Hello, hello! I'm Ghoul(they/them) and I write fic, like a lot of fic. This is my Directory
I write in second person(you) so all of my fic can be read as x reader, and you can think of any callsigns/nicknames as your own. However, my fic is technically x oc, if that's not for you no problem! I don't include descriptions or names in any of my fics.
I am an adult writing stories about adults for adults, and so Minors and Ageless Blogs Do Not Interact
I do not give consent for my work to be used in ai, be that ai chats or ai writing. This is a hard boundary I will not budge on.
Buy me a Ko-fi! And check out my ao3
Here I am on bluesky!
COD AUs
Cowboys
Fae
Demons
Ballet
Historic Aus
Sin Summer
Ghost!Ghost
Regency Au
Cyberpunk Au
The Ghost Distribution System
Professor Au
I want the Darlings
Sugar Daddy!Hesh
SCP-141
Shining Au
The Price of Fire
Alone on the Holidays?
Hephaestus!Nikto
The Doll Au
Cult Au
Monstober 2025
FAQ:
Can I write Fic with your OCs?
Yep! Just tag me in it if you post it.
Can I tell you about an OC I have for [insert au]?
Of course! OC talk is always open, but posting is contained to the morning.
Can I draw you OCs?
Yes. BUT I try to keep their descriptions vague so people can use them as Reader inserts, so I might not post/reblog it if you submit/post the art.
Do you take requests?
Sort of. If you have thoughts I'd love to hear them and if they inspire me I'll write something, but it might not be exactly what you requested. I tend to use asks as jumping off points rather than direct requests.
Do you cross post to anywhere else?
Yup! My ao3 account is actualPrincess
Could you make a character AI for [insert character or au]?
No. I absolutely abhor ai and hope it crashes and burns before it does any more damage to art and creativity. Role-Play in a discord server like an adult.
Do you have a list of your OCs anywhere?
Yup. Here you go!
Ghoul's Hozier Bullshit
Pillow Princess Ghost
those who plagiarize my work or harass me will be met with misfortune :)
the hottest thing a guy can be is barely conscious on the floor while someone lifts his head up by the hair so that you can see his glazed out eyes and the blood running down his face
john price on vacation x the person on the cruise that keeps reserving his favourite beach chair with their towel even though they don’t show up all morning (they got up at 4am to go put it down) until he gets so tired of it that he takes the chair anyway and wakes up from his nap two hours later to them squawking at him for stealing ‘their’ chair
simon riley laying low in a small coastal town after an OP x naive tourist having a port day who doesn’t realize that the boat will absolutely leave without you if you spend all afternoon canoodling with the big, brusque behemoth who won’t let you check the time on your phone when he has you spread out on his lap in some local tavern and grinding down on his thigh until the sweat on your upper lip drips down your neck and he licks it up. but he’s more than happy to let you spend the night in his hotel room until you’re able to catch a flight to the ship’s next destination
Keepsake
previous - masterlist
Ghoap/female reader - omegaverse au
cw: non consent
“Ye almost hit her.” Johnny snaps, glowering at Kyle from across the counter.
“C’mon, it wasn’t even close. You,” his gaze swings accusingly towards Simon, “were letting her squirm around too much.” Simon shakes his head.
“Didn’t want to break her.” You’re fragile. A little kitten in the jaws of wolves. Breakable like a pane of glass. Even more so now, since you’re sick. The bond corroding away inside your body hasn’t done you any favors.
The smallest amount of guilt pinches in his stomach. They’ve made a mess of everything.
Only right they clean it up.
A small cough echoes from the bedroom, and Simon frowns. You should be asleep. There was enough sedative in that water to knock out a horse. He jerks his head towards the sound. “Johnny.” His mate nods, and silence fills the kitchen as he disappears down the hall.
“So what’s your plan here?”
“Ger her on the plane, get her home, go from there.” There’s more, a methodical step by step plan, but he doesn’t care to elaborate. Kyle can infer most of it already. He’s familiar.
A hand rests on Simon’s shoulder, thumb working slow circles into the tense muscle. “She’s in the closet,” Johnny murmurs, “passed out. Must’ve been feelin’ really anxious, poor thing.” The sympathy is dripping with something darker, something sinister. You’re anxious, you’re fearful, and though it’s their fault, they don’t truly care, not in this moment. Once they get you home, get you settled, they’ll work on it, right the ship. But for now, it’s fuel for a machine that has to keep churning, has to carry you across the finish line. Fear is a powerful motivator, they know. If you threaten someone’s life, scare them into thinking they’re in real danger, they’ll do anything to protect themselves.
Anything.
“Closet again.” Johnny shoots him a mischievous grin. It’s been hours since you retreated back to your room after dinner, tucking yourself away in your nest. “Gonna be a tight squeeze.”
“‘m not crawling into that closet unless it’s to drag her out.” He tells his mate with a flat look, trying to curb his frustration. He knows it wasn’t a conscious decision to build your nest in there, more so your biology urging you to find somewhere safe, your omega trying to retreat, protect herself, but bloody hell do you make everything so difficult. “Did you take her temp?” Johnny hums.
“Borderline high. Think we’ve got one more day before it hits, maybe two.” His mate is almost giddy, the overwhelming happiness flowing down the bond like warmth, filling an empty space in Simon’s chest.
And why shouldn’t he be? They’re getting everything they ever wanted, everything they’ve dreamed. All their planning, their strategizing, everything put into motion finally paying off. If they’re lucky, they’ll get through this unscathed, they’ll bite you, bond you, keep you forever, and you’ll never know the truth. He can taste it, taste you, on the back of his tongue, and it’s more than just perfume, pheromones. It’s clean and buttery and sweet…
and made for his mouth.
Made for their mouths.
There isn’t a gift quite like having a mate. Someone predestined for you, a mate is the only thing in the world that belongs to you before you ever see them, lay a hand on them. There is no ownership greater than the bond, no claim stronger.
There is no choice.
Only fate.
“Bleedin’ christ.” Johnny swears, laser focused on the rear view mirror. He’s rattling in the passenger seat, shaking from the amount of energy it’s taking to restrain himself.
“Stay calm.” Simon grits from a clenched jaw. He’s clinging to shreds of control, his alpha instincts surging to the surface, trying to break free. Johnny sits frozen in the passenger seat, still locked onto the mirror watching you fade into the distance.
“Ghost, Soap. Status?” The earpiece chirps, John’s voice echoing between them.
“Clear. Lost the target, we’re returning to base. There’s been… a complication.” The line is quiet for a moment, no doubt their captain weighing their words, trying to discern their meaning. Eventually, he just acknowledges them, but it hardly registers.
“Copy.”
“I cannae believe this.” Johnny hisses, half mad. His scent has turned feral, rimmed in rage, in confusion, as Simon’s teeters on a similar edge. They’re a powder keg right now. “Of all places…” Simon grimaces.
“Nothin’ we can do about it now.” It’s rotten luck, at the end of the day. Finding their scent match, their omega, should have never happened while they’re on a mission, in some unknown in a foreign country. It’s the perfect storm of wrong place, wrong time, and all he can do is hope that their little show was enough to convince whoever is tailing them you’re not of interest. “We’ll get clear of this, ask for leave, come back for ‘er.” Johnny’s eyes are dark as they flick towards him.
“She’s no’ gonna come willingly, not after that.”
“No.” Simon agrees, his hand coming down to lay atop Johnny’s, their fingers intertwining. “She won’t.” An unspoken certainty settles between them, a silent promise to do what it takes.
Whatever it takes.
Johnny is out for a run during breakfast.
It’s his normal, and they’ve tried to get back into their usual routines, their normal life, without exposing themselves as much as possible. They’ve scrubbed the house clean, anything personal or meaningful loaded into storage crates, cardboard boxes and bags, all of their belongings that made this house their home hidden away. Everything from photos to tea towels, all of it crammed along the walls of their bedroom.
It makes Simon’s skin itch.
The sooner they can move on from this, the better.
“Johnny’s gone on a run,” he tells you, not surprised at the answering silence. You try not to speak to them, insisting on kicking and screaming, digging your heels in like a petulant toddler.
He wishes you’d just give it up already, but he can’t deny he enjoys your stubbornness, your strong will.
It makes everything more interesting. More fun.
You’re worse for the wear this morning, listless, slightly swaying in your seat, pushing food around your plate, scent tinged slightly sour at the edges. Just enough that his alpha bristles, an overwhelming need to fix it, fix you, rolling through his blood like a wave.
“Feelin’ alright?” You blink at him, brow furrowed for a moment before it smooths away and you shake your head.
“I’m fine.” You croak, reaching for the pill bottles. He feigns disinterest as you shake them into your palm, watching you from the corner of his eye. You’re a dutiful patient, clinging to the hope that the medication will help you, ease your suffering, completely oblivious to the truth.
They tossed that poison weeks ago, and what’s left of it is currently burning through your system. The last line of defense disintegrating before his very eyes, castle walls collapsing into dust around you.
He smothers his smile.
It’s not that he’s taking pleasure in your suffering, because he’s not, but he can’t help but silently celebrate the inevitable. Every second, every hour brings you closer to the finish line, to the moment where you’ll be so overtaken by your biology that you won’t be able to fight it, or them. Your protests, your fear, your rational thought will fade away as your instincts take over and you beg them for bites, knots… bonds.
You’ll become theirs, and they can leave this entire mess in the past where it belongs.
“She has it..” Johnny scrubs a hand over her face. “She’s sick, Si.”
They watch from the SUV as you come out of the clinic, zipping your jacket up to your chin. Your eyes are dull, lifeless, and a chill runs up Simon’s spine.
Bond corrosion. They’ve felt the effects too, the rot festering under their ribs, their biology slowly turning on them, punishing them. They’re just too strong to succumb.
Johnny taps away at the keyboard of the laptop balanced on his knees, your medical records spread across the screen in a dozen different windows. “Been gettin’ treatment for it for months. Suppressants, blockers, painkillers. The whole lot.” Simon grits his teeth. “Says here she had…” He trails off, focuses through the windshield to where you’re standing on the sidewalk.
“Had what?”
“A heat. After we left.” Regret tinges Johnny’s scent, and it pinches his heart. It shouldn’t surprise him, considering they went through a rut around the same time, but at least they had each other. They always had each other. You had no one.
You look over your shoulder for a second, eyes sweeping across the street. Simon freezes.
“Can she…” Johnny whispers, Simon shakes his head.
“No. She might feel us, maybe. But if she’s this sick, I doubt her instincts are reliable.” The moment passes. You turn away, flipping your hood up over your head, walking in the opposite direction, walking away from them.
“We need to move in. No more waiting.” Johnny pulls his phone from his pocketing, opening their text thread to Keller. A hot flare of jealously rises in his stomach. His alpha is possessive. Alex has no right to see you, smell you. You’re theirs.
“He doesn’t touch her,” Simon warns. “We only want him to spook her. Make sure he understands.”
“Tonight?” There’s hope in Johnny’s eyes, excitement. A little bit of worry too, for you, but overall, this is a good thing. An expedited timeline just means they’re one step closer to bringing you home. Sick, but they’ll fix it. They’ll take care of you. Simon nods his affirmative.
“Tonight.”
“Dove?” A small crease forms between your brows, as Johnny gently shakes your shoulder. “Dove, ye alright?”
“Mmm?” You shake him off, pressing deeper into the cushions of the couch. Simon’s fingers find your cheek, backs of his knuckles brushing upward, over your temple, across your forehead. Hot. Your skin is hot, nearly burning, damp with sweat. Dark satisfaction burns through his veins. How long will it be before you’re begging for them? Crying for them? How long will it be before you forget how they’ve hurt you, all the suffering you’ve endured because of them, and crawl towards them on your hands and knees?
Your scent blooms, flowers into something sweeter as you lean into his touch, lashes fluttering as your eyes open.
“What is it?” You mumble, pushing yourself up on an elbow, shaking your head like you’re trying to shed the clutch of sleep. It’s no use. It’s not sleep that has its hooks in you but heat, biology building to a crescendo, an overwhelming symphony drowning out your rational mind, your logical thoughts.
“You’re sick, sweetheart. Think you’ve got a fever.” He lies easily, and you try to push him off, but there’s no strength in you, your effort feeble.
“No, ‘m fine.”
“Ye’re not.” Johnny argues, propping you up with arm around your shoulder. “Did ye take yer meds?” Simon swallows his snicker.
“Y-yeah, I don’t know why they’re not working.” You moan, attempting to pull away. All it does is give Johnny an opening to hold you closer, and his mouth brushes across the top of your head when you instinctively turn your face into his neck, seeking his scent. “It’s so hot.” You complain, and Johnny smiles, unabashed since you can’t see his face.
“Aye. Want to get in the shower, try to cool off?” You nod miserably, and Simon urges you up, supporting your weight as you struggle to your feet.
“Take it slow,” Simon murmurs as you tackle the stairs, one painstakingly drawn out step at a time. Johnny’s behind you, fingertips at your waist, as Simon shoulders your lack of balance from the side.
Your scent is overwhelming. Burnt sugar turning to caramel, it mixes with Johnny’s excitement, his joy, tangling together in a perfect, heady combination that nearly has Simon’s mouth watering. He can’t wait to taste you, can’t wait to spread your legs and bury his face in your pussy, taste your slick.
The bathroom in their room is large, more than enough room for them to maneuver around you as Simon holds you upright where you’re sitting on the closed toilet lid and Johnny tests the temperature of the water.
“Let’s get you out of these clothes.” You shake your head, try to pull away as they curl under the hem of your t-shirt.
“It’s alright dove,” Johnny reassures you, now kneeling at your feet. “We’re jus’ gonna get ye cooled down.” They synchronize their movements, Simon lifting you slightly so Johnny can hook his fingers in the waistband of your shorts and pull, Johnny holding you at the waist so Simon can get your bra off. You’re left only in your underwear, listing weakly to the side into Simon. “Such a good girl,” he croons, rubbing your thighs, “such a good omega.” You mumble something into Simon’s stomach, an objection maybe. A last line in the sand. “Up ye get.” Johnny pats your waist, and they herd you into the shower, supporting your weight, carefully holding you under the spray.
“Don’t…” You protest, but it’s fruitless. Your body is bared to them, naked while they're clothed, and Johnny grins with a full mouth of teeth, the widening maw of a predator. He drinks his fill, sweeping over you from head to toe, his fingers lightly brushing your nipples as he soaps your skin. When you shudder, Simon can't help himself, can't stop from splaying a hand across your belly, feeling your softness, the goosebumps rising beneath his touch.
“You’ll feel better after this,” He promises, moving you deeper into the shower, rubbing your back as water cascades over your shoulders. This won’t do much to keep you cool, not for long. It’s a temporary balm, but until you’re panting and presenting, they need to stay the course. Try to keep you cool, keep you comfortable, until you’re overwhelmed by your heat and unable to fight it.
“Cold,” you whimper under the lukewarm water, instinctively pressing yourself into Simon. You fit there so perfectly, and Johnny smiles, sweet and sharp, the loofa in his hand sliding down your spine, soap working into a lather.
“I know dove, I know.” Johnny keeps his voice even toned, pillow soft. “Jus’ a minute more.” You shake your head against Simon’s chest, your nose turning inward, dragging across his wet shirt like you’re searching for him, seeking his scent. You sniffle, fists clenching and then relaxing, a battle unfolding inside your head, your body, a whine growing in your throat as the shift you further under the water to rinse off.
Johnny starts to hum. It’s a gentle, slow rumble building from his chest, and Simon presses a thumb into your nape, careful and firm. You’re powerless against his touch, Johnny’s subharmonics, your muscles immediately softening, turning more pliant by the second. Johnny kills the water and you sag between them, boneless and shivering. “Poor thing,” You shake your head.
“No.” It’s a whisper on deaf ears. Simon reaches for the clean towel they hung on the rack, wraps it around your shoulders. “No.” You say again.
“Aye, we heard ye.” Johnny rubs your shoulders, your arms dry, and you try to take a shaky step away, a small, half attempt that ends with your knees buckling. Months of sickness, meds, futile efforts, has wrecked you, left you defenseless, and he considers it a small stroke of luck. It’s easier, like this.
Simon leads you out of the bathroom, an arm wrapped around your waist, as Johnny moves ahead, pulling back the covers of the bed.
Their bed.
Not yours.
Not guest bed, not the little nest you’ve built in the closet, but their bed. The one that’s saturated with their scent, their warmth, the one that will become yours.
“No,” you rasp, pushing against Simon’s chest as he lowers you to the sheets, “not in here. I want m-my room. My...” The rest goes unsaid. Your nest. Your omega is seeking her safe space, you don’t realize yet that this is where you’re truly safest. With them.
“I know,” Johnny soothes, cupping your cheek. “But we need to keep an eye on ye.” Simon tugs at the towel, your grip falling away, anger igniting behind your eyes for a brief moment before it’s snuffed out again, and you hang your head.
You don’t fight as Simon pulls the sheets and blankets up to your chin, you don’t push Johnny away as he fluffs the pillows behind your head. The heat roiling under your skin has drained your energy, and once they’re done tucking you in you roll onto your side, turning your back, shutting them out.
He’ll allow it, for now.
Johnny is already climbing into bed, over eager, eyes shining, murmuring into the crown of your head sweetly. Lies, probably. False promises meant to relax you, and Simon watches as your shoulders hitch once Johnny’s arm folds over your waist.
You do not have the strength to push him away.
Simon takes the other side. Your eyes crack open, fever heavy and suspicious.
“Close your eyes dove. Sleep.” Your mouth opens, closes, and he waits for your temper, your questions, but your lower lip trembles instead, and you bury your face in the pillow, hiding from him. From them. From everything.
He squeezes your hip, relaxes his palm next to Johnny’s, their thumbs folding over one another atop your body.
This is it. This is right. This is how everything should have been all along, you here, with them, cradled between their bodies, an omega made for her mates.
"you're disgusting," as you wrap your legs around his ass. "stop cumming in me-- oh, my god--"
"Stop cumming on my cock!" he's ramming into you as hard as he can, slamming the headboard into the wall with every stroke. "cant pull out when you're dr-dripping down my balls and... god, fuck, when your body does that-"
his head dips down to suck your tits into his mouth and the sensation makes your body twitch and kick-
warmth pulses inside you
"I can feel it, that's so gross," you whine. "i hate you-"
Kylie doesn't slam her way through the door to the sandwich shop, because she's a lady, but it's a near thing. "Johnny."
Her best friend and worst enemy grins from behind the counter. "Hello, bonnie. How c'n I help ye?"
"How long have you been Simone's fucking roommate?" she hisses across the counter. When he just keeps grinning at her, she barely keeps herself from wrapping her fingers around his neck.
Her stomach swoops as another tequila soaked memory from the other night surfaces. She had not been quiet about how she wanted to get the big, silent, admittedly more-than-a-little-off-putting butch under her, over her, in her -
Johnny leans in to whisper. "Y' want me to put in a good word?"
"I want you to keep your mouth shut."
"Aw, that's nae fun," Johnny laughs. He suddenly raises his voice. "C'n I get a manager up here?"
The annoyed voice from the back pours ice down Kylie's spine. "F' fucks sake."
"Soap I am going to kill you slo- Hi, Simone!" She tosses her braids over her shoulder. "Wow, I didn't know you work here."
"Don' usually," Simone answers, deadpan as always as his eyes scan down her face to land on her tits. "Might make it an 'abit, though. Soap, 'm goin' on break."
