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toshidou · 1 year

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lighthouse for a lost comrade . . .

Pairing // Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Word count // 4.9k

Tags // 18+ ONLY, AFAB reader, soft simon riley, written from simon's perspective, mild descriptions of injury and blood, hurt and comfort, aka simon finally allows himself to be looked after <3, he is a big boy with a heart that yearns to be loved you cannot convince me otherwise, the softest of smut, praise, you accidentally give ghost a 'sir' kink, reader calls ghost sir a couple of times because they're hot like that, unprotected sex (tut tut), creampie, a whole lot of swearing

AN // i love this man a ridiculous amount, so me writing nearly 5k about how much i love him was inevitable

AO3 link here

Simon Riley is not a man who cares about his own health. In fact, his wellbeing never has, and never will be a priority to him. He has work to do, gruelling, gritty, gruesome work, it is beyond pointless wasting time even thinking about when he last had more than 3 hours sleep, or how long it’s been since he consumed anything other than cold military rations. In his defence, he’s never really had a reason to give a shit, he sees the hourglass whenever he allows himself to close his eyes; watches the sand slip rapidly through the cracks, counting down until his inevitable, most likely painful death. He’s living life on a timer, and he’s never had a reason to change that.

Until he met you.

You were a wide-eyed rookie, Laswell bringing you into the fold as a technician, a skilled hacker and mechanic who despite your innocent doe eyes, held lethal talents. He remembers so vividly, the way your head had cocked to the side as Laswell introduced you to the peculiar members of task force 141, remembers the way your eyes stopped on him. You showed not a single ounce of fear or hesitance, just pure unbridled curiosity. That same curiosity led you to asking him far too many questions, relentlessly prying to see more of the man behind the mask, to see Simon Riley, rather than ‘Ghost’. It should have pissed him off, he should have reprimanded you for your callousness towards your Lieutenant, but somehow you knew exactly which questions to ask, knew exactly when to stop and move on to other subjects.

Contrary to popular belief, Simon doesn’t hide his past, doesn’t try to use it to fuel the mysterious and mythical reputation he’s unwittingly built. It’s just that no one ever asks. Maybe it’s something about the skull mask, or the egregiously high kill count he sits so casually on top of that has people wary of ever approaching him. But you—you had no hesitation. You read him like a goddamn book every single time, and it simultaneously terrified and relieved him.

One glance and every secret he shoved behind his balaclava is left bare before you, leaving him with a vulnerable, gaping wound in the shape of a lifetime of trauma and tales that Simon knows no person should ever have to experience. And yet, your eyes hold not an ounce of pity, no awkward silences attempting to be alleviated with an awkward pat on the back and a “that sounds rough, buddy”. You see his past, his pain, his suffering, his bad habits, without him ever having to explicitly say anything. And in return, you say nothing. You don’t try and mollify him about circumstances he’s moved on from long ago, you make no effort to coddle him, to sit him down and patronisingly ask him if he’s doing well, or when the last time he slept was.

Instead, you leave him cutely packaged leftovers on his doorstep, easy meals he can throw in the microwave when he’s too tired to even comprehend making food. You buy him a multitude of jigsaws and puzzles for when sleep evades him as it so often does. You never once try to change him, never force yourself into his life just so you can claim that you’re some selfless martyr. To Simon Riley, you are nothing short of a blessing, and falling in love with you was quite frankly the easiest thing he’s ever done.

He takes off the mask for the first time when neither of you were prepared, nor expecting it. The mission had been so fucking rough, camped out in the middle of nowhere on the hunt for someone he was sure had long since gone. Weeks spent trudging through thick mud, swimming upriver, tracking footprints that led nowhere, steered them to no one. His bone-deep exhaustion finally caught up with him after being shot in the leg and falling nearly 75 metres off of a cliff, plunging into the water below. Price had insisted he go straight to the medic tent back at basecamp, but then simply sighed and shook his head, resigned, as he watched Simon limp off the chopper, and in the exact opposite direction.

To most, this would be the latest example of Simon Riley once again disregarding his health for the sake of keeping up the stoic, strong mask he never let slip. Yet this time, Simon Riley was not disregarding his health, he was, for maybe the first time, trying to preserve what little of it he had left. His leg was near numb by the time he made it to your tent, his foggy mind quickly soothed by the sound of you humming along to the radio, accompanied by the rapid clicking of keys as you worked on some coding. It takes him hissing in discomfort as he attempts to remove his military boots for you to turn around, eyes going impossibly wide as you watch an alarmingly large pool of red grow at his feet.

“Jesus Christ Ghost, are you trying to redecorate my floor?” He kept his mouth shut, using the last dregs of his energy to keep his gaze pinned on you, dark brown irises following your every move as you usher him into the chair you occupied merely seconds before, gingerly hovering your hands over the drenched material that clings to his thigh, soaked in blood and water.

“I’m going to cut the material above the wound, okay? I need to see what I’m working with here.” Your eyes connect with his unwavering gaze, translating his silence into a language that has taken you an eerily short period of time to become fluent in. He watches you nod to yourself, can pinpoint the cogs turning in your mind, can practically see you write the list of how best to deal with this situation as you unpack your first aid kit. Somehow, despite his leg stinging like a bitch, despite how utterly worn he feels, so raw and rough around the edges, he feels at peace.

Price may think he was a stupid bastard for not seeing one of their trained medics, but Simon knows without a doubt that you will always be the best thing for him, you will always be the first port of call, the lighthouse that guides him oh so safely to shore, to home. Even when your stitches are a little uneven, even when you dab a little too much alcohol disinfectant onto his wound, even when you wince every time the muscle in his leg twitches involuntarily, he watches you pour every ounce of care and tenderness into every touch, watches you take care of him in a way no one else ever could, not that he’d let them.

You’re finishing off wrapping up the wound on his thigh when Simon realises he doesn’t want this moment to be over. He selfishly craves more of your delicate, gentle care, unsure if he could ever have this again after tonight, if he deserved it.

So, he waits. He waits for you to lean back on your haunches, bending back to check your handiwork with a satisfied smile tugging at your pretty lips. He waits for your eyes to drift to his, as they so often do, and then he speaks.

“I uh, I got hurt here too,” The words grate against his throat like sandpaper, rough and unsure as he lifts his hand to prod at his cheek, “think I hit a rock in the water after falling.” You stand immediately, eyebrows furrowed together as your fingers gently brush the small rip in his mask.

“I can’t see much with this in the way, Ghost, though I think you’ll live.”

Simon couldn't pinpoint exactly what had his fingers hooking under his mask, couldn’t single it down to any particular moment or word that had him pulling the black material over his chin, and up past his nose, he just knew it felt right. All he focused on was the way your lips fell agape, how your hands lifted automatically towards his wrists, whether to stop them or encourage them further he didn’t know, but he sure as fuck clocked the slight tilt to your head, taking him immediately back to when you first laid eyes on him.

You were looking at Simon in a way he can’t say he’s ever experienced. Like a complicated mixture of guilt and awe. But he feels no fear, no regret as he throws the skull balaclava unceremoniously onto the floor, and directly into the pool of blood he’d left by the door.

“Should be a little easier to see now, don’t you think?”

All he gets in return is a small huff of a laugh, the ghost of your breath fanning across his exposed face, he swears he’s never felt anything as sweet. That is until your hand comes to cup his face, shudders erupting down his spine when the pads of your impossibly soft fingers brush just under the superficial cut on his cheek.

“I don’t know Si, I think we might have to amputate.” You murmur, an overly dramatic lilt to your voice as you pretend to further examine the ‘wound’. And Jesus fucking Christ, if he isn’t so impossibly, incredibly fond of you.

“That bad, huh doc?” He leans forward, just enough to catch the way your pupils dilate, the slight hitch to your usually even breath, “Are you sure there’s nothing you can do to save it? I’m particularly fond of that cheek.” He drinks in the soft hum you give in response, watches you with rapt attention as you lean further forward, and nearly passes the fuck out when you press your lips to his upper cheekbone, because what the fuck.

Before this, Simon Riley could say with absolute certainty that he’d never once blushed in his life, but now? He could feel the blood rushing to his face, knowing without a doubt that you could feel the heat radiating from where your fingers and lips remain connected to his skin. His wide eyes, blackened around the sockets from a mixture of paint and week-long exhaustion, remain firmly fixed on you, hardly hesitating before he secures your hand against his face the second he feels you pulling away.

There are no words exchanged, nothing but shallow breaths and searching eyes before Simon allows himself to be selfish just this once and pulls you onto his uninjured thigh, guiding you to sit with his other hand, fingers digging ever so slightly into the meat of your hip. And now he has you here, right where he’s always wanted you, there’s not a chance in hell he’s ever letting you go.

“Please kiss me, Simon.”

As if he could ever say no to you.

“Since you asked so nicely.”

He removes his hand from your wrist, dragging his scarred knuckles as delicately as he possibly can across your cheek, fanning out his fingers around the side of your face, using the leverage to guide you impossibly closer. He allows himself one last look, tracing his gaze from your lidded eyes to your lips before he lets his eyelids fall shut, and loses himself in you. Loses every ounce of tension and exhaustion under the ministrations of your fingers as they tangle into his hair, and finally, fucking finally, he feels his once cold, dead heart thrum to life as you sigh contentedly against his lips. Kiss of life in-fucking-deed.

He's lost in every inch of you, can’t get over how soft and warm the plush of your waist is under his fingers, how responsive you are when he slides his hand ever so slightly under your oversized t-shirt. He wants more, he needs more, can’t help himself as he moves his kisses from your lips, down your jaw, until he reaches the base of your throat, sucking deep purple bruises into your supple skin.

“You taste like heaven,” He’s all too aware of how raspy his voice has become, desire only deepening his tone further as he drags his lips back up the expanse of your throat, a deep groan pulled from his throat when he feels you shift on his lap, highlighting the growing pressure of his cock straining against his pants. “Driving me fuckin’ wild already. Look what you’ve done to me, gorgeous.” His fingers come to curl under your jaw, directing your gaze down to the prominent tenting of his trousers, ensuring his eyes don’t dare drift away from your face as he watches you take in the view before you.

“Mine.”

The noise Simon makes in response is nothing short of primal, it wasn’t a sound he was even aware he could make, near guttural, but of course you would be the one to pull it out of him.

“That’s right baby, all yours, fucking hell,” he’s powerless to stop his eyes squeezing shut when he feels your fingers curl around his clothed cock, mustering every ounce of strength he has left not to cum in his pants there and then, because he’ll be fucking damned if he lets anything get in the way of giving you the pleasure you deserve.

“Come on Si, look at me.” He takes a deep, shuddering breath before he finally opens his eyes again, instantly zeroing in on your fingers as they begin to unfasten his pants, before flicking back up to meet your gaze, “Is this okay?”, your voice tentative.

“More than okay, Jesus,” Simon wastes little time after that, hands sliding under your shirt and shifting further up your torso, muscles freezing when his hand contacts nothing but bare skin, grazing the flesh of your breasts.

“No bra? Lucky me.” You laugh, arching your back further into his touch.

“More like lucky me, those things are basically torture devices, Simon, I’d like to see you try and work with metal wire and straps digging into your boobs and back,” He grins, pinching one of your nipples between two of his calloused fingers and revelling in the way your smirk twists into a moan, hips twitching against the rough material of his cargo pants.

“I think it’s about time you took these off,” He mutters, one hand dropping to thumb under the waistband of your sweatpants, “Can’t tell you the number of times I’ve thought about how pretty you’d look getting yourself off on my lap.” Apparently, Simon doesn’t need to say anymore, watching with intense eyes as you pull away from his grip, and begin undressing. Your top joins his mask on the floor, soon followed by your pants and underwear until you’re stood in all your naked glory, mere inches away from him. Simon must be the luckiest son of a bitch on this entire fucking planet.

He takes advantage of your absence by lifting his hips, cocking an eyebrow at you as he gestures towards his trousers, “Give an injured soldier a hand, would you doll?” Truthfully, Simon knows he would have no issues removing them himself, but why would he do that when he can have this instead? When he can have your body pressed in between his thighs, your deft hands undoing his buttons and sliding the material of his military pants slowly over his wrapped-up leg, when he can watch your eyes drink in every inch of new skin revealed with barely contained desire. No, he would much rather have this, especially when your dainty hands peel away his boxers, leaving him only in his top and vest plate.

“Simon…” You whine, your lips so perfectly pouted, a cute little furrow between your brows as you pull and tug at various parts of his vest, “help me take this shit off. It’s not fair that I’m the only one naked here.” He hums, schools his face to show careful contemplation, reaching up a hand to rest on your bare upper thigh.

“What’s the magic word, sweetheart?”

“Please, sir.”

Well fuck. That awakened something within him.

With military precision, he unsecured the armoured vest from his body, wasting no time in pulling his shirt over his head, joining the now large pile of clothes left scattered across the floor of your tent. For a brief second, Simon feels so incredibly vulnerable under your intense gaze, wondering if maybe this is how people feel when he fixes his stare upon them, bare and defenceless. But then you lower yourself back into his lap, settling across both his legs with such gentle care, wrapping both your arms around the back of his head and pinning him with a look he thinks most likely reflects his own.

“You’re so beautiful, Simon,” It’s almost too much, the sincerity in your voice mixed with the way the words were uttered so softly into the air, as though they were a secret only to be shared between the two of you.

“I’m nothing compared to you.” You shake your head, smiling, leaning forward until your nose brushes his.

“Just take the compliment, Lieutenant.” He tries his best not to shiver as he feels your hand trace down his spine, instead shifts his focus onto how close your lips are to his, or the quiet noise you make in the back of your throat as his hands come to grip the meat of your thighs.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Something in the air changes, as though the collective patience between the two of you could stretch no further, so taut it had no choice but to snap. His lips crash into yours, desperation surging through Simon’s veins like wildfire. Fuck, what are you doing to him?

“Can I touch you?” he mumbles against your lips, large hands aching from where they rest, yearning the feeling of your wet heat against his fingertips.

“God, yes, please.”

With newfound strength, he lifts you from his lap and twists you until your back is flush to his chest, uncaring of the twinge of pain he feels from his leg as he settles you fully on his lap. Now, Simon has full access to every inch of your perfect body, nuzzling his face into the side of your neck as he litters the skin with open mouthed kisses, humming contentedly at the way you arch into his hands as he cups your breasts with both hands, fingers toying with your nipples until they’re perked and firm under his touch.

“No teasing, please,” Your pleading breaks him from a momentary stupor, bringing his head up to watch as you place one of your hands over his, guiding it further down, sweeping over your sternum, past your belly button, until his palm rests over your cunt, “I need you here, Simon.��

Fucking hell.

He couldn't find the words, couldn’t articulate them even if he had any. So, instead of speaking, he presses his hand over the curve of your cunt, groans when he feels just how hot and wet you are, all for him.

“Mine.” He repeats your words from earlier into the shell of your ear, a smirk stretching onto his lips at the full body shiver you give in response, growing near predatory when he feels your pussy twitch under his hand. God, how the fuck are you so wet? His fingers glide over your folds with ease, teasing your clit on every upwards swipe of his fingers, and when he finally dips his index finger into your cunt, he’s rewarded with the sweetest symphony. Breathy whines and whispered pleas of “more”, “deeper, Simon, please”, every request he happily indulges, now curling two fingers against your velvet walls, searching for the spot he knows will have you keening against his body. It takes a shift of his palm, the angle changing just enough to have you choking on a gasp, his other hand remains fixed to your breasts, pushing your chest down until you’re pinned against his body.

“Atta girl, feels good huh?” He slips a third digit in, cursing under his breath as he feels your pussy clamp down, twitching helplessly around his fingers as they continue to stroke relentlessly at your g-spot, “Gonna need you to cum at least once on my fingers before I give you anything else, baby.” He dares to steal a glance at your face, and is met with closed eyes, your mouth agape, and head thrown back onto his shoulder, you’re nothing short of a masterpiece. Your hands desperately grip onto his arms, nails digging sweet red crescents into Simon’s inked skin, as though the hold you have on him is the only thing keeping you grounded, and he feels positively fucking drunk on it.

You’re close, that much he can tell, and as much as he could absolutely keep you like this on his lap for another good few hours, he takes pity on your furrowed eyebrows and soft whimpers, removing his hand from your chest and placing his thumb into your open mouth. He doesn’t even need to instruct you as you close your lips around his digit and suck, your tongue eagerly lapping at the rough pad of his finger. He doesn’t have the strength to leave it there for much longer, overly aware of the way his cock desperately twitches from where it’s trapped between your bodies, instead focusing on the way you react the second his spit slicked thumb begins to rub tight circles around your clit.

“Si-, fuck, Simon ‘m close, so close, wanna cum,” There was never any other option for him than to watch you fall apart on his lap, but if he somehow needed further encouragement, “Please Sir, please make me cum.” It would be entirely impossible for him to stop the moan your words drag from his throat, to think of anything other than giving you your release. It’s obvious when your orgasm hits, having to stop toying with your now engorged clit to instead pin your hips down, worried there was a chance you might fall to the side if he didn’t keep you grounded.

“Good girl, such a good fucking girl, made such a mess of my fingers baby,” Simon hums against the side of your head, slowing his ministrations until he’s lazily fingering your still spasming pussy, drawing out the sweet sounds of post-orgasm sensitivity from your spit-shining lips. He waits until you finally regain some form of lucidity, waits until your neck straightens, no longer lolled against his collarbone to finally withdraw his fingers, soothing your whines at his absence with kisses to your jaw. But he makes sure your eyes are locked with his when he brings his fingers to his own lips, ensures you’re watching with nothing less than rapt attention as he cleans every drop of your arousal from his skin.

“Taste fuckin’ divine, princess.” Your head tips forward into your hands with a groan, and Simon couldn’t hide his pleased grin even if he tried.

“You’re not allowed to be this hot,” Your words muffled into your palm, the Ghost’s heart rate spiking when you looked at him shyly through your fingers, affection surging through his bloodstream like a shot of pure adrenaline. “Especially when I can feel your cock pressed against my ass.” As if he needed the reminder, as if that singular thought hasn’t been plaguing him for the past 10 minutes.

“And what exactly are you going to do about that, darling?”

His words were meant to make you shy, were said to watch those sweet eyes of yours widen. Except, Simon realises, he must have awoken something within you, something bold, something utterly fucking debauched, because instead of shying away, you lock your eyes with his, rising to the challenge he set. You stand up, turn yourself around, climb back onto his lap and sink down onto his cock in one fluid motion.

“Fucking-, shit, what the fuck,”

“I think that works for both of us, right, Simon?” You need to stop, or you at least need to give him some time to adjust to whatever the fuck it is you’re doing right now. He can tell you’re far from unaffected, however. The slight quiver to your voice, and the way the slick walls of your pussy clench greedily around him show at least that much. And yet, you’re pinning him with a fierce gaze, your fingers forming an iron grip on loose brown hair at the base of his skull, using him as leverage to grind your hips in circular motions. “Let me take care of you, handsome.” His response cut off by a groan as you begin to fuck yourself on his cock, his eyes frantically flicking from where your cunt swallows every inch of his shaft, back up to your heavy-lidded gaze, locked onto his as you effortlessly ride his cock.

So instead of trying to take the lead, to lift his hips to meet yours, for the first time ever, Simon Riley does as he’s told. He allows you to control the pace, lets you direct his hands to your waist, but doesn’t use it as a point of control. Instead he caresses your skin with rough fingers. He lets you take care of him. And God, does it feel good.

He lets his head fall back, lets his eyes slip closed, and allows himself to just exist in this moment with you. A luxury he hasn’t been able to afford for far too long. Instead, he focuses on the sounds dissipating into the air around your joined bodies, the soft pants and moans that spill from both his mouth and yours, the rhythmic slap of skin on skin combined with the slick noise of his cock fucking into your heat, and if he focuses hard enough, he swears he can hear the rapid beating of your heart where your chest is pressed flush to his.

“C’mon Simon, baby, look at me.” It takes an embarrassing amount of energy for Simon to lift his neck up, refocusing his gaze onto you, “You’re doing so well, letting me look after you like this.” And fuck, he doesn’t want to cry, can’t remember the last time he allowed himself the comfort of crying, but he feels so unequivocally safe around you. Still, the time for tears will come later, right now, Simon wants nothing more than to feel you lose yourself on his cock. He secures his hands on your ass, and stands, ignoring your surprised cries and worried scolding, and walks as best he can towards the mattress near your desk. He doesn’t want to admit that lowering you both down onto the cheap material nearly left him breathless, and he definitely won’t admit that you were right, he didn’t have the strength to do that. But now that he has you lying on top of him, cock still buried deep inside of you, he knows the pain was more than worth it. Because in this position, he can ground his feet into the mattress and focus on fucking you like you deserve.

He ignores the sting of pain in his thigh, no doubt ruining some of the stitching you had done earlier, but he couldn’t give less of a shit. Not when you’re mewling into his chest, nails scratching long, thin pink lines down the expanse of his chest as he fucks his hips ruthlessly up to meet yours. He knows he won’t last much longer, you feel too fucking good, and he has no strength to hold back, praying that you’re as close as he is as he snakes one hand down to toy with your clit once again. Relief washing over him when he feels your cunt clench like a vice around his length, allows himself one, two more thrusts of his hips before he finally reaches his peak, cock twitching like a heartbeat from where it’s buried within you, not moving until the last weak spurts of cum finish painting your cervix white.

“Fucking hell,” with his energy long since depleted, his body slumps into the mattress below, dragging you down with him, his arms still wrapped securely around your form.

“That good, huh?” You grin up at him, eyes glinting in the low light. You look positively stunning.

“You know it, sweetheart,” Simon pauses, looks down at where you’re still sprawled against his chest, and silently thanks the motherfucker who decided to shoot him in the first place, he’s not sure if he would have ever gathered the strength to have you like this, in the way he always craved. “C’mere, I want cuddles.” He grunts, choosing to ignore the surprised laugh you give in response, says nothing at your incessant teasing and light threats to tell Soap that “oh my god, Ghost likes cuddles”.

He does none of that, instead, he holds you close, stares up at the ceiling as you bury your face into his neck, whispering sweet confessions into his skin, words he soaks up and saves for a rainy day. Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley has never been a man to care about his own health, even now he still sees that damn hourglass, unsure of how much sand remains. But now he has a reason to change that.

Now, he has you.

#☁︎⋅writing #simon riley #simon 'ghost' riley #ghost mw2 #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #cod mw22 #simon riley smut #simon riley imagine #ghost x reader #ghost x you #dear lord #this derailed so quick #i wanted soft ghost #i got soft ghost plus nearly 2k of soft ghost smut #i ruined myself #anyway enjoy SLDFS

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temeyes · 4 months

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fuckboi Alejandro for my bestie @ragingbookdragon!! mwah mwah!!

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kabukiaku · 2 months

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pookie is pensive. 🥺🖤 Ω

i love him so much.

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sthrnstar · 3 months

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more of simon who cant text bc yall ate that up .

to be clear he can work technology fine , hes in the SAS he probably works with insane technology daily . its just texting he sucks at and doesnt care to learn . hes content to send his blunt , overly literal texts as he always has , its just a plus that you enjoy it . definitely has you in his contacts as your first and last name , only puts a heart next to it after you pout about it looking like hes flirting with a coworker when your contact is so bland .

he prefers to send pictures when he can , its easier , makes you happy , he'll do whatever to make you happy . so if that means sending you pictures while he cleans his weapons or a bland selfie in his mask then he'll do it . ( definitely also sends his own fair share of suggestive photos and videos when you do , almost always with the caption 'look what ya do to me love' )

if hes silent for awhile due to missions or lack of service he tries to warn you , give a heads up ahead of time . if he can't he'll make up for lost time by spamming any photos , videos , voice notes he took . hates the idea of leaving you worrying about him .

soap sees your conversation one day , seven long texts from you and two three word replies from him , and scoffs . gives him shit for his horrible texting behavior but little does he know ghost was in the middle of recording a voice note of his full reply . the video of your laughter after he sends it anyways is well worth the scolding .

#cod x reader #ghost x reader #ghost #ghost cod #gn reader #simon ghost riley #cod mw2 #fluff #more soft simon #bc who am i to deny the ppl what they want

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ghouljams · 8 months

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can we get medieval slow burn crumbs pls 🤲🙏

I have had this idea with Knight Ghost bouncing around in my head since I saw an absolutely destructive to my psyche insta reel, so here it is

Ghost helps you get his mail shirt over your head, far too big and far too heavy for you to practically wear, but he's insistent. You try not to tense your shoulders at the weight of it, try not to buckle your knees when it drops into place. You knew knights were strong but to wear this every day without so much as a complaint? Plus the rest of the armor? Your eyes roam over Ghost's broad shoulders as he turns away from you to fuss with the rest of his armor. You always thought he'd look smaller without all the metal, but it almost feels like the opposite it true.

He's larger than life. Life being the operative word here. A living breathing man of flesh and blood, and greater warmth than the fire. His linen shirt pulls tight across his shoulders, revealing the firm musculature as he moves. You grab the mail shirt in your tightening fists, feel the well worked metal press its indents into your skin, still so warm from being on Ghost. You want to touch him. You won't, you're not supposed to. Not supposed to want to. You think that's what the armor is for, to keep you from thinking the man underneath is human, to keep you from wanting him.

"You alright Princess?" He asks, his voice is so low and rasping it makes you want to melt, "Thought you'd be complaining about the weight by-" He turns to look at you again, and his voice falls another impossible degree, "-now. Jesus." His eyes drag over you, fresh kindling for the fire in your stomach, the heat in your cheeks.

You must look silly in your dress and his chain mail, but the way he looks at you... God, the way he looks at you. Not even at your best dressed has a man looked at you like that. You swallow, and hold onto the mail rings a little tighter.

"It's heavy," You tell him, and although you mean it to sound like a complaint, to whine and put on the spoiled princess act that keeps all the other men away, you find your voice quiet almost reverent. Ghost nods, his warm brown eyes meeting yours. The only man in the kingdom with the impertinence not to look away, not to bow his head to your gaze.

"It'll keep you safe," He barely breathes, his eyes don't leave you, can't leave you. There's no where safer to look than your face, and no where more dangerous.

"You're doing a more than suitable job of that already," You know that twitch in his brow, the way his lips draw thin.

You remember the bandits that had ambushed your carriage, the way they're battered their daggers against your door, made slow battle with your guards. How they'd dragged you out of your safety kicking and screaming with harsh laughter. How Ghost's blade had torn through them like paper, his eyes red with fury. The physical shield he'd put between you and your assailants, the sound their swords had made bouncing off his armor was still ringing through your ears. Blood still soaked the hem of your dress.

"I'm not taking any chances," His eyes leave yours, turning his attention back to his armor. It's like having cold water thrown over your head. With you, you think, he's not taking any chances with you. "Can you move at all?" He asks, not looking at you, it feels purposeful. You hesitate, before testing the weight over your arms, hopping to feel the drag of the chain try to pull you down. You shake you head.

"Not much, I don't think I'll be swinging a sword anytime soon." He chuckles, and the heat returns to you, your heart clenching tight in your chest.

"That's good," He nods, "Violence doesn't suit you."

You wish it did, sometimes. You've begged him enough to at least show you how to properly hold a sword, but he always refuses. Always tells you, your future husband won't want your glaring to hold real threats. As if your gaze doesn't already bear his shadow, doesn't command Ghost to act as your sword. Wouldn't he come with you, to wherever you did marry? You couldn't stand to be apart from him.

Ghost lifts you up onto his horse with a quiet grunt of effort. "We'll have to take more rests, she's a strong horse but with two of us..." He shakes his head, pets a hand down the horse's neck. "Do you think you can stomach a few extra days of travel, my lady?" His hand lingers on your dress. His lady, you think, he never shortens the words like the others do.

"Of course, I'm hardly one to complain," for you, you tack on silently.

"Of course not," for me, he seems to agree.

#cod x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost x reader #ghost mw2 #knight!Ghost #princess!reader #medieval au #I want him so fucking badly I am screaming I want him #his lady and her knight #soft pining looks across ballrooms neither of them able to make a move #Ghost seeing his girl in his armor and losing all ability to think #cod ghost

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iite-cool · 1 month

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roommate!simon who's spending his time before bed doing what he usually does: tugging at his fat cock with his ear pressed against the wall to hear your cute little mewls and moans.

he's convinced you're doing it on purpose, to rile him up and make him so hard he can't fucking think. it's working. simon's got his shirt between his teeth to muffle his groans while he fists his cock to the sound of your cunt's slick slick slick as you finger yourself with a vibrator pressed against your throbbing clit.

he can hear your gasps getting high pitched and the wet sounds get faster as you approach your high. you moan his name, unbridled, and then quickly muffle your mouth and simon has to bite his fist and hold his cock so hard it hurts just to keep from spurting cum all over himself. he starts rubbing his tip faster and faster so he can cum as you do but just then the bzzz of your wand gets slower and slower until it stops. simon hears you sob in frustration, mourning your lost high. your whimpers sound loud and clear through the wall and let him know that you're having no luck getting back to your peak.

he all but sprints out of his room, tucking himself into his sweats, as he takes a second to even his breathing before knocking on your door. the sounds of your sheets rustling and you rushing to get decent leak through.

you open the door, disheveled and flushed. "simon? what'd you need?" it takes him a second to answer you - he can't fucking focus, not with the way your top sits messily unbuttoned on your soft tits, not with the way you're panting in front of him.

he leans in close, bending himself down to your height and whispers right into your ear, "need some help, love?"

masterlist

this is filthy i'm sorry, please comment i have so many thoughts about this man that need to be talked about

#roommate!simon is my fucking kryptonite I think about him day in day out #he would be so soft for his pretty little roommarw #I want him so bad I might just rip through a portal to get to him #roommate!simon smut #simon smut #simon ghost riley x reader #cod x reader #ghost x reader #vi.writes #afab!reader

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icy-gendango · 7 months

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WOW I WONDER WHAT HE'S READING

GITM by venomous-qwille <3333

#/ref #iykyk #dca fnaf #daycare attendant #fnaf moon #icy art #dca fandom #daycare attendant fnaf #dca moon #gitm #ghost in the machine au #misuta moon #gitm au #i wanted 2 draw soft but then i remembered the book joke

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aeb-art · 18 days

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even in a story with reader insert, i'm still putting myself in there separately ahahaha so here's another lil thing with some of @venomous-qwille's characters

and then the moment they leave the room:

#2024 #i love cricket a whole lot tho i see them more as their own character over an insert so that's why i'm not them here 👉👈#also this is funnier to me okay cool cool cool #gitm #ghost in the machine #gitm soleil #self ship #self insert #gitm cricket #gitm y/n #gitm fool #i wanted to test how my wrist feels so i used soft B pencils (which i forgot i had lmao)#i think i might be able to paint tomorrow or friday? (busy thursday so) we'll see #anyway i finally drew soleil! weight lifted off my shoulders.... i need to draw something scary with him when i feel better #i also just wanna cover him in kisses i love him i need to annoy him #man i am incapable of not yappin in the tags huh #anyway take care of your arms and wrists and hands that's an order xoxoxo #edit: I JUST REALIZED FOOL'S CRESCENT IS THE WRONG WAY GOD DAMN IT okay my fault for not using a reference i'm sorry bestie

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sentientgolfball · 5 months

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Phantom seeing a Christmas (Yule?) tree for the first time and their eyes going so wide and pupils so dilated and he sits and stares at it for hours with the tip of their tongue poking out

When the spell finally breaks though he immediately tries to climb it and Mountain has to catch him midair when they try to pounce

What Mountain doesn’t see is Aurora slinking behind and up the tree using Phantom as a distraction so she can get the topper

Swiss sees her but decides to just sit and record instead of stopping her

#all I can think about are ghouls as I help decorate #I want ghouls in ugly sweaters and gingerbread houses and holiday cookies #give me a soft ghoul Christmas #the band ghost #nameless ghouls #ghost bc #golfball thoughts #shitghosting #phantom ghoul #aurora ghoulette

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miilkybnn · 6 months

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me: man I miss ghostroach/soaproach

me, remembering I have the ability to draw: 🤔🤔😲‼️😃👆💡‼️

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coffeeghoulie · 1 month

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okay okay listen...#48 w/dewther. yes? but. insert aeon in place of aether. insert dew's habit and....what happens?

Crow, your brain is huge <3. Hope you enjoy!

#48: out of habit

from this prompt list

Something's wrong.

Dew can feel it growing in the pit of his chest, straining at his ribs with each heartbeat. He hasn't been this nervous ahead of a Ritual in years, long before he transitioned to fire.

Miserere Mei, Deus is playing over the speakers, just barely managing to drown out the growing sound of the crowd, and if Dew were quintessence, he'd be able to taste the excitement. The gossamer sheet between them and the audience ripples softly in the breeze, and something's wrong.

Dew stares down at his hands, growling at them as if that alone would make his spindly fingers stop trembling. It's the first show of this cycle. He should be excited, just like the humans who came to see them spread the Unholy Father's message.

He cannot, for the life of him, figure out what's making him feel like the world's about to end until he looks up from his hands. Aeon's taking his Fantomen from a tech, and Dew is reminded, painfully, that his mate will not be standing across the stage from him when that curtain falls.

Dew stumbles back, grabbing at a crate like he thinks he might go off balance. His other hand covers the crook of his neck, over the many intricate layers of his uniform, where Aether's mark sits, long scarred over. He knows what he's missing, what's wrong, what is making him feel like he's dying.

The first Ritual he and Aether shared together, Aether's very first, Dew had watched the big ghoul shake with nerves, still shy and skittish, only a few months' summoned. He had slipped over towards him, pressed a cool hand to his chest.

Aether had flinched, looking up, violet eyes all Dew could see behind the silver masks. "You'll do fine," Dew had whispered, "I trust Omega and Delta's judgment. You'll do just fine."

He hadn't responded, still trembling under Dew's touch. Dew furrowed his brow, humming softly. Aether swayed towards the noise, entranced.

"Here," Dew said, grabbing the chin of his mask and pulling it up, revealing the pale skin of his glamour. "Pull your mask up, starshine."

Aether wordlessly obeyed, and Dew's gaze softened at the sight of his lip bitten raw, fear written clear as day across his expression.

"Do you want a distraction?" Dew asked, gently reaching up to pet at Aether's cheek. He nodded, and Dew grabbed his Grucifix necklace, pulling gently until Aether leaned down and pressed a kiss to his cheek. He had blushed so hard it almost looked purple, but he stopped shaking, and Dew counted that as a win.

Especially when they got off stage, and Aether had given him the biggest grin he'd ever seen on the quintessence ghoul's face.

For six years, for as long as they'd been touring together, Aether had sidled up to Dew, leaning down and grinning. "You're not nervous anymore," Dew scoffed, rolling his eyes, but he'd still stand up on his tiptoes to give Aether his preshow good luck kiss.

Aether's not here now. He's retired to work in the infirmary with Omega, and Dew had thought he'd finished processing that. He's dead wrong.

He glances to stage left, to where his Fantomen hangs around the new kid's neck, and it doesn't quite dwarf them the way Dew thought it would when he had first seen the new quintessence ghoul. But it's still strange and unfamiliar, and the pit in his chest wrenches at him, and Dew knows what he has to do.

There's a call for places. Unlike the rest of the band pack, Dew ignores it, stomping across the stage until he gets to Aeon.

They jolt, posture straightening as he approaches, and Dew can't exactly blame them. He's been cold and a little distant from them, but he shakes his head, reaching out to pull them down gently by the tubing on their helmet.

He can't see their expression, just the curve of their lips under their balaclava, but he leans in and kisses right between the horns of their helmet.

"You'll do fine," he says softly, and darts back to his place just as Imperium starts, leaving Aeon to wonder what just happened.

#ok i fucked around with tenses and wrote this while at work so if there's any mistakes that's on me #but again crow your brain is huge and i wanted to jump on this one #dew being reluctantly but genuinely soft to aeon my beloved #dot's writing #dewdrop ghoul #aeon ghoul #the band ghost #the band ghost fanfiction #forlorn_crows #fic request #kiss prompts

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madammidnightsblog · 3 months

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This isn’t my normal post or anything related to femdom BUT I HAD TO WRITE IT!! Call Of Duty Brainrot is real 😵‍💫

How I believe 141 are in bed:

John Price: he is a rough and hard lover in bed, almost never gentle because he is so pent up and frustrated due to missions and handling the constant stress as Captain, but don’t worry, does great aftercare. He is very experienced after all. Has safe words in place if it’s too much for you, big in DDLG/DDLB and has a Daddy kink. Something about you makes him wild and feel young so be a dear and get on daddy’s thigh and show him how good you are. He will make sure you’re all nice and dumb after the done and will draw you a bath and make you a snack after before letting you sleep. This man has been around long enough to know how to treat someone after a good fuck so you won’t have to worry about being neglected during and after it.

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley: my personal belief on this scary Lieutenant, when it comes to sex he is soft and gentle. Don’t get me wrong, I feel like if asked or needed to, he will be hard but very aggressive. If it’s a simple hookup, he is aggressive, hard, and almost hateful due to all the anger and stress built up over time. He has been through some shit and needs an outlet at times that isn’t cracking skulls or working out. But, when it comes to falling in love, he is a gentle lover as he fears his large body and strength will crush them. He’s a man of few words but his actions show he’s emotions.

Johnny ‘Soap’ Mactavish: Now, this man is rough and loud, he loves making sure you feel so good. He is the type to go at it for hours with lots of foreplay and even some tongue action, he isn’t afraid to get between those pretty thighs and tasting that sweet nectar. Petplay is his favorite kink as he loves to dress you up in such pretty puppy ears and tails and putting a pretty collar around your neck- you’re a good puppy, right? You’ll never know with this man though, one minute he’s cuddling you and calling you his sweet baby, then the next he has you ass up and face down while he’s ploughing into that sweet, wet hole of yours and calling you his dumb cock loving mutt :).

Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick: Is a sweet mix of rough and gentle, he loves to go with the flow and allow you to choose what you’re in the mood for. He doesn’t care how it’s done, your pleasure is what he’s after and he’ll be damned if you went a night without him between those thighs. He has a high limbo, surprisingly higher than Soap’s, maybe it’s because he’s the youngest or maybe because you’re just so damn pretty- he’s not sure but he doesn’t care. He isn’t the type to care about titles but being called baby? Oh, you got him hooked. Kyle is another man of few words and shows his love and that’s him between those thighs, tongue buried deep in your sopping hole while you wrap your thighs around his head. Be a sweet girl/boy, make it hard for him to breathe, okay?

#call of duty #john soap mactavish #john price #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz garrick #cod mw2 #I’m madly in love with them #something about them drives me insane #I want them #totally not losing my shit a soft Simon #call of duty smut #military men make me wet🩷#task force 141

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ramblingoak · 1 year

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Can you feel me longing for you, forever, forever?

#he looks so soft #and shapely #i want to pet him #cardinal copia #copia #the band ghost #ghost #prequelle era #ghost photos

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cthulhusstepmom · 10 months

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Fae!Soap Superstitious Bastard! Ghost: Gifts

(Just a heads up this got way more intense than I meant it to but that’s kind of the Fae for you.)

TW: mentions of torture, human remains

Soap is a collector, though not of any one thing that Ghost can discern. He’s seen the man pick up anything from an abandoned rolex to a nondescript piece of broken glass. It doesn’t seem to be about size, it’s not shape and definitely not value; Ghost had thought he’d pinned it down as things that caught the light a certain way but was swiftly proven wrong when Soap went on a spree of collecting pebbles and sticks. He’d glared sullenly at the first jagged gray rock when Soap had picked it up before swiftly changing the subject when he was noticed. There was no apparent rhyme or reason to any of it… well not quite. There was one singular pattern that stood out in his mind, a single thread that held firm no matter how much he rearranged or plucked at it.

Anything that Ghost gave him, Johnny kept.

The first had been a bit of pretty blue ribbon that was a close enough approximation to Soap’s eyes. It’d snagged on a bramble bordering the clearing where Ghost had set up for overwatch. Without even thinking he’d snagged it on his way to RV down the hill, offering it to Johnny in the armored car taking them back to base. Soap hadn’t said a thing. It was then that Ghost realized maybe giving your subordinate a piece of trash you’d found in a bush perhaps wasn’t the most well adjusted way to express affection. He’d been about to play it off with a quip, beginning to retract his fingers ever so slightly, when Johnny snatched it lightning quick from the palm of his hand, holding it close to his chest for a moment before stuffing it into his chest pocket next to his journal. Soap had given him a small strangled “Thank you” as they sat the rest of the ride in an awkward but warm silence. Johnny disappeared almost immediately after they got back to base but Ghost could see light in the space under his door so he wasn’t too worried that he’d done permanent damage to their relationship.

After that his eyes just seemed to catch on things that he assumed Johnny would like. He couldn’t help it. Little glass marbles, a river stone with an interesting marking, a large brown feather; Somehow it all made its way into the hands of his Sergeant. Usually with a gruff “Here”, barely waiting for Johnny to hold out his hands before he dropped his small offering into his gloved palms. Soap has also gotten over whatever his episode of silence had been, responding with a blinding smile and enthusiastic gratitude and a happy quip. (“Thanks Lt!” a piece of antler, Montana “Y’ shouldn’t have!” an old toy car, Finland “Find this on sale?” a scrap of pink fabric, Brazil “Ghost you’re spoiling me.” green river stone, India etc.(no he didn’t catalog all of them that would be creepy. He only wrote down his favorites.))

The next time Ghost thinks he’s permanently damaged their relationship and scared Soap off for good comes after an operation sweeping out an AQ base in Afghanistan.

It’s stuffy and dark, the blistering heat of the day beginning to fade into the bitter chill of the night. The compound has long since been abandoned by all but the stubbornest of rats, slowly being reclaimed by the wild desert it carved its blackness into. They roll into the courtyard through the open front gate, the outer walls have seen multiple breacher charges and calling them walls at this point is more out of respect than any dedication to accuracy. The whole place has already been swept by drone and Laswell has had satellite eyes on it for months confirming just how fucking dead it is. They’re here for information, the drone identified documents left behind as well as at least two hard drives.

The 141 has split off, each clearing their own section and radioing in at even intervals, they’ve learned the hard way that it’s better to be safe than sorry. Beyond extra caution, the whole place has an eerie, black aura that drags forth memories of scorpion stings and dull knives biting at his flesh. Assisting in his nightmarish stroll down memory lane, Ghost is assigned the lower levels of the compound. Each room is another scene from a past he tries to forget, filled with rusted over implements of pain and brown stains no one cared to clean.

Something in the last room makes him pause.

A small barred window allows light from a waning moon to pool into the room, catching on something on the table. Small, most no bigger than his fingernail, a collection of about five objects sits in a tray on the corner of the table. Brilliant white patches shine in stark opposition to the bed of rust brown they lay on.

Teeth. Human teeth.

His mind is acting on autopilot when grabs them and stuffs them in a pocket, so similar but so different to his first experience with the ribbon months ago. He finishes his sweep of the room, conveying his findings back on comms (“Seems like we’re late for the party.” “If only you didn’t take so long to get ready.”-Soap “Shut the fuck up the both of you I just saw a rat the size of a terrier.”-Gaz “I’ve got the hard drives if any of you fuckers remember why we’re here.”-Price), and turns back to rendezvous, his mind now firmly on finding his comrades and getting the hell out.

As they start readying themselves to duck into the humvees they arrived in, Ghost’s muscle memory kicks in to complete his self assigned mission objective. He turns to where Soap stands almost expectantly at his side. It’s not every mission that he has something he’s decided is a worthy offering but it has become more often than not. Mind already halfway back to base, a gloved hand chases down each tooth where they’ve burrowed themselves in the pocket of his tac vest, collecting them and dropping them in Soap’s proffered hand with a grunt. His brain turns back on when the bloody bones hit his Sergeant’s glove, panicking because what the fuck did he just do? What kind of fucking sociopath gives his friend(more?) human fucking teeth as a souvenir. Much less human fucking teeth that were pulled forcibly out of some poor bastard’s skull during a bygone torture session.

His hand is trembling.

Ghost forces himself to look down and meet Soap’s assuredly outraged and disgusted gaze.

Only he doesn’t.

Johnny is staring down at the teeth in his palm with a look of fucking reverence. His pupils are dilated beyond just the darkness surrounding them and Ghost’s detail oriented eyes catch the slight flare of his nostrils on every inhale. Soap slowly tilts his head up to meet Ghost’s eyes and a gasp lives and dies in his throat.

“Oh Simon, you treat me so well.” His voice is gravelly and thrumming with an emotion that Ghost doesn’t know the name of. But, god if this is the look he gets after bringing Johnny desiccated human remains?

He’ll rip the teeth out of some unworthy son of a bitch himself.

#Soap may be the one who is inherently Other but Ghost is fucked up too #I adore deeeply fucked up Ghost™#almost as much as soft Ghost #Soap is one lucky man #he's just sitting here happily obsessed with his human and then Ghost just up and gives him a courting gift #in folklore giving fairies gifts is a 50/50 chance to get them to go away #i however would like to introduce you to a secret third option: love #Also I'm like 60% certain I'm going to do sort of a mix of snippets here leading up to like a three shot culmination posted on Ao3 #would yall like that? would you prefer all on tumblr? do you even want story or just more little drabbles?#Fae!Soap #superstitious bastard!Ghost #cod mw2 #soapghost #tw torture #tw human dentition

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bigdumbbambieyes · 6 months

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Happy Halloween, lovelies!! 🎃 Day 31: Your Choice for @harringrovekinktober what better way to celebrate than with some SFW ghost!Billy fun?

It’s Friday night, it’s Halloween, and Steve’s babysitting.

Which, at this point in his life, he should be used to by now – but it still kinda sucks. He cares about the kids, sure, but he’s not crazy about them. He could be hanging out at Robin’s, watching horror movies and binging on candy and talking about girls and whatever, but no.

Dustin had invited him to the little hangout in Mike’s basement after Trick-or-Treating and, well…the two of them have been distant lately, so. He said yes. Because Dustin was an annoying little shit with a smart mouth, but he was kind of like the younger brother Steve never had. And Steve wanted to enjoy that just a little longer, until either Dustin became totally bored with him or they kids no longer needed him around.

Which were both very depressing thoughts, so. Steve had agreed to go and handed out candy with his parents until eleven o’clock rolled around and he dipped, saying goodnight to the two of them before making his way over to the Wheeler’s.

Nancy had answered the door, gave him an awkward little smile like she always does these days, and he’d made equally awkward small talk before leaving to go and check on the kids downstairs.

“Steve!” Dustin called out with a smile, actually excited to see him, and it made Steve feel warm.

A grin overtaking his face for the first time all evening, Steve returned the smile and happily did their little handshake – ignoring the eye rolls and laughter pointed at them from the other kids scattered about the room.

The entire Party was there, including El, which was nice to see. Steve couldn’t remember the last time he saw her out, especially after…after…

His eyes land on Max, who’s pale and managing a smile from where she’s curled up on the floor with El, the two of them sorting through their candy piles.

For a second, Steve sees flashes of fireworks and hears the distant screams of Billy in his mind, and shakes them away.

“Hey.” He greets her with a small smile and nod, which she returns before her tired eyes fall to where El’s trying to trade her Milky Way for Max’s Reese’s cups.

“You’re just in time!” Dustin says with excitement, his eyes bright as he tugs on Steve’s sleeve, “C’mon!”

“Just in time for what, exactly?” Steve asks with a furrowed brow, following the kid to the table where they all usually play DnD. But, instead of a map and figures scattered across it, there’s an Ouija board, and Steve stops in his tracks. “Where did you find this?” He asks, his tone serious.

“Will and I found it earlier,” Mike pipes up from around his lollipop in his mouth, tucked away in his cheek, “It’s rad, right?”

“Um, no?” Steve baulks, flounders a bit as he motions to the board with his hands, “Do–you–I–” he huffs and runs a hand through his hair, hating to be That Guy but he sighs, “This isn’t a good idea.”

As expected, a chorus of moans and groans follow him as the kids all head to the table, surrounding it, each of them yelling things like ‘don’t be lame, Steve’ or ‘it’s Halloween, it’s the perfect time to try it’ and other equally as stupid.

The only other person who looks weary is Max, her arms crossed over her chest as she eyes the board quietly.

“C’mon, Steve, just once!” Lucas says, “It’s probably not even real. This kinda shit is always just made up.”

“Yeah, my brother tried it once and he said it didn’t work,” Will adds, his brown eyes looking at Steve, pleading quietly, “Please?”

Fuck.

It’s a bad idea. Stupid, really. And while Steve doesn’t believe in ghosts because he’s never come across one, he’s still seen enough creepy shit in his life that he’s not eager to go poking around for more. Especially tonight of all nights.

And not mention that he’s used one of these before, when he was their age. He still swears the planchette moved on its own and he’d sworn to himself that he’d never touch one of these things again.

Still, though. He can’t…show that he’s even a little spooked, because the kids would never let him live it down.

Blinking out of his thoughts, he sees every pair of eyes on him, quietly waiting for his approval.

Which, in a way, is nice. That these kids respect him enough to wait for his permission. Not that they really need it – they usually do whatever they want, anyway.

Giving in, he sighs, “Yeah, sure, whatever.” And they burst into excitement, which he’s quick to dampen with, “Just once! Once.” And they all agree eagerly.

As they all circle the table, fingertips going to the planchette, Steve feels his stomach knot uneasily. The room is dim already, Dustin having shut off the lights except for the light above the table, and the kids all look at each other as the realization dawns on them that no one knows how to do it.

“You gotta be shitting me.” Steve huffs in amusement, his mouth twitching with a poorly concealed smile.

“You spoke first!” Mike grins triumphantly, “That means you gotta ask a question!”

Steve’s smile drops and his brows furrow, “What? That’s not a rule.”

“It is now.” Dustin smirks, just as smug.

“Ugh, fine, whatever,” Steve huffs, licking his lips as he eyes the board and says, “Hello. Is anyone there?”

A few seconds pass, nothing happens.

Until the planchette slowly moves to ‘Yes’.

The kids all gasp and freak out a little, but Steve’s quick to shush them, “Shut up! Relax, just…chill.”

He wracks his brain for another question, ignores the tingling at the base of his spine as he asks, “Do you know what day it is?”

“The fuck kinda question is tha–” Dustin starts but quickly snaps his mouth shut as the planchette begins to spell out a word.

Just one word: H-A-L-L-O-W-E-E-N.

The kids all giggle and gasp again, clearly entertained and unsure of how authentic it actually is.

“Do you…know my name?” He asks, eyes trained on the board.

S-T-E-V-E.

“Holy shit!”

“No way!”

“Who’s moving it?!”

“Oh, my god, shh!” Steve silences them again, ignoring the chill up his back as he eyes each of the kids, trying to see which one of them is doing it – but they all look innocent.

Looking down at the board again, Steve asks, “What’s your name?”

Steve’s throat closes up.

His eyes go to Max.

Horror slowly dawns on her face, his eyes widening and jaw dropping.

He feels ice cold.

The room is silent for a moment, until Max gasps quietly, “Billy? Is it really you…?”

The planchette moves to ‘Yes’ and her hand goes to her mouth, her eyes welling with tears as she tries and fails to muffle a sudden sob, El quickly wrapping her up in a hug as the boys all begin to freak out, hand after hand leaving the planchette until Steve’s the only one.

His gut twisting, anger flaring, he looks at the boys and snarls, “Hey! This shit isn’t funny, whoever’s doing it, knock it off–”

The planchette keeps moving under his fingertips and he looks down at it, eyes wide as it spells.

B-O-O.

Snatching his hand away, Steve points an angry finger at the kids as Max cries in El’s arms, “Okay, that’s it! We agreed on once and we did it once–”

“Steve, you can’t–” Dustin tries, but Steve cuts him off.

“–No! Whatever the fuck that was, it’s done! I’m done. I don’t need this…this ghost bullshit ruining my night, okay? You can all have your fun but I’m out!” He looks to El and Max, “C’mon, I’ll take you two home, if you want.”

Max is quick to nod and gather up her things, El following suit, but he doesn’t wait for them – he goes back upstairs, hearing Dustin call, “You have to say goodbye to end it!”

Yeah, sure.

Slamming his car door shut, Steve grips his steering wheel and closes his eyes, tries to even his breathing and calm his racing heart.

Because what the fuck?

It wasn’t real. It wasn’t. It was just some fucked up prank the boys were doing and it backfired hard.

Although, he does jump when the girls open the doors to his backseat and climb in, but he sighs softly in relief when he realizes it’s just them.

And not Billy Hargrove back from the dead or something.

He looks back at them and at Max, who’s quietly wiping away the tears under her eyes. Quietly, he asks, “You okay?”

She glowers at him a little, obviously not okay, so he nods silently and turns back to start his car.

He drops them off and makes sure they’re inside before pulling away and heading back home, turning up his music to drown out the annoying memory of Dustin calling after him in the basement, something about not saying ‘goodbye’ and having to–

The radio buzzes with static and Steve frowns, winces a little as it gets louder, the pop song playing suddenly mixing with something heavier, a sad guitar, the lyrics creeping through the static to sing, “You just left when I begged you to stay, I've not stopped crying since you went away, you went away, you went away–”

He twists the volume all the way down and grips his steering wheel, swallowing thickly around a suddenly dry throat.

It was just…an interference. Signals crossing in the air, that’s all.

The volume stays at zero all the way home.

It’s not like Steve’s scared. He has nothing to be scared of, really.

Because there’s no reason to be scared! Nothing’s happened! He went to bed that night and woke up in the morning, feeling normal. His parents were their usual selves, too. There was nothing to worry about.

Except, he can’t really explain the way ‘Pretty Boy’ had been written onto his foggy mirror after a shower.

Wiping it away with loud squeaks from his palm, Steve had huffed and ignored the cold chill up his spine again, forcing the memory of Billy against his back in basketball practice away out of his head as he got ready for work.

But, even at work, it didn’t stop – tapes that he’d put up on the shelves ended up on the floor minutes later, knocked over and tumbling to the ground. The computer would freeze up or turn off while he’s using it without explanation. The door would shake a little, as if mustering up the strength to open, or like there was a strong wind outside rattling it, but it would never open.

Weird, borderline annoying shit like that.

At home, it was no better. Doors randomly slamming, scaring the shit out of him. The TV turning off whenever he was watching it, even with the remote far away from him. Once, when he’d left a notepad and pen out, he came back to find ‘BOO’ written on it.

And it had felt so…smug.

So Billy.

But, he refuses to believe that Billy Hargrove’s haunting him. It’s just not possible.

And besides, why him? Why not Max? Or literally anyone else?

He goes back to the Wheeler’s, a week after Halloween, in search of answers.

Mike answers the door and Steve immediately asks him, “Where is it?”

The little shit tilts his head to the side, acting clueless despite the amusement in his eyes, “Where’s what?”

“The fucking board.” Steve huffs, pushing past Mike and heading downstairs to the basement, feeling the kid right on his heels the entire time.

“It’s not down here!” Mike groans, “After you and the girls left, Lucas took it!”

“Took it where?” Steve asks as he looks around the basement, standing at the base of the stairs with Mike behind him, looking over his shoulder.

He swears he sees a shadow in the corner of his eye, so he chases it with his gaze, but it’s gone.

“He took it outside or something, I don’t know,” Mike huffs in annoyance, “We were all kinda freaked out so we agreed to keep it out of the house.”

Turning and looking at Mike, Steve frowns at him, “I fucking told you dumb asses not to do it.”

Mike rolls his eyes with a nod and turns to head back upstairs, “Yeah, yeah, I know!”

“Steve.” A familiar voice breathes into his ear, right behind him.

He freezes and his breath catches, eyes widening as he whips his head around, expecting to see Billy standing there but there’s nothing. There’s just the quiet basement, empty.

“Steve!” Mike calls and Steve rushes up the stairs, hoping the voice stays down there.

He finds the board outside the Wheeler’s house, behind the garbage bins. He’s lucky it was missed on collection day.

“Okay,” he huffs, setting it down on his bedroom floor and putting the planchette down on the board, crossing his legs as he sits down in front of it.

He hesitates, for a moment. And feels stupid.

But, he has to know.

Carefully, he places his fingertips on the planchette again and clears his throat to say, “Hi, um…Billy. Are…are you there?”

His eyes widen as the planchette immediately pulls to ‘Yes’ and stays there.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, licking his lips nervously, “Okay, um…” He furrows his brow,s “Why are you…following me?”

He refuses to say ‘haunting’.

It takes a moment, but the planchette moves across the board, spelling a simple explanation.

F-U-N.

It makes Steve huff a quiet sound of amusement through his nose, rolling his eyes because it’s just so Billy.

Even in death, Billy’s determination to annoy the hell out of Steve is still there.

Almost affectionately, he mumbles, “Asshole.”

Billy spells out I-K-N-O-W.

Which makes Steve tilt his head a little, wondering. “Are…are you in pain?”

The planchette goes to ‘No’.

That’s a relief Steve hadn’t known he wanted to feel. He feels his shoulders begin to relax, no longer lingering by his ears.

“That’s…good. Max will be happy to hear that.”

The planchette jerks and quickly spells out D-O-N-O-T-T-E-L-L.

Furrowing his brows again, Steve asks, “Why not?”

C-O-M-P-L-I-C-A-T-E-D.

“I think she has a right to know. She’s…honestly, she’s been a mess ever since Starcourt.” Steve frowns and worries his bottom lip, thinking back over the last couple of months and how he’s watched the life drain out of her slowly. “She misses you, Billy.”

Billy goes quiet at that, for a while. Steve doesn’t dare move his hand away.

Finally, after another long moment, Billy spells out B-E-T-T-E-R-O-F-F.

“You don’t know that,” Steve frowns again, nearly scowling now, “I don’t know if you’ve seen her, but she’s not doing great. You really scared her that night, y’know – on Halloween.”

I-K-N-O-W.

“You should apologize.”

S-O-R-R-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y.

So sassy. “Not to me, idiot. To her.”

C-A-N-T.

“Why not?”

N-O-G-O-O-D-B-Y-E.

Dustin’s voice rings in Steve’s ears then, ‘You have to say goodbye to end it’.

“So…” he worries his lower lip between his teeth again, “If…I say ‘bye’ to you, you’ll leave?”

The planchette lands on ‘Yes’.

Steve goes quiet then, thinking.

They never really had any sort of relationship before Billy’s death. They were rivals for a short moment, sure, but even then it wasn’t like Steve was vying to be top dog at school. Billy was always the one to pull on his metaphorical pigtails, always ready to annoy him or get a rise out of him for fun, but even that wasn’t much.

But this little board has suddenly opened up an opportunity that Steve doesn’t want to end so soon.

“Okay,” he breathes, “Well…you’re stuck with me, for now, then. I…I want you to talk to Max, because I think she needs it – I don't even know why you’re attached to me, she was there that night, too…”

N-O-G-O-O-D-B-Y-E.

“Oh, right,” he mumbles, realizing that – unfortunately – Dustin was right. He hadn’t said goodbye to Billy that night, so Billy’s tied to him.

He’s not even sure if that’s how any of this works, but it kinda makes sense.

P-R-E-T-T-Y-B-O-Y.

An unwilling smile tugs on his lips then, feeling as if he can hear Billy’s voice in his head as he thinks of the weird nickname. Because even after all of the pain Billy went through, he’s still…himself. In a way. Maybe without all that pain and misery, now.

With a mumble, Steve says, “Yeah, that’s me. Get used to it.”

A-L-R-E-A-D-Y-A-M.

Steve ignores the flare of warmth in his chest at that and mutters, “Okay, well…since we’re going to hang around for a bit, could you maybe not be a total dick when I’m going about my day?”

The planchette goes to ‘No’, and really, Steve should’ve expected that.

“Later, asshole.” Steve mumbles with a smirk as he pulls his hands away, feeling a little bit like he’s just hung up on Billy, and grins as he watches some papers get shuffled on his desk before his curtains are ruffled, blinding him momentarily as sunlight shines on his face.

He chuckles and holds his hand out in front of his face, shielding himself from the little sunshine assault, and wonders what the fuck he’s gotten himself into.

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #ghost!billy #tw horror #very soft horror tbh lol #max mayfield #The Party #I kiiiinda want to continue it but I feel like we have enough ghost!billy content #and it's much better than this fkjgnkjf #so I'll leave it as it is 🥹#regardless I hope you like it!! it was fun to write!!#bambiwrites

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