn’t half as impressive as the Smithsonian, but it had a special place in both of your hearts. “They’re meant to be super realistic now. You know, the whole ‘history comes alive’ pizazz.”

“Huh. Then what would be the difference between here and Madame Tussaud’s?” He glanced at you.

“The people here are worth remembering.”

“Good point.”

As local New Yorkers, it was tradition to come back every once in a while. Yellow cabs, subway crazies, and the best pizza in the world — there was no other city quite like the Big Apple, and you two decided to swing by during your semester break to reconnect with your roots. Needless to say, it was nice to get away from the upbeat chaos of life on campus.

“You think you’re gonna go to Arthur’s Christmas party?” He asked you, peering around the room of American history. There was a shining stagecoach pulled by four black horses, mannequins in confederate and union uniforms with their guns trained at each other, a giant moose, and eagles watching over everything else.

“Well, we kinda have to. Can you imagine how upset he’d be if we didn’t? He’d probably be heartbroken.”

“Yeah, but I get crazy diarrhea every time.” He scoffed, eyes wide as he recalled blowing up the toilet last year.

”You don’t have to remind me.” You shuddered.

“I know, I was just saying. I was thinking we could go somewhere fun,” Alfred gave you an expectant look as he tried to sell you on it. “We could go skating, or just watch a movie back at my place. What do you say?”

“Hm, I don’t know. I’m really craving his scones.”

“Seriously?” 

”But not as much as our time together,” You smiled, watching him light up. Taking his hand, you pulled him along and said this with a laugh. “I’d rather go to the dumpster with you than the Met. You’re my best friend.”

“Yeah.” He softened his gaze. You said that, but the way you held his hand said otherwise. Or was it because you two were that close? Either way, he was starting to go down the pipeline he swore that he wouldn’t.

”Are you okay?” You asked.

”Yeah, I’m fine.” He adjusted his glasses.

“Wanna kiss it better?” You swung his arm playfully.

Alfred glared at you as the only diversion from the fact that he was blushing. It was so like you to say things like that. You were attractive, and you knew it. With your sense of humor, it made for a dangerous game. But he’d been playing it for a while. He covered your entire face with his hand, then pushed you down to a nearby bench in one clean movement.

”Hey!” 

“Hey yourself.” Alfred walked off with his hands in his pockets, as cool as a cucumber.

This might’ve been all fun and games with you, but you weren’t the loneliest animal on the planet here. Not that it made his feelings for you any less real. He liked you, and not because you were an idea in his head.

You were real, every strange thought and neuron of your imagination. You could be as sharp as a tack when you wanted to be. He loved your mind and the way it worked, or at least when you weren’t tantalizing him.

“Remember when we were little we used to take baths together?” You sprung up out of the blue.

”Barely.” Alfred exhaled, wildly unprepared for what just came out of your mouth. But before he reacted any further, he reminded himself just who he was talking to. “That’s probably why we did it in the first place. Why?”

You were sleeping over that time, as you always did every Friday after your philosophy class. Your things were strewn all over his bedroom, like a half-eaten cup noodle, some snacks, and the clothes you brought over.

While he browsed the rest of the displays in the room, he let himself get immersed in that particular memory.

That was when you caught up with him again, even having the nerve to smile up at him with ‘hehe’ written all over your face. He glowered down at you, but really, he was just happy that you were by his side again.

You had a thirty second rebound before doing or saying the next pain in the ass thing, but he forgave you even faster than that. And it had been that way since horseshoe crabs were the only thing roaming the Earth.

”You think we could fit in the bathtub?”

“If you’re asking if I wanna take a bath with you, it’s an immediate no. We’re way too old for that.”

“You don’t have to be such a prude,” You mumbled, rolling your head away. “I was just wondering.”

“I’m not a prude.” He grumbled.

“And it’s not like I haven’t seen your dick before.”

“Yeah, when I was little!” 

“Can’t imagine it’s grown much since then.”

He glared at the ceiling, not wanting to give you the satisfaction of seeing how embarrassed he was.

As much as he’d like to pull his pants down to prove you wrong, he didn’t. Someone had to uphold a sense of decency around here, even if that person had to be him, the worst possible example of it, if he was one at all.

“If you’re done, I’m gonna go to sleep,” He sat up and twisted around to fluff up his pillow. You were starting to drift off by then, but he didn’t let you off so easily. “Don’t let me catch you peeking or I’ll molest you.”

“I wasn’t planning on it, geez.”

And to think he used to be such a cute kid, kicking his ball over your fence just so he could come over to play. You both grew up since then, and with that, came his awful sense of humor among other things.

But if you asked him, he learned from the best.

“You know the nicest people make the best Nazis?” You asked, walking by a glass display of three wax figures. Sakagawea, a young Shoshone woman who guided Lewis and Clarke on their expedition to the Pacific.

“Do they?” He narrowed his eyes in interest.

“Nice people look the other way and just wanna get along with everybody else.” You said, towing him along. “Have the whole country doing that, plus a heap of propaganda, you could get away with anything.”

“Well, if I was a German, I wouldn’t buy into it.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Alfred frowned, genuinely offended. “I’m not a freakin’ racist.”

”Being scorned is your kryptonite,” You pointed out, getting him to roll his eyes. So he didn’t like to deviate from standards, and being a raving right-wing was one at the time. “And trust me when I say you would be.”

”That’s why the second amendment exists,” He smiled sagely with a hint of mischief. “If the government was to push some crazy agenda into us, the rednecks wouldn’t have it. We shape society to what we want.”

”What if the society you want isn’t the society someone else wants?” You asked, stopping in front of an exhibit of a male Algonquin warrior. “We all worship something. What’s normal to you might be crazy for someone else.”

”I guess you’re right,” He agreed, gazing upon the person who lived — and believed — in things drastically different than did. His brows came together as he marveled at the man who stood over him, a chief’s son who had been dead for well over a thousand years.

Allen was his name. He had striking scarlet eyes, dark maroon hair, tawny brown skin, and a toned body from a life of hunting and gathering. As he stared out into the middle distance, there was something uncanny about him, like he could come alive at any second, but didn’t.

“What do you think this guy worshipped?” Alfred murmured faintly, strangely captivated by him.

It was humbling to be in the presence of all of these historical figures, but intimidating to imagine them as people who existed. He was a history nut, and one thing he understood was how astonishingly cruel and violent the past could be. From the swashbuckling tales of the Wild West to the burning sands of Ancient Egypt, everything was best enjoyed from the comforts of his modern American home. Or in this case, a museum.

Where all of the exhibits were mere imitations of the long dead and gone, it would take no less than a miracle for any of them to come back to life. Little did he know, a miracle was exactly what he’d be in for tonight. 

You two poked around some more, eventually ending up in the Northern European section of the museum. Nothing really stood out to him besides the Vikings, who also caught the attention of the general public.

“This man was the greatest viking to have ever lived. Mathias Densen, the king of Danes,” A guide showed off a wax exhibit to a crowd of tourists. You and Alfred were among them, having taken the liberty to tune in.

Some took pictures, others whispered amongst themselves at the impressive lookalike made to imitate a legend out of the sagas. He had blonde hair swept up in the front in an unruly mane, and the bluest eyes you’ve ever seen. With his arm raised and axe in hand, he was frozen in time, suspended in a pose so natural, it looked like he’d bring it down at any given moment.

“He was the most feared warrior in all of Scandinavia. When he threw an axe at his enemy, he never missed. But all blood and gore aside, he will go down in history as one of the best leaders and explorers of all time.”

”Wouldn’t wanna get him angry, huh?” Alfred gave you a side-eye, returning his gaze to the information plate. That was when he saw a portrait of a woman who was supposedly the only one who could go toe-to-toe with his ruthlessness. “You know, she kinda looks like you.”

”Really?” You leaned over. “I don’t see it.”

”No way. You guys are like twins!” He exclaimed.

“Maybe just the eyes.”

“Maybe she’s your long-lost ancestor or something.”

After another hour of walking around and talking, you and Alfred left to get to the exit. It was approaching closing time, and you two were among the last to leave. A security guard stood near the revolving doors, bidding farewell to guests. But before he could acknowledge you two, Alfred stopped and patted around his shirt.

“Shit, I left my glasses.” He winced.

Neither of you two thought it would’ve been problem to go back and retrieve them at the time. Who would’ve thought they’d made the security so much tighter that it would end up the biggest mistake of your lives?

After sweeping room after room, he eventually found them on the ground next to a bench. Sliding them onto his nose, he picked up a brisk jog as he made his way back downstairs. But by then, it was too late.  

“Now let’s get out before we get locked in.”

”Don’t jinx us.” 

”Not gonna happen.” 

And he said that so confidently too. Because when he pushed at the revolving door, it didn’t budge. 

”What’s wrong?” You asked from behind. 

“Nothing, just give me a sec…” He rattled it a few more times, but to no avail. Then, he let out a heavy breath as he admitted the one thing he thought could never happen. “… Okay, I think we’re locked in.”

“You’re joking.” You blurted.

You brushed past him to give the door a strong shake, needing that same taste of defeat before believing it yourself. Sure enough, it was locked shut, and would likely stay locked all the way up til morning.

“Oh my God, we are. What are we gonna do?”

”Call the cops.” He suggested, pulling out his phone to dial 9-11. After a few tries, to which he stared at you tensely with it pressed up to his ear, he found that the call kept failing. “Annnnd the cops aren’t picking up.”

“Well, keep trying! Call Arthur or something.” 

For the next thirty minutes, you both paced around while trying to reach local government services, then friends or loved ones. It slowly became apparent that you two weren’t getting out anytime soon.

You weren’t the type to express it, let alone say it, but you were getting scared and uncomfortable.

So was he, but like hell he’d let it show. Not because he didn’t have the balls to admit it, but it was the last thing you needed right now. You weren’t looking at him, and he knew in an instant that you were on the verge.

“We’re not gonna make it out, are we?”

Alfred was crushed with so much guilt, he couldn’t even react when the lights dimmed, plunging the museum into a pitch-black darkness. His eyes stayed wide with remorse, even when he couldn’t see you anymore.

In that moment, he came over and hugged you as tight as he could, lips pursed in a deep frown. It wasn’t every day that he could hold you like this, but he set aside every shard of his shattered ego to do it.

Even if he had to do it in the dark.

There couldn’t be a better metaphor for his feelings. Alfred had always been too afraid to tell you how he felt, and if he did, he’d do it in a way that was hidden from plain sight. This was one of those times.

It was one thing to admit he was scared. It was another to say he was sorry. But telling you how much you truly meant to him was damn near impossible. So instead of doing any of the above, he let you sleep on him.

He had his back on a cold hard bench while you drifted away. There was no way he was getting any sleep tonight, but this was just his karma. So he stayed like that for the next few hours, to which you began to stir. 

“You good?” He asked in a soft murmur.

”Yeah,” You rubbed your eyes. “Just a little thirsty.”

”I’m pretty sure there’s a fountain outside.” He helped you up, putting on his glasses. “I’ll come with you.” 

”No, it’s fine.” You sighed, getting up to leave the room. 

”Hey,” Alfred softened his gaze, getting you to slow to a stop. He was so exhausted, all of his walls were coming down. And he couldn’t stand to bottle it up inside him any longer. “I’m sorry, okay? This was all my fault.”

”It’s okay. We can’t all be born perfect.” You cracked a smile, walking off. But the happy note only lasted so long once you got to the hallway outside. It was so dark, you could barely see the ground beneath you.

With nothing but the wall lamps to illuminate the empty halls, the institution turned into nothing but a graveyard: a dim labyrinth of the long dead and gone. And like all graveyards, there were ghosts.

The black outline of wax figures lined your peripherals, and you gazed at them nervously as you made your way to the fountain. After a few satisfying gulps, you began making your way back to the room. That was when you heard the echo of footsteps in the distance, too far away to have made sense at the time. Someone was at the end of the hall, and it couldn’t have been Alfred.

“Hello?” You called out to the source.

The shadow of a man appeared around the corner, the details of his wild, upswept hair showing up on the wall. When he revealed himself, he was covered head to toe in thick fur pelts and armor. Your eyes went wide ever so slowly, heart racing as you were struck with this realization. He was a spitting image of the viking you’d seen on display, but he wasn’t just an inanimate statue made of colored wax and glue. He was moving.

Breathing. 

He was alive.

Alfred waited patiently for you to come back, though he regretted letting you go out by yourself. It wasn’t like there was anything out there, but you must’ve been afraid under that bravado you showed him. If only he knew how wrong he’d been. As he sat on the bench, the museum slowly came to life. All of its waxy inhabitants, people gone for centuries, returned from the dead.

And the lights came back on, one by one.

The Viking’s chest heaved for the air that hadn’t filled his lungs in eons. And with eyes as blue as the oceans he sailed across, he stared at you like he had just seen a ghost. They had a light in them they never had before, a consciousness, a soul, and you stared right back. But the way he looked at you was like nothing you’d expect. There wasn’t a trace of hostility in his gaze, but something deeply emotional and coherent.

Not that any of that mattered to you.

You split, running from him as fast as you could and with more adrenaline than what you thought was humanly possible. But then again, what you witnessed was a testament to the impossible. The dead walked, and you were trapped in here with hundreds of them. Whipping your head over your shoulder, you let out a frightened cry when you saw him chasing you. 

Your screams echoed down the hall, and Alfred felt his blood go cold hearing them. But he forced himself to stand, and without a shred of hesitation, he ran outside to look for you. When you weren’t by the fountain, his heart sank to the pit of his stomach. And his face, now whiter than a sheet of paper. Where did you go?

“(F/N)!” He yelled, sprinting down the hall.

But more importantly, what was it that made you scream? Whatever it was, he knew he’d never forgive himself if something happened to you. The lights were now on, and he swore he could hear the tapping of what sounded like hundreds of footsteps. There was something around the corner, or someone, he just never would’ve anticipated it beyond his wildest imagination.

“Where are you?” Once be got around the turn, what he saw put a stopper to his thoughts, derailing them with the most fantastical thing he had ever seen. His eyes flew open, and his mouth went agape so he could let out a shaky breath. “What the hell is going on?”

Swathes of people dressed in cultural adornments and even objects were out and about, talking to each other in languages he couldn’t even begin to decipher. Inuits, African tribesmen, and Edwardian socialites walked along the halls like time had just shattered upon itself. Marble sculptures, copper statues, and other pieces of art were moving about like they weren’t made of some kind of rock. There was even a Terracotta soldier, who was accompanied by a Chinese dragon made entirely out of green jade. Elephants, rhinos, and giraffes passed by in a strangely calm fashion like this wasn’t their first rodeo in the museum. Everyone did, except for him. 

“No way.” He whispered, glancing left to right as he picked up a jog. If he wasn’t wrong, everything in the museum had come to life. Was he dreaming? He had to be. In his dazed stupor, he ran into a medieval knight. There was a loud clank, and he would’ve winced from how much it hurt if it weren’t for being spoken to. 

“Excuse me. Watch where you’re going!” 

“Sorry!” He blurted. “I’m so sorry.”

”That’s alright! But you look a bit pale there, kid. What seems to be the problem?” The knight questioned, still wearing his helmet and hiding his face. Aside from his silver armor, he wore pure white garments with a blood red cross — the signature outfit of a crusader knight.

“Oh, um, where do I start?” Alfred panted, speaking in a frazzled manner. Funnily enough, this was the straightest he’d been thinking now that someone was talking to him. “Oh, I know! How the hell is everyone and everything in this museum alive right now?”

“I’d normally have a better answer, but I’ve never read anything like this in the Bible,” The other scratched their head through their helmet inquisitively. “Maybe I missed a chapter. But honestly, I’m just as lost as you are.”

“I’m sorry, what?” 

“The Bible. The word of God. Haven’t you heard of it?”

”I know what the Bible is!” Alfred raised his voice into a frustrated hiss, but he instantly felt bad for it. “Sorry. I’m talking to a monk, here. I should be more respectful. But never mind that. I’m looking for my friend. I’m worried something happened to her.”

”I could help you look for her!” 

“That would be great, thank you.” 

”I’m Gilbert. Proud Templar Knight and brother from the Temple of Solomon.” They took off their helmet and held it against their hip, revealing a head of white hair and ruby-red eyes. Then, they outstretched a gloved hand for him with a toothy grin. “Pleasure to meet you.” 

“Nice to meet you too. I’m Alfred, uh, son of Arthur, and student hailing from New York,” Alfred improvised awkwardly, giving it a slow, disoriented shake. “Wow. I can’t believe I’m talking to a Crusader knight right now.”

“So where did you last see your friend?” Gilbert asked.

Mathias carried you all the way to the other side of the museum, and you thrashed the whole time, begging him to let you go. When he finally put you down, he kept a firm grip on your hand. You were greeted by other Vikings, and just when you thought you’d be sacrificed like a goat, they broke out in wide smiles.

Besides them speaking in old Norse to you, which you had no way of comprehending, they were more than pleasant to you, even offering you some plastic food, which you politely declined. From the way they acted around you, it was like being with an old friend.

It became clear that they had no intention of harming you, but why they brought you here was still a mystery.

”I’m sorry, but I don’t understand what you guys are saying,” You interrupted meekly, darting your nervous eyes between them. They stared at you with blank faces before exchanging confused looks with each other. “Could you please let me go? I don’t want any trouble.”

“Where did you run off to? I haven’t seen you all week. I was worried something happened to you,” Mathias spun you to him, hugging you tightly before putting his hands all over you. “You’re speaking in tongues and acting very strange! We need to get you a doctor.”

”I didn’t understand that either.” You sighed.

”It’s worse than I thought. Somebody get Olaf,” The Dane ordered, summoning another Viking to come over. They took your arm and led you off, much to your dismay. “Look after her for me, friend. In the meantime, I have a man to hunt. He’s the one responsible for this.”

”Hey, wait! Where are you taking me?” You exclaimed, glancing back at Mathias as he left. In that precise moment, your best friend’s words replayed in your mind like a tape. You looked just like his wife, and so much that it had the actual guy fooled. “Oh no. Alfred!” 

It didn’t take a linguist to know that he was in trouble, but there was nothing you could do. Your companions kept you inside their make-shift hut, treating you as one of their own. They laid you down and spoke to you very slowly, so they must’ve thought you had a concussion. Either way, they weren’t letting you out of their sight.

You just hoped Alfred brushed up on his history, because he’d be needing it tonight.

”Where the hell could she be?” Alfred walked with his newest companion. “We checked everywhere!” 

”Actually, we still haven’t checked Northern Europe.” Gilbert corrected, getting the blonde to turn in the direction of said location. But he launched a hand out and grabbed him, pulling him back. “Don’t. It’s suicide.”

”Why?” He frowned.

”It’s occupied by Norse Pagans.” The albino warned, pulling him close for a tantalizing whisper. He glanced around before he continued, almost as if speaking of them would summon them like the devil himself.

”Norse Pagans? You mean Vikings?”

“They came here last week, and it’s been Hell ever since.” Gilbert took his collar as he whispered in a panicked hush. “We sent a missionary up there once, and he came back to us completely dismembered!”

“Oh, fuck.” Alfred dug his hands through his hair, now a nervous wreck as he envisioned the thought. But what made his stomach really churn was the unshakeable thought that it was probably where you were.

For that, he was surprised he hadn’t vomited already. And he almost did when Gilbert went off on a passionate spiel of the Scandinavian heathens and everything they’d done. That was when one appeared at the end of the hall, and it wasn’t just any Scandinavian heathen.

”I mean, he’s okay now, but it was really disturbing.” The other made a face of unease as he recalled the sight. It wasn’t something a person was meant to see in their lifetime, but at least he was in a more dubious position now. “I don’t think they care for God.”

“Dude.”

”What?”

”That’s the Viking I saw earlier today.” Alfred whispered, locking eyes with Mathias who stood no more than three hundred feet away from him. In the next three seconds, the Dane broke into a sprint, charging at him at a terrifying speed like a mad bull. He let out a wheeze, likely the sound of his soul escaping his body. “Aaaand he’s running at us. Well, this has been a good life.”

”God hasn’t forsaken us yet!” Gilbert unsheathed a gleaming longsword, swinging it in impressive circles.  

Mathias launched an axe at him, and it spun through the air so fast, it passed as nothing but a white flash.

It cut Gilbert’s head clean off, getting it to land on the ground with a thump. There was no blood or flesh, just a cross-section of wax where he was decapitated. While he had his face planted on the floor, he said this in a muffled voice. “So that’s what that feels like.” 

But Alfred had already fled by then.

He never stuck around to see his friend lose his dignity, much less his own. He whimpered a little as he pumped his legs as fast as he could. He was running on so much adrenaline, his bloodstream may as well have been battery acid. But not everybody could outrun a Viking, and he would’ve eaten it if it weren’t for the arm that shot out from the side, pulling him into a room.

When he turned to the stranger who’d saved him, he recognized him to be the native Algonquin warrior he’d seen earlier that day. Only this time, he was perfectly canny and had an unrivaled sharpness that would end up ensuring his survival. While Mathias ran by outside with his pelts and armor clinking away, Allen put a finger up to his mouth to get him to stay deathly still.

But above all else, quiet.

There they crouched, hidden from plain sight like the watchful forces of nature. In the most tense ten seconds of their lives, they stared at each other, cerulean and scarlet eyes as wide as they could get them. For a moment, Alfred forgot he was being chased, deeply enchanted by the person in front of him. He was quite literally gazing back into history, a thousand years into the past to be precise. But once the coast was clear, he went back to hyperventilating. He was still in shock from everything that just happened, and the first thing he let out was an excited, albeit exasperated gasp. 

“Oh my God. You just saved my life. Thank you!” 

”Don’t mention it.” Allen took his bow off so he could arm himself with it. Then, he peered outside the door, making sure there weren’t any Vikings in the area. Turning back to the blonde, he pulled an arrow from his quiver without breaking eye contact. “I’ve been tracking that guy for days, and this is the craziest I’ve ever seen him. You have any idea why he would be after you?”

“How should I know? I don’t know the guy personally!” Alfred exclaimed, following him out into the hall. 

“You must’ve done something to piss him off.”

”But I didn’t do anything!” 

“Then he wouldn’t waste his time chasing you when he’d rather search for his girlfriend.” Allen remarked. “One of my pals can speak his language, and he says he’s been looking for her ever since he got here.”

“Fuck, that’s it. Why didn’t I think of it before?”

They ran to the elevator, to which he pressed the button for the basement. It had always been on the tip of his tongue, but the whirlwind of a night left his head more scrambled than he thought. And now that he had it all pieced together, he came up with a plan to save you.

“I came here with my friend, and she looks exactly like his wife. He must’ve seen us together. But it’s okay, I have an idea. They must have extra wax figures in storage, right? If she’s as important as they say, they must have her tucked away down here somewhere.”

“Okay, so we do a trade-off.”

”Exactly.”

”Smart.” Allen pursed his lips, thoroughly impressed.

The doors slid open and thus, they began their search, sweeping the entire basement for the reason why the museum had turned into a war zone. After an hour or so, Alfred heard someone banging away and calling for help from inside a tall wooden crate. A woman, and she sounded just like you. He and Allen walked up to it, then cracked it open like a treasure chest. Lo and behold, it was your doppelgänger, but dressed in the height of fashion from what was a thousand years ago.

“I think we found our girl.” He murmured in awe.

The three of you got back to the elevator. It was a given that the you from the Viking age was a little hesitant to get into such a tight box, but Allen had a way with body language. He made a few gestures to let you know where he was taking you. What more was that these two men had just broken you out of an even tighter box, so you had no reason not to trust them. 

“You know, I meant to ask, but doesn’t it bother you that there is a living, breathing, homicidal axe-wielding maniac running around the museum every night?” Alfred asked, feeling strangely calm now that he sensed that the night’s excitement was coming to an end. 

“We’re not alive the way you’re alive,” Allen told him. That was right. As magical as it was to have the museum come to life, it wasn’t real. History had done its course. He spoke with power and humility as he confronted that fact, and for that, he seemed to be at peace. “We’ve had our shot. But you still have yours.”

“I have the craziest chills right now.”

”But also because we’re made of wax.”

“Okay, that makes more sense.” Alfred laughed a little, turning to him. ”So how come you speak English?”

”I’ve been on display here for years,” Allen grinned, walking out now that the elevator doors opened. They returned to the bustling halls of the Museum of Natural History, where history had really come to life that night. “New York is my home. Always has been.”

”Explains the accent.” 

It didn’t take long to track down Mathias again, and when he finally laid eyes on the one he’d been searching for, he turned into an entirely different person. His anger, terror, and everything that made him a legend, had all but melted into a deep emotional coherence.

He was nothing but a man now. A man with his own joys and sorrows like everybody else.

He dropped his ax and ran up to his long-lost love, picking her up and embracing her after what felt like an eternity. He finally found her again after a thousand years, and the scene was quite profound to behold.

But if you asked Alfred, it wasn’t as touching as his reunion with you. He found you in the hall of Northern Europe, holed up in a tent and rubbing your eyes. They were red from crying, and the way you looked at him was something he’d burn in his mind forever. And the way you hugged him, a feeling he’d never get tired of.

”I knew you’d come.” You squeezed him.

“Of course I came,” He squeezed you back, burying his face into the crooked of your neck. “But maybe it’s time that I switch out my glasses for some contact lenses. Don’t wanna keep losing them like I did tonight.”

“No way!” You gushed. “I like the way you look now.”

”Yeah?” He smiled rosily. From that outburst alone, he knew you’d forgiven him for everything that happened. But from the sound of things, you had a much easier time than he did. On the way home, he enthused you on the people he met and his close brushes with death. 

“You ever hear of a term called solipsism?” You asked. 

“Doesn’t ring a bell.” He shook his head.

“It’s the concept that everything around you doesn’t exist and is made up by your own mind,” You explained, stopping him in the middle of the street. It was dawn by then, and the rising sun cast a golden glow over your tender smile. “But if everything around me is just my imagination, you’re the best thing I’ve come up with.”

His eyes went wide, shocked by how sweet you just were. Just like that, everything he ever pined away for didn’t matter anymore. He was worth more to you than an adventure of a lifetime because he was that adventure. But at the same time, Alfred fell even harder for you, and it showed in the way his gaze softened. 

”Right back at you, sport.” 

[coffeeghoulie]

“Wanna practice?/You’ll have to teach me” with Swiss/Aeon. Particularly Aeon being a bit more eager than Swiss realized for the kiss prompts

i giggled when i got this prompt because it's so damn cute. god they're so good.

prompts from this list

divider by @ghuleh-recs <3

Swiss listens to the junebugs sing, eyes fluttering shut as he bites down into a blackberry. The dock is sunwarm under him, his feet trailing through the much cooler water, pant legs rolled up so they don't get wet. All and all, one of his favorite ways to spend a summer day with no responsibilities.

But what makes it better than normal is Aeon tucked against his side, lilac fingertips stained darker with juice as they grab a few berries from the bowl in his lap. The two of them had wandered through the forest surrounding the Abbey for the last hour, gathering enough fruit for an afternoon snack. And when the sun had gotten too hot, sweat soaking through their shirts, they'd retreated to the lake hidden in the middle of the woods to feast on their bounty.

Aeon's foot splashes through the water a little louder than they intended, legs dangling off the dock. Their boots and socks rest together in a pile on the shore. "You were right," they mumble through a mouthful of fruit. "This is so good."

Swiss grins, turning to glance at them. Their lips are stained ruddy violet, and his probably aren't faring any better. He ruffles their hair, and Aeon leans a little further into him. "Told you so."

They huff, rolling their eyes as they glance up to him, swallowing with a gulp. Swiss chuffs, grinning even wider as their mismatched eyes drop from his gaze to his mouth. "Oh, buggy," he teases, arm slung around their shoulders. "I know what you want."

Aeon's tail pats against the dock with a nervous rhythm. A blush spills over their cheeks, the exact same color the berry juice has stained their fingers and lips. "You're so good at kissing, and I'm. I'm not so much. I want to learn. I wanna kiss, well, the others, but I don't know really what I'm doing," they ramble. "I mean, I wanna kiss you too, you were my first and you're really good and I want to be good."

Swiss arches an eyebrow. Remembers the hotel the night after they'd given him their first kiss. The way they'd curled up together in a queen bed and done nothing but kiss until they'd both fallen asleep. He remembers the way they'd begged him to do it in Los Angeles. Waited for them to be confident enough to initiate themself.

But he's in love with Aeon, hasn't been able to leave their side since the end of tour. He grins, kind and easy. "Well, I see one way to make sure that happens," he says, slowly, like he's pondering it. Aeon perks up. "You wanna practice?"

They grin, even as that berry colored blush spreads on their cheeks, making the scar running over their eye stand out. "I mean, yeah," they say, crooked fangs on full display with the size of their smile. "You'll have to teach me. You're very good."

Swiss puts a hand over his chest, his tail curling around their waist teasingly. "Oh, of course I'll teach you, buggy. Gimme a kiss so I can see where I can help you improve."

The next thing Swiss knows is his breath leaving his lungs as his back collides with the dock. Aeon's, lightning fast, straddled his lap and surged up to kiss him. The force of it, the surprise, had let them shove him back with momentum. He only just manages to set the bowl of blackberries onto the dock next to him before they're strewn out with the sheer force of Aeon launching themself at him.

Swiss's eyes go wide as their mouths collide. His hands curl in the back of their shirt, their own cupping the sides of his face. He groans as the shock leaves him. He kisses back, letting them lead.

For all their apprehension about their skill, Aeon's a surprisingly good kisser. They shift over him, settling a little more comfortably above his hips.

When they pull back to breath, white and violet eyes wide, Swiss laughs breathlessly. Their face falls, and Swiss slides his hand up their spine to tangle in their dark hair. "Not laughing at you, bug," he says, petting through their hair as his chest heaves. "You just taste like blackberries."

They huff a little laugh, still straddling his hips. The sun haloes them. Strange, that a demon like the two of them could look angelic, but here Aeon goes proving the impossible once again.

They stare at each other for a beat, two, before Aeon shakes their head. "So, where can I improve?"

The corner of Swiss's mouth quirks up, pink tongue darting out over his bottom lip. He's not sure where the taste of the blackberries they'd been eating starts and where Aeon's natural taste begins. And honestly? Swiss doesn't want to find that line.

"Well, bug, you're very eager," Swiss says. "Not a bad thing!" he's quick to assure, smoothing a hand up their bicep as their gaze drops. "I thoroughly enjoyed that. It's very, sweep you off your feet."

Aeon laughs, pushing up against Swiss's chest and holding themself above him. "I'm looking for areas of improvement, there has to be somewhere to get better."

Swiss hems and haws until Aeon's cheeks dimple with the force of their smile. He reaches up and tucks a strand of white hair off of their forehead. "I think you need a little more practice with kissing slow."

Aeon raises an eyebrow. "Yeah?" Swiss grants himself one more moment to stare at them above him. "Are you going to teach me?"

Swiss doesn't respond. Instead, his hands find their waist with a playful growl rumbling in his chest. Their eyes go wide a split second before he's rolling them over until he's on top of them. He smooths his thumb over their cheek, delighting in the little chuff it draws from them.

"Of course I'm gonna teach you, buggy," he coos, slowly lowering himself until the tips of their noses touch. Aeon's eyes flutter, struggling to stay open. "What kind of help would I be if I didn't?"

[ghoulelegy]

Welcome friend!

Masterlist

Welcome to my corner of inspiration and imagination! Here, words dance and stories unfold in a symphony of creativity. I'm thrilled to share my musings, from whimsical tales to introspective journeys.

My name is Mephistopheles (Mephis for short) and I am delighted to introduce you to my writing blog. Make yourself comfortable!

He/They/It pronouns :)

Not chill with racism, homophobia, transphobia, ableism, antisemitism etc (you get the idea by now. Tl;Dr don't be a dick)

Feel free to ask me anything any time (just don't be a creep please!) I have a special interest in Ghost and writing so feel free to shoot me a request any time! I may write some NSFW stuff so viewer discretion is advised.

My art commissions are open!

I am currently accepting custom fic requests!

✅Fluff

✅ NSFW themes

✅ Angst

✅ Comfort

❌ Dubcon, Noncon, Incest, anything I'm. uncomfortable with

My mainblog -> @rainycavedew

My SFW Agere blog -> @littlerainyghoul (For all ages)

(I may reblog or write certain heavy themes / NSFW so please be careful. Prioritise your mental health)

Free palestine 🇵🇸🇵🇸

[ghostchems]

hello my darling. i see your requests are back open… 👀 i've got a prompt for you if you so wish to write it… reader has been dead for decades, aimlessly wandering the halls of the ministry where no one has ever seen her, heard her or even felt her… until one day, she's walking (or y'know… floating…) through the halls and someone is walking towards her. He stops in his tracks and stares straight ahead. Then she realises…

he's staring at her… Choose a papa, any papa! Whoever you would like to write, if you choose to write it! 😘

a/n: almost 1k words of some sweetness. after reading the prompt i KNEW i had to pick Cardinal Copia 🥹 bee. thank you SO much for sending this in. hit me right in the dang feels

Loneliness has driven you to the busy corridors of the Abbey. Despite the clergy members quite literally seeing right through you, their presence around you is enough to alleviate the void inside you. You’ve had to make do over the decades but even after all of the disappointment there is still an unwavering flicker of hope that you’ll make some sort of contact. Who knew it would be impossible for a ghost to be noticed in a Satanic Ministry? Many attempts have been made, ranging from morose to macabre (floating candles vs. severed limbs) but to no avail. Perhaps there’s something wrong with you. Is your spirit not dark enough to be seen? You remember how you died and decide that can’t be the case.

You gave everything for The Olde One. The Ministry was a very different place back then.

You’re lost in the endless abyss of your thoughts until there’s a shift in energy around you. Something new. Someone new. The wisps of your ghostly train curl towards the ceiling behind you and gust of warm air blows your hair out of your face.

Oooh. A Cardinal. It’s been ages since there’s been one here, the last one being in 19—

Is he looking at you?

There’s no way but… his gaze is fixated on the space you occupy, eyes wide. He bears the Mark of The Olde One — just like the Papas, but even with the Eye no one has ever seen you. He picks up his pace, walking to you with such purpose. You feel an excitement you haven’t felt since you were alive but it’s quickly replaced with crippling anxiety. In a fit of panic you poof out of the corridor and reappear deep into the underground archives, far far away from any person. But the new Cardinal saw you. He really did. After vying for this for so long… you aren’t ready for it.

***

You’ve meandered further into more densely populated areas of the Abbey over the last two weeks after taking some time for yourself to come to grips with the fact that he saw you. Problem is now the Cardinal is nowhere to be found. The longer the week stretched the more you began to believe it was over — he must have only been visiting for the day and thus your chance at talking to someone other than yourself for the first time in 55 years has slipped through your fingers. But that same hope you’ve clung to keeps you pacing and wandering day after day, hoping to catch of glimpse of his black cassock.

One late night you find yourself perusing the library, hovering around the new releases aisle (you like to see how ridiculous the names of romance novels have gotten). The further you get down the aisle the thicker the air becomes around you, the familiar buzzing in your ear from the first time you saw him. There’s a dim light coming from one of the nooks. You steel yourself, you’re going to make yourself known like you planned. Glowing brighter than you ever have before, you float toward the light. How can a ghost have anxiety? You’d think all of those feelings would be gone but somehow you feel like you’d throw up if that were even possible. You reach the outside of the nook and suck in a sharp breath before peering around the corner.

His duochromatic eyes are on you instantly.

“Per favore — please, do not run away again.” He sounds quiet, sleepy but polite and he extends a hand out to you. “I was worried I would not see you.” You blink at him as you reveal yourself fully to him, his gaze taking you in.

“You… you really see me?” Your voice cracks, your ghost trail wiggling with how charged you are emotionally.

“Yes. I do.” The Cardinal stands, his hand still out to you. “I, ehh… I’m the new Cardinal, Cardinal Copia. What is your name?”

My name?

“You’re… you’re the only person who’s ever seen me.” Not an answer to his question at all but your brain is broken. All that time you spent hoping for this…

“Oh. Oh, poverino.” His fingertips graze your hand and you jump — he could feel you too? “Ah! I am sorry! Ehhh… what can I do? How can I help you?” Copia shuffles on his feet anxiously, making sure to keep a safe distance so that he doesn’t startle you again. Your guise is crackling, vibrating with energy, more than you’ve ever felt before. He seems… delighted by your prescience and it makes you feel warm.

“H-how? Cardinal, how?” You push in closer to him, wisps brushing against his cassock.

“Non lo so. I’ve… I’ve just always been able to.” He gives you a sad smile. “I eh… had some weird “imaginary friends” growing up. But please, you must… you must have a lot to say after spending so long only listening.” Copia may have the gentlest voice you’ve ever heard. You want to hug him especially since something about this feels deeply personal to him…but you compose yourself and instead take him by the hand as you sit on the corner of his desk.

“What do I even say now?” You laugh to yourself. “I’ve been so worried about ever being heard that I haven’t thought about what to say. What do you… want to know, Cardinal?” Even now you’re feeling shy.

He gingerly rests his hand on top of yours, a warmth spreading through you that you’ve never experienced before.

“I’ve wanted to get to know you since I saw you, fantasmina. Please, tell me about you.” Copia squeezes your hand with a kind smile. Speechless. You take a deep breath and nod.

You’ll tell him.

You’ll tell him everything.