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boolger · 1 day ago

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Spøgelset i huset 🪞 CH.3

Poly!141+Nikolai x cursed!ghost!reader 🪞call of duty 🪞MDNI🪞 5.9k words🪞18+, explicit

Last chapter 🪞AO3 🪞next chapter

Tags: alternative universe, Johnny lives, poly!141+ Nikolai, ghost!reader, supernatural elements, murder, mirror portals, supernatural kept vague, curses, mention of cult, short mention of suicide, torture, mental health, ptsd, hearing loss, loss of limbs, wounds, flashbacks, disability, forced retirement, polyamory, smut, love, enemies to lovers, redoing a house, slight age gap (reader is mid 20s, Nikolai is 42ish, a cursed ghost, badly explained lore, original characters, Beatrice is back for a short moment, falling in love, rough sex, orgy, oral sex, penetrative sex, lowkey shade upon inpolite ghost hunters, hurt/comfort, angst/comfort, nightmares, stealing, spanking, crack elements, daddy kink, more will be added.

A/N: uh. Hi. It’s been a while since I’ve had the energy to actually finish anything fic related but here u go, sinners.<3 eat up.

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Well. All of this wasn’t going as you had hoped. In fact, it was going much, much worse than you had expected — in truth, in the total opposite direction of your plans. They had seen more upset about the fact that somebody had been inside “their” house, than the actual ominous threats you left behind all over.

They had even laughed at the toes threat. They weren’t supposed to find it funny.

Losing your toes wasn't funny.

You were slouched over in surrender, as you switched between following a few of them around lazily, floating a bit from the ground. Usually you would be asleep by now, but no, these freaks had to move most things today. Being noisy and enjoying themselves, not thinking about the proper owner of the house. Made it impossible for you - the actual owner - to enjoy yourself and sleep peacefully.

So you were being nosy in response and enjoying yourself, judging a lot, if not all, of the stuff they brought inside. You might as well figure out some more about them, as it seemed like you were going to have to scare them away properly.

You broke an ashtray.

One of the men got blamed for it.

Slammed a door.

It was the wind, they said.

Flushed the toilet.

The toilet was just broken.

They were fucking impossible to scare. The real estate agent had been so fucking easier to terrify.

The biggest thing that you judged them for, so far at least, was the fucking whiteboard. They had moved your kitchen mirror to the side and pushed the whiteboard - on fucking wheels - in front of the kitchen table; only to make a fucking war plan.

It was like you were back at your former base, listening to the plans for the upcoming mission. They even had the house plan, adding different things that needed to be fixed in every room. Why the fuck they didn’t even wait to move in, you didn’t know, because they needed to clean a lot, paint a lot and fix floorboards - as well as windows.

How were they supposed to leave the military world behind, when they still acted like this was a full blown mission to just move?

Since they all seemed retired anyways, they should be able to see the advantages of cleaning up and getting more ready before they hauled everything into the fucking house. That didn’t seem to hold them back though.

Maybe they truly needed something to do in life, constantly needing a project… just like you had, when you found this place, several years ago. Dreaming of your own little slice of paradise, of somewhere safe and beautiful.

If they were killed here by another cult… then you were going to scream. One thing was being a cursed ghost, but you were not sharing your house in ghost form with them too. Then you could never truly escape them. You could, at the very least, hopefully scare them away from the house.

If they died like you and got bound to the house, then you were screwed.

Sure, it was not morally correct to mess with veterans…

But then again, did laws and moral codes even apply to you, since you were dead half of the time? Not in your own opinion.

Besides, you were a veteran yourself, so they were technically harassing you too.

Bastards.

Fucking, stupid bastards with nice asses and big arms.

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You were sincerely relieved when you watched them drive off in the evening, after adding new locks and fixing the doors. They were returning tomorrow, that much you caught from their conversation, despite taking a break from them and napping for a couple of hours.

They had left just before the sun fully disappeared, leaving you alone for the night, which was a part of the relief. You could be alone during this night, be in your human form in peace. Despite slamming several doors throughout the day and pushing things from counters, they hadn’t really reacted much. It had taken a lot of energy, hence why you had needed your nap. And despite being tired now, you crawled through the mirror into the kitchen, ready to see what food they left behind - and to rummage through their things.

You couldn’t really violate their privacy and boundaries when they moved into your house, could you? They were the ones violating your privacy. In fact, those things might as well be yours now. So you told yourself at least, while you nippled on the crackers left behind, going to the different rooms where they had placed stuff.

It felt weird to suddenly have so much stuff in the house. You had grown accustomed to the rooms mostly being empty, only a few things of yours left behind.

You happily left a trail of crumbs as you opened some of the boxes - maybe they would think they had mice or rats. That would keep them distracted at least.

Right now, you were worried that the military men were going to remove one of your mirrors. They had commented on the amount of them during the day and while yes, you almost had one in every room, it was just the easiest way for you to travel at night. Besides, after a few too close calls, you knew it was better to have too many escape doors than too little.

You stole some of their socks. Sue you. It wasn’t like it was easy for you to go shopping. You also stole a soft hoodie that you found in another box, the name Kyle messily written on the side. It was surprisingly hard to get new stuff when you couldn’t go out during the day and didn’t have a credit card.

Then you looked through some of the boxes in your bedroom, hoping to find some nice new sheets - which you did find, but you also found a surprising amount of sex toys. You were far from innocent or easily flustered, but some of the things took you several moments to understand what they even were.

You also found… pictures. A LOT of pictures.

You should be the first to admit that the men who were taking over your house were… well… kinda hot. Of course, you would never tell them. But five hot, rugged men moved into your lil lonely house - and one expected you not to be horny at the idea.

Sure, you were mad at them moving in, but at the very least, you could get some wank material. Then they could move out.

You ended up stealing two more packs of crackers and a beer, retreating to your attic to make a new art project.

Because you found something else in one of their boxes.

John, Nikolai, Simon, Kyle, Johnny

I know who you are

Move out of my fucking house

It’s mine, i bought it first!

I will make your lives bloody hell if you stay, bastards!

Fuck off!!

Leave!!

Piss off!!

Just fucking go away.

Best regards and loving death threats

“Ghoul”

(Also, please buy some dry food for the back porch cat. She doesn’t like chicken flavour.)

((also fuck all of you.))

Sure, it was written on notebook paper, which wasn’t that scary - but the big hunting knife which you had found in a box, with dried blood on it, did add to the scare factor. And when one stabbed the paper directly into the wall across the front door, it added to the atmosphere. You had heard them use the name “Ghoul” when talking about you, which, well, you didn’t hate the name, but you certainly wasn’t a fan of it either. You had heard them call the big guy with the scarred face for Ghost, so you supposed that name was taken.

You crawled through the mirror, yawning as you got back into your attic. Your safe space. Hopefully they wouldn’t attempt to go up there. It would be awful, really. You also needed to make sure they wouldn’t remove your many mirrors.

This would show them who was in charge - that you were serious about your threats.

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“What th’ hell!” the words left Johnny before he could think about it, “this is goin’ too far!”

The others gathered around him, only John muttering out a small “bloody hell,” at the sight of the knife forced into the wall, the note attached.

”Now we have tae fix that hole,” Johnny stared at it angrily, putting down the box with stuff, “And ah already ken its gonna be me, doin’ et.”

”Now that you offer,” Kyle answered dryly and Johnny sent him a nasty look, as Simon walked to the wall, looking at what Johnny presumed to be his boyfriend’s knife.

A huff left the man with the dark, blonde hair before he pulled the knife out of the wall, dusting it off, before reading the note.

“She is making demands now.” Simon commented and Johnny moved, snatched the paper out of his hand.

”she feckin’ ken our names,” Johnny hissed, anger fueling him, an annoyed growl leaving him as Nikolai snatched it out of his hand. A dark chuckle left the Russian.

“It’s nae funny!” Johnny pointed out, ��She has been listenin’ tae us! What if she is a real ghost? Or a proper spirit? Mah grandma told me never tae mess with those.”

”You weren’t afraid earlier,” John commented, reading together with Nikolai. Kyle did so too, raising his eyebrows at it.

”Well?”

“Whoever this is,” John finally answered, leaning a bit against his cane, “has clearly bugged the house or something. This ‘ghoul’ person clearly live here.”

“Ah am telling ye,” Johnny looked over at the hole in the wall, that he still knew for a fact that he was going to be fixing, “this is a proper haunted house.”

”We got a good deal then,” Simon commented, twirling the big knife in his hand, which really shouldn’t be hot, but it was, “a house, a ghost and a back porch cat - for cheap.”

”This is nae funny!”

“Calm down, mate,” Kyle moved past him, tapping at the hole with his good hand, “We will throw a picture over the hole. Then we’re gonna search the house and find our little spectre.”

”What about trap, da?” Nikolai offered, his tone a tad too happy, “I know I have bear traps somewhere.”

“Why the fuck do you have bear traps, Nik?” Kyle asked before Johnny could. The older man didn’t give much of an answer, merely shrugging, as if having a couple of bear traps laying around, somewhere that didn’t have bears, was normal human behaviour.

“Cameras,” John suggested instead.

”And we listen for sounds at night,” Simon added, moving to kiss Johnny’s forehead - a gesture that sent butterflies through Johnny’s body, a soft sigh leaving him, “We will find the ghoul, throw ‘er out so we can live in peace, eh?”

”Let’s get to packing out,” John commanded, voice softer than when he was an official captain, “we will buy cat food later.”

”We need a lot of crucifixes,” Johnny pointed out angrily, “I’m nae dyin’ because ye wouldn’t believe me.”

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SQUATTER

You stared at the capitalised word, a frown on your see-through face. This was ridiculous - and since you slept badly, this certainly didn’t help your foul mood.

Squatter - they called you a squatter, writing it on their stupid whiteboard, as if you were the main target, the person they had to kill.

You supposed you were the target - they were just too late for the killing part.

You watched them sit on their chairs around your dining table, most of them sipping tea, as they watched their captain - partner? Boyfriend? Former captain? Whatever he wanted to be called - write down notes with the squeaky pen.

You sat on the free chair. Rather, you floated a bit over it, but it was hard to sit on surfaces when you didn’t really have a physical body - not in the same way you used to at least.

So far, the only one who seemed a little bit affected was the handsome, Scottish man, with the big scar. Johnny, if you weren’t wrong.

The others had declared you a squatter which was first of all very rude and secondly, they were the technical squatters.

“So, what do we know?” John asked and you almost raised your hand out of reflex. In a way this was nostalgic, having a meeting like this, even if you’re the subject and they were threatening your living situation. Or, well, halfway situation, you supposed. Living dead situation.

You stared at your nails, getting lost in your mind for a few moments. A living dead was a zombie, you supposed. Then again, you didn’t eat human meat and certainly didn’t want to. Maybe you were closer to being a kind of vampire… then again, no urge to drink blood. And what kind of vampire could transport themselves through mirrors? Weren’t they unable to see their own reflection?

“It is not her,” the man with the strong Russian accent declared, waving his hand towards the Scot in dismissal, “I looked it up and she is very much dead. Dead and buried.”

You cringed. It wasn’t hard to guess who they were talking about. You looked back at the whiteboard, blinking at the amount of things they had written, while you had pondered about your existence. It was like a proper brainstorm task.

SQUATTER

“Ghoul” she/her (?)

Knows our names

Most likely keys to the doors

Steals food

Only comes out at night

Ideas

Check for bugs, microphones and cameras

Install own cameras

Find way into the attic

One stays awake during the night

Bear traps

“Shoot ‘er,” the emo one, with the fingerless gloves with bones on, suggested coldly and you sent him an angry look, upset he couldn’t see it. You were going to cut holes in all of his socks, that was for sure. At least the others protested.

“We can’t just kill a lass because she is a squatter,” Kyle pointed out, absentmindedly fidgeting with his bandages on one hand, making you wonder what happened for a moment, “we’re supposed to be done killing people, Si!”

“Nobody has to know,” he answered with a shrug. You were going to piss on all of his cigarettes too. What an asshole.

Not that this made you less curious about what all of them used to do in the military. Special forces, clearly, but what exactly had caused them to move out in the middle of nowhere. Besides not being judged for being poly.

“Nah, too violent, LT,” Johnny pointed out, “besides, ye cannae shoot a ghoul!”

“Watch me try.”

You swallowed. Maybe you should steal some of their bullets, just to be safe. The ones specifically owned by the emo.

“Nyet nyet, way too dangerous,” Nikolai argued back and you could almost have thanked him, “do not worry, my boys, I have found my bear traps.”

“Jesus Christ,” you muttered, hiding your face in your hands, wondering how the fuck you were going to deal with all of this shit. At least they couldn’t hear you.

“Dinnae do that! What if the cat walks into et?” The Scot argued and maybe he was truly your favorite so far, “my Mrs. Moon cannae be hurt!”

“The cat doesn’t even like you, Johnny boy,” Kyle argued, while you were busy cringing over the name - why would he name the back porch kitty Mrs. Moon? Were they just not a creative bunch when it came to names?

“She will!”

“She scratched your hand, no?” Nikolai asked with a snicker, catching the hand that tried to hit him on the shoulder and he brought it to his mouth, gently kissing the knuckles one after one, “it is okay, sweet boy. No bear traps.”

John sighed, erasing bear traps from the list.

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That night you carefully painted blood splatter on your newly required white dress. You would add white socks and attempt to put on as much setting power on your skin as possible, hoping it would give some sort of ‘dead’-ish affect. You weren’t sure if it would work, but you were willing to try.

You spent several hours up there, reading after finishing the dress, attempting to be as quiet as possible. They were sleeping in the house for the first night and you really didn’t want to get caught the first night.

With food and water already in the attic, you didn’t need to go downstairs, you had everything you needed.

The problem was that you wanted to. Oh, you wanted it SO badly. To sneak around some more and see what they had been up to, while you had napped earlier. See if they had actually managed to put up surveillance cameras or something, see if they had bought your cat - who was definitely not your cat, back porch kitty just hung around - some food, so that she wouldn’t starve.

it was the early hours of the morning that you finally caved in. The sun would rise in half an hour.

Luckily, they hadn’t moved the mirror from what they had chosen to be the bedroom. Carefully, your heart beating so fast it almost hurt, you pushed your face through the mirror, thinking of the room.

They were all sleeping. Some of them snoring, all of the men curled together on the mattresses, limbs intertwined, hands holding onto each other. The room was filled with the soft sounds of their soft and slow breathing - safe the snoring ones, those were louder. Like small chainsaws.

You didn’t do anything. You just… watched.

None of them wore that much clothes, shame from watching them rushing through you for a moment. Most of them were in underwear, one in sweatpants, only two of the five men wore shirts. It wasn’t like you were going to step into the room, even though you wanted to, the sight of tones muscles and soft stomachs were tempting as fuck.

… you needed to get laid. That wasn’t easy. Maybe you needed to watch some porn.

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Sleep was begging you to move to your bed; to float through the walls and floors and curl up on the mattress, to relax after being awake from most of the day.

Yet, you didn’t do that, instead you sat on the kitchen counter, watching them eat pancakes, with a slight jealous feeling. It had been ages since you had pancakes and here they were, eating them happily with each other.

It seemed… cozy. They looked… happy. Perhaps the jealousy wasn’t really over the pancakes, but the social aspects of the whole situation. To connect with another human being, to feel loved, to feel like you mattered.

To not be considered dead, only remembered by the ones who were interested in your murder.

You stayed, listening to their plans for the day. They were going to get surveillance cameras - wonderful. That meant you had to unplug them or something, while in your ghost form, so it wouldn’t be noticed.

Perhaps tonight would be perfect to start messing with them. Especially as most of them said they hadn’t heard anything all night or felt anything.

”Felt watched,” the grumpy one said, “like somebody was watching us sleep.”

You cringed at the comment. At least he hadn’t seen you. So far so good. Though, even if he had, how was he going to explain it to the others? A head, sticking out of the mirror, watching them - then disappearing into it?

Didn’t really make him sound super sane.

You wanted to mess with one of them though - and you had the perfect idea.

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As soon as the sun disappeared, the last rays of it had gone to bed and the darkness took over, your body changed. The transformation was, as always, an odd and uncomfortable feeling. Even after five years, changing into a physical form felt wrong. For bones to appear, muscles and blood vessels curling all around, limbs appearing at the matter of seconds.

Crystals growing from your wound, greeting you like an old friend as you scratched it, letting out a small hum.

The plan was simple. When one of them went to the bathroom - most likely the Scot, as he did that last night - you would wait for him in the hallway, and start to sing something creepy. And when he would step closer, you would go to the bathroom and disappear into the mirror as fast as possible.

Then the chaos would erupt.

And you would enjoy it.

You had chosen the standard scary song - or at least, to you. You could remember most of the lyrics of come little children, specifically the creepy version. Sure, not all of them - nor were you the greatest singer. You were far from bad, but not anything to write home about.

It didn’t matter, not really. It was about the vibes, about watching a woman, clad in white, with blood on her, to sing creepily before she disappeared.

All the directors who made ghost movies would be in love with you, you were sure - and, it would definitely mess with whoever of the men who would see you.

Did you feel bad? Slightly. They definitely had their own nightmares to fight, their own demons, but you HAD warned them. Told them not to move in, to leave as quickly as possible.

They hadn’t listened, alas you had to make the threats come true.

“Come little children,” you muttered to yourself, as you put more and more setting powder on your skin. You weren’t really sure that you looked like a ghost or just like somebody who didn’t know how to use setting powder, but you had to give it a try. It was about the vibes.

You had your own nightmares, after all. Almost every time you slept, you dreamt of crystals forced into your body, of them growing from your bones and forcing their way through your skin. The people who had murdered you. The missions you had participated in, before even moving here. Losing your leg. So many things rushed through your mind whenever you slept.

So, yeah - you felt bad, but again, you could have done worse. You could actually have cut off one of their toes to prove your point, so this seemed rather harmless.

You winced slightly as one of the floorboards moved beneath you, creating the slightest creaking noise. It had become stressful to move around in the attic. It hadn’t been something you had to worry about often when you lived alone. But now, with five fucking military men living in your house, you constantly had to remember which spots made sounds and which didn’t.

It was a matter of time before they would notice. It would be a matter of time before you would slip up, one way or another. You would be busted in your human form and they wouldn’t believe your explanations.

Hell, you doubted they would be up for an orgy if they caught you.

Slipping into the upstairs bathroom was only easy due to the tall mirror, mounted to the wall. The tiles were cold beneath your bare feet, for a second reminding you that you had to pee. You cast a glance towards your reflection.

You looked… well odd. Definitely scary in some sort of way, which you supposed was the most important. The small amount of moonlight coming in through the tiny window, added to the weird white shine from the setting powder that didn’t match your skin. You had added a bit of eye makeup, dark and reddish circles around your eyes.

For half a second, you felt like a young teenager; uncertain about your body, about the clothes you wore and how others would perceive you. The difference was of course that you weren’t pretending to be dressed as a ghost when you were that age, but still.

Your life had almost seemed to be frozen ever since you died. Sure, your hair grew, so did your nails. Yet, you had been alone for all those years, only ever visited by those who were into the paranormal - as well as the occasional, amusing visit from your real estate agents.

A part of you wondered why you hungered to return to that life. Why did you so badly dream of having the house to yourself again? When it had been a never ending cycle of loneliness and lifeless boredom. You had been unable to return to that life you had, before a cult had decided to choose you as their victim.

The sound of somebody getting up from the bed next door, the floorboards creaking ever so slightly, made you abandon all deep thoughts. It was best to not get too lost in them anyway.

With a couple of easy steps you moved out into the hallway, taking a deep breath.

Rustling from the room further down the hallway and then the door handle was pressed down; the door opened, and you did your best to keep every emotion from your face, to look as scary as possible.

At first the man didn’t notice you, busy closing the door behind him - but then he turned and, eyes locking with yours and he froze completely. Eyes widened, mouth opened. Not a sound escaped him.

You didn’t sing the song properly. Couldn’t make yourself do it. It was as if most of the words were stuck in your mouth, sticking to your tongue, unable to let loose.

Instead you hummed.

The second he moved, you heard more movement from the bedroom. So with a quick turn, you darted back into the bathroom, hurrying inside the mirror.

Then you waited, almost not breathing in anticipation.

You could hear them talk. Yell, then, the Scot probably upset.

Mostly because he hadn’t heard you. You winced, having forgotten he had a hearing loss. It made sense that he didn’t wear his aids when just going to the bathroom.

So much for singing a creepy song.

Despite this, it seemed like you had freaked everyone out, one way or another. You listened to them rummaging around the bathroom for a good while, not understanding where the fuck you had gone. They even knocked on the ceiling, as if they were trying to find a hidden door to you.

You sat quietly on your bed, merely listening as the Scot kept insisting that he had seen you.

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You weren’t sure when exactly you had fallen asleep, but the transformation hadn’t awoken you; that wasn’t unusual really, you had tried it so many times that despite the pain, you were able to sleep through it sometimes.

You were in the bed, floating slightly above it, still in the white dress. Your skin itched, no doubt from the excessive use of powder to look more dead, or at least attempt to. The sun was shining in through a small spot in the window. There was an almost dried spot on the pillow, from where you had most likely drooled during the night.

Sounds.

You closed your eyes again. You desperately wanted a quiet morning. Wanted there to be nothing but the sound of nature around you. Perhaps you were easily annoyed, but death did that to you. If you had to live every single day, never changing besides the dead or undead state, in a never ending cycle you didn’t know when it ended, then you found your preferences. You, for example, preferred peace.

Frying. Words. Ceramic plates. Electric kettle. Hands rummaging through a moving box. The squeaking sound of the alcohol pen writing on the whiteboard in the kitchen. Voices. Laughter.

A coffee machine started. You let out a deep huff. Coffee. You could use some coffee. Some proper food as well. You turned over onto your stomach, still floating a little above the bed, not actually touching the soft material.

As you opened your eyes, you imagined sitting in between them. Getting a plate, offered coffee. Maybe a glass of juice. You didn’t even particularly like juice, but you would drink it. Ignore the taste of synthetic oranges, decline a second glass politely.

You didn’t even know what they were making, but you figured it was probably rather traditional. Would they serve you a plate with toast and egg? Bacon, beans, sausage? Or would they eat bedrolls with delight, jam and butter upon it?

What would the-…

You stopped your imaginary scenarios before you got lost in them and sat up. Changing into another outfit was a bit of a struggle. It wasn’t impossible while in this state, it was just odd, the fabrics turning see through like you were when you touched them. Still, they covered your body, not showing off your nipples or anything.

You didn’t question it. There wasn’t a scientific explanation behind your fucking situation anyways.

Purely out of habit, you moved through the mirrors, even though you could just float through the floors. They hadn’t removed the mirror in the kitchen yet, though it was moved to the right, leaning against the wall - their stupid whiteboard had taken its spot.

The kitchen was weirdly active. The many different smells of food hit you like a freight train, making drool collect in your mouth. Fuck, you wanted to devour every single dish. Even the fried eggs that the grim reaper was making, which looked quite burned.

The Scot looked tired, heavy bags beneath his eyes, that made you winced. You didn’t feel bad, not really - definitely not - they were the ones that were taking over your fucking house, you refused to feel bad for making him sleep badly.

You dared to look around the room. Everyone but the captain and the Russian, looked tired. Even the grim reaper, face exposed, looked like he could use a couple of more hours. Apparently the oldest had slept well enough, despite your antics.

You licked your lips, imagining you were the one shoveling omelette into your mouth like Soap, or sipping tea like Price. You wondered if he liked his tea sugary like you did.

Ugh. You hated how you began to know their names. Began to wonder about what they liked.

”- am telling ye’,” Soap said between two bites, mouth almost full, pointing the fork threateningly at Kyle - his name was Kyle, wasn’t it? Or was it Gaz? - while he continued, “ah saw ‘er, creepy lookin’ lass running intae the bathroom!”

Kyle just hummed and you floated to the kitchen counter, settling on it, a little from Simon. Not that he would walk into you, he would walk through you, but it was from habit.

“-and you didn’t smoke any weed yesterday?”

You huffed - they weren’t going to blame it on weed, were they? Also, weed. Fuck, you hadn’t smoked for years. Your thoughts pulled you fully into your mind again, back to the memories of the last times you had smoked.

Curled together on a chair on the back porch, watching the sweet back porch cat chase a moth on the grass. You wondered if they had gotten her food. They better have. She was getting older, hunting was becoming a little harder.

Not that she was your cat. She was nobody’s cat but… she had been there though. Before your death. During your… whatever this was. You hadn’t even known her for long when you turned into a human being. But she would greet you in either form, for some fucking reason able to see you in both.

Just like the dogs when they moved in.

“— cannae hear anymore, ye eejiot,” Soap snapped, back at raising his fork like a weapon, “How was ah supposed tae ken what she was saying?”

You cringed. He had a point.

“I heard ‘er.”

He passed through you that exact moment, but the brute of a man called Simon merely let out a tiny ‘hm’ at the cold feeling, while you shuttered yourself.

“Right! Lt heard ‘er! I’m nae insane!”

”We never said you were, sweetheart,” Price mused lovingly.

”Ye insinuated it!”

Nikolai laughed, but Ghost didn’t — he passed through you again, making you yelp. They couldn’t hear you, but he still stopped a step later, looking over his shoulder directly at you as if he could.

You felt like a deer in the headlights. You knew he couldn’t see you, it was the cold spot he reacted to, yet it still made you uncomfortable as fuck. He let out a hum, turning back to the pan with the burned eggs on, sliding them onto a plate. It wasn’t like it felt nice to you when somebody walked through you. It was a reminder of your lack of body, like you disappeared for a moment, ripped apart like you were nothing but.

”-Singin’?”

Ah, you lost track of the conversation again.

”Yup,” Skeleton man answered, sitting down on the last chair. You stayed on the kitchen counter, watching them, “she was singing. ‘Bout kids or something.”

“Is Ghoul broody?” Nikolai asked, eyebrows raised before absentmindedly pulling Kyle’s good hand from scratching at the back. You felt anger and embarrassment rush through you. You certainly weren't broody! What the fuck did he even mean with that? You were trying to be creepy, it had been very creepy, but apparently you hadn’t been clear enough.

”Be nice, she isn’t a chicken,” Price commented, taking another sip of his tea. You could almost kiss his cheek from his defence.

”AHA!” Soap all but proclaimed, his fork now turned towards the captain, “So ye do believe that she exists!”

”I didn’t say tha—“

“Dinnae backpaddle, daddy!”

You let out a squeak of embarrassment from the word, but the others barely seemed to notice or be bothered by it. Fuck! How could they not?? Such a, well, fucking kinky word, casually dropped during breakfast.

A daddy kink? You? Definitely not. Nope. Never. You hadn’t even thought about it. You watched him take a bite of his bread roll, teeth sinking into it, lips curling around the bite.

You were being totally normal about this whole table of erotic-looking idiots.

”Nikolai and I are going to the town,” Price just replied, as if the daddy part had never been said and you pretended you didn’t feel yourself… feel slightly wet, “and we’ll get the security cameras and such. I’m telling you, it was just something you imagined, Johnny.”

”And did I imagine it too?” Simon asked darkly, a bit of a teasing tone to it.

”Yup,” Gaz replied easily, as if he was the one being asked, “because I want to sleep peacefully tonight. So you all imagined it.”

”Are you scared of our tiny, silly Ghoulie, sergeant?” Nikolai crooned teasingly at the other, who frowned — you frowned at the words as well. Because you weren’t a silly little ghoul! Fuck, this entire thing was stupid. Why was that even the name they decided to use?

There was a butter knife on the counter next to you. It took a good second before you managed to move it with your hand, but you grinned triumphantly as it clattered onto the wooden floor.

All eyes were on the knife.

It was just a matter of time, you told yourself. You just needed to get the cameras messed up, then annoy them some more and they would all move out. Who wanted to be bothered by ghosts when they were retired, anyways?

You just needed to avoid them killing you... Again.

If you even could die. You weren’t going to play with fate and test it out, that was for sure.

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