#than the ghost kid just walks up and tells him exactly what he needed to heat

[ghouljams]

What Once Was

A perspective shift, a pause, a brief respite before doubt takes hold again. Android!Ghost feels his heart beat.

You grew up in Manchester, or at least you had a job out there. You don’t like thinking about “growing up.” As far as you’re concerned you’ve been doing this your whole life. Fixing things. You had a job, an apprenticeship, with a bot mechanic at one of the industrial plants. You’d taught yourself coding, but at risk of electrocution you’d found someone to teach you the rest. It was hard, but the work was rewarding. You were young, but unlike people, bots care more about the results than how long a doctor has been a doctor. They didn’t ask questions, they didn’t know they should have. 

The area was rough, you always liked the industrial parts of town, but even you could admit the place had seen better days. There was this old butcher shop. Real old school, but people like that. Meat tastes better when it’s cut by human hands, you’d heard someone say once. And there was this kid working there, Simon, he couldn’t have been much older than you. You saw him on your lunch breaks sometimes. You shared your sandwich with him.

He smiled sometimes, more than you would have thought given everything you knew about him. He liked working with his hands, you got that. He liked being away from home, you got that too. He never called you crazy when you talked about bots like they were people. He was sweet, you liked that about him. 

He disappeared one day, without saying goodbye. You figured that was just what happened to people who lived like you two did. You didn’t even bother with a police report. Maybe you should have.

-

You still sit with your knees pulled up to your chest when you’re working on small parts. Your brows still furrow the way they did when you were a teenager. Ghost watches you flip down your magnifier over your eyes and remembers teasing you about needing glasses from squinting too much. You still blow the dust out of old cartridges and stick them into your arsenal of wires just to listen to the technicolor drone of ancient video games while you work.

“Just the music,” you’d told him years and years ago, “it helps me focus.”

You’re exactly the same, and yet you’re so unfathomably different. Or maybe he’s different. Different in the ways that matter most, in the ways that mean you’ll never recognize him. It’s better like this. He’s been through too much to be the sort of man you deserve. Barely a man at all, really.

That doesn’t stop him from circling you, like a moth to a flame, or a weary soldier to the comfort of home. He finds himself in your workshop with repairs that aren’t repairs, with injuries that he’s never been bothered by before. Ghost sits and lets you run diagnostics, lets you poke and prod at his gears, and he never says a word. Never mentions that you still look beautiful in work lights, that you shouldn’t hold your tweezers in your mouth because you always pinch your lip, that you’re still you even when he isn’t sure he’s still himself. He never mentions that he has a million things he’s never told you, that he wanted to tell you but never got the chance to. 

He thinks them sometimes: when he’s watching you work, when you smile up at a bot warmly, when you ask him what’s wrong, when you start walking towards him before you even know what he needs, when you lay your hands on him and he flips every sensor to try and feel your warmth. He thinks that he loves you, that no matter how little of him is left he’ll always love you. He could love you with nothing, with bare circuits and white matter, and that would be enough to keep him going.

It was enough to keep him going. It isn’t anymore. Not when you’re here, so close and still a thousand miles away. Not when you don’t recognize him, when you don’t see the scrawny kid from Manchester in the corded steel and dense circuitry. 

Did you think of him when he left? Did you worry? It always felt melancholic, said as a joke that neither of you laughed at: it’s gonna kill me one day, this world’s gonna kill me. Was that what you thought happened? When you knew about his father, when he sat down for lunch with fresh bruises and a split lip, did you think that’s what happened when he didn’t show up the next day? Did you mourn him?

He should have taken you with him. Sixteen. Young enough to kill for a living, but still too young to save you. He couldn’t save anyone, couldn’t even save himself. 

They shouldn’t have put him back together.

Not if it meant he’d see you again.

Not if it meant you’d look at him like this,

Like nothing.

Repairs that aren’t repairs. Injuries that never bothered him before. Diagnostics. Circling. He knows it will burn him, he can feel the heat, but he can’t stop. Androids aren’t supposed to feel. Men aren’t supposed to be metal. And you don’t love him.

Not anymore.

(If you ever did.)

[shower-phantom-ideas]

Bruh emotional support ghost kid? Well thats what they are calling him

Suicide cases in gothem are about to fucking plummet boiz cause this one weird blue eyes, black haired boy is now heading to your location.

How does he know where to be? Having a bad day and are all alone? No the fuck your not cause don’t turn around now but theres some shiny blue eyes coming at you from that dark ally. Oh shit hes here to drop some information about you and your lost loved ones that he should know. Oh god the closure. How could you have been afraid on this sweet, creepy, boy who just helped you find your way.

Meanwhile Danny is chillin in Gothem cause the GIW hate it there (none of they equipment actually functions in Gothem so it’s either super haunted or actually not haunted at all). Then all of a sudden he gets approached by a random ghost begging for his help because their sweet baby girl is about to do something horrible. Oops now all the ghosts are following their most loved ones around just to make sure they are there to rush to Danny for help when all else fails. Now hes getting to fulfil his protection obsession double time because one hes helping protect people from themselves and two hes protecting everyone in Gothem by stopping people from becoming villains for revenge. Plus he gets to see first hand how hes making a difference because all those people he saved are sending him some good vibes from all across Gothem.

Thank god he followed Jazz around so much to slightly absorb some of her phycology knowledge over the years. Plus it was actually pretty interesting so she gave him her old text books. Shes also helping him deal with the rare events where he can’t save someone. Just a moment too late or he stops them but they later succeeded in the hospital. Neither are his fault. Now only if he could convince his core of that.

Anyway why Gothem you ask? Amity Park would have been just as good tbh but imagine Batmans face when he finally gets to be face to face with the emotional support ghost boy. Why is he here? Bruce is fine. Batman is fine. Hes not gonna do anything crazy. It’s just a hard time of year. Around their death always gives him grief. But hes an adult and can manage it.

“You know they are so proud of you.” The boy states. As if it’s clear as day, even though it’s Gothem and never a clear day. Batman blinks at him, stunned for a moment. “What?” This boy can’t possibly know that. No one will ever know that, Bruce can only hope. “They see their home, full of such life. That big house that felt so empty, so cold, to them as well for years. Then you filled it with Family and Love like they had always wanted for you. They are so proud of what you have turned it into. Somewhere full of life and warmth.” A small smile graces his face as finally “you have made your parents so proud” and its all he can do to contain himself. Emotions are running high and sue him because he really did need to hear that ok. The boy suddenly looks to Bruces right with a confused face “aren’t all basements like that though?” Before Bruce can even get a word in hes gone. Just vanished before his eyes.

[ew-selfish-art]

DP x DC AU: Letters and Paper goods are easy to store, and therefore, easy to hide. Danny has drama to monger though.

Tim Drake becomes a ward of Bruce Wayne at the same time the Drake Corporation is crumbling, and his father's health is declining. Dana, his father's physical therapist turned new wife, isn't optimistic these days, and Tim can read the writing on the wall.

Times have changed and Bruce and Dick are treating him with kid gloves. Jason Todd is alive again, been there suffered that. Young Just-Us has proven yet again to be his true family... But Bruce 'welcomes' him home the second the fake uncle is sniffed out.

So, Tim rationalizes, If Drake Corp is going down, then so shall the reason he spent his childhood abandoned. The many, many archeology digs his parents left him for over the years and their many, many stolen historical pieces. Tim is ready and able to get rid of them all.

He first returns the artifacts that have obvious origins to the people with whom they belong. Then it starts to get a little hazy as to where each item stolen is from. The paper goods are the hardest to place.

Years later, Tim has almost completely emptied his parent's old home of their stolen goods. By now, he runs a fortune 500 company and is working as Red Robin. Going through the last of the archives means going through the very last objects his parents ever preferred over his company, and he can't wait to be rid of them.

A glowing green envelope however... this one he feels compelled to keep. He hadn't known it back when he started this project- but somehow his Parents had found objects drenched in the essence of the Lazarus Pits. And it wasn't just one letter, it was dozens and dozens.

Tim Drake knew it would be risky to move them, but he needed to get these letters to an ex-league member to understand what the language of the dead was trying to proclaim.

_____

Danny hates a fetch quest but apparently Ghost Writer is having a bad day. It starts with Danny running by the guys library to have a chat when all of a sudden, the question of certain... ghost relations... came up. Danny is always more than thrilled to hear about how the various ancient-as-in-old ghosts interacted with the Ancients-as-in-yikes ghosts.

Ghost Writer finally admitted to the monarch in training that if he wanted to know so badly, that he could track down Clockworks old letters. They'd been scattered well before Ghost Writer could properly work on the ghost archives (read: was still alive), and it wasn't until he'd long worked on the library that such affairs were noted as missing.

The potential for gossip was just too good! A call home to Sam, Tuck and Jazz to let them know he was on an adventure, and then Danny flew off with little more than some hints by GW and an annoyed nod of cryptic agreement by CW.

Danny goes about wondering Gotham as himself, not yet seeing the need to be Phantom, when he runs into the very guy he was looking for.

"Hey- you don't happen to have a shit ton of letters written in the language of the dead do you?" Danny smiles as innocently as possible as he watches all seven stages of grief play out on the guy's face. Then something changes and Danny can tell that this guy is like, scary competent.

"I do, however, I was double crossed and a shit ton of assassins are on their way to try and take them."

"Uh... Bummer for them I guess? I'll just take them and go- I don't even really need to keep them if you want em back-"

"Assassins. They won't exactly leave empty handed."

"Huh. Well... Wanna come with? These are supposed to have some pretty juicy drama in them." Danny awkwardly places a hand on the back of his neck.

A knife being thrown in their direction was enough to get this guy to make a decision.

"Let's go spill some tea then."

Danny grins as he pulls the guy through a rapidly drawn portal, ignoring the wide eyes he makes. Turns out his name is Tim, and walking him through afterlife drama is the best- how does he know so many dead assassins??? One of these letters is about a guy who took Tim's spleen??

[princeguri66]

Can I ask for a 141 x male reader who acts like a mom to them? Just reader being prepared for anything even in the middle of a mission, giving them snacks and predicting their problems

Aww wait that's such a cute concept though ♪⁠～⁠(⁠´⁠ε⁠｀⁠ ⁠) apologies if this isn't exactly what you were hoping for but these were what I could come up with.

I like to think reader here would be older than them, either the same age as price or just a bit older. And like a bear too.

Being in the game for so long you've developed these sort of "instincts"

Price introduced you to the team as his friend from his earlier days in the military. Says that you'll be part of the team for a while so he hopes you all get along well.

And you do, spending so much time with the team has let them warm up to you and get comfortable with you. Makes your urge to take care of them unleash.

You sitting next to Gaz in the helly heading to a mission and he comments how he wished he had more to eat earlier. You pulling out a granola bar from one of your many pockets and handing it to him, Gaz looking at you as if to ask "are you sure?" And you just reply with a nod and a soft smile, Gaz taking it with a grin on his face as he eats it. And once he finishes it you take another one out of the same pocket and ask "are you still hungry?"

He keeps eating whatever you offer and as you start to get worried wether this kid has been eating enough or not he says "thank you, sir. I feel better" with a crumby smile.

You huff fondly "got something on your cheek there sweety" and lick your thumb to clean his cheek. Him trying to contain the blood running to his cheeks because it's embarrassing.

Just chilling with Soap as you both clean your weapons. Hearing him go "ouch" as he clicks his tongue. "What's wrong lad?" You ask him as you look up from cleaning your gun.

He looks up at you after cleaning his knife "Accidentally sliced a bit of my finger, it's no big deal"

You respond with a nod and walk over to him and kneel Infront of him to hold his hand, inspecting the little cut on his finger. You pull out a spiderman themed bandaid and place it on the wound. Giving it a small kiss then saying "all done" as you look up at him and walk back to where you were previously cleaning your gun.

You bet your ass everytime he gets a small boo-boo he's going to be looking for you all over base for another colorful bandaid and another healing kiss.

Taking care of Ghost as he sits on the bed since he insisted that he was fine (but it's so obvious that he isn't) patching up his wounds with normal gauze and placing colorful character themed bandaids on top. As you finish up you gently rub his arm in a comforting motion, silently telling him that everything's ok and that everyone is fine. Wanting him to know that if he's too stubborn for actual professional care you'll make do.

You stand back to look over him, checking that you haven't missed anything. If he's got a wound on his face then he'll just have to take care of it himself. You step forward and rest your hand on his cheek, your warmth phasing through his mask. "You alright sweety?" You ask him in a gentle tone and all he can do is let out a shaky sigh and lean forward, resting his head on your Stomach. You gently wrap your hands around his head and start rubbing his back. It seems like he really needed this kind of comfort.

And don't think just because Price is closer to your age doesn't mean he gets out of being taken care of.

Being a friend of him for years makes you aware of his bad habits with overworking and lack of sleep schedule. One night you finally decide to put a stop to it after seeing rays of light seeping through the crack of his office door. You don't even knock, just opening it and standing right in front of his desk, crossing your arms you look at him with a questioning glare.

And Price knows that look, experienced it so many times and now that you're both in the same squad again he hopes to feel that comfort that you seem to always carry with you. You scold him for overworking till late at night and drag him out of his office and into his room. You throw him on to his bed and tuck him in, you lean close to his face and his eyes are full of adoration, for taking care of him all these years and now taking care of his team. You place a kiss on his forehead and he just melts. He missed this, and he's so glad the rest of his team can experience your care as well.

As he hears you leave and close the door behind you with a resounding click, he thinks to himself on how nice it would be to have you with them for even longer. And he's sure the rest are thinking the same thing.

(You'd be delighted if you could take care of them for longer as well)

[httpsghostie]

Beneath the Surface

Part one

Part two

A/N: First post! English isn't my first language so I'm sorry in advance if there's anything wrong with the writing.

Can't stop thinking about this man, it's unhealthy at this point

Brought you something filthy, hope you enjoy

Requests are open and appreciated!

Summary: Simon, your father's best friend, shows up in the middle of the night to give you a shoulder to put your legs head on.

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: smut, Simon 'Ghost' Riley x female!reader, unprotected sex (don't b silly wrap your weenie), p in v, implied age gap, choking, breeding kink (?

masterlist

NSFW below the cut

It had been an exhausting day and you felt like everything just decided to go wrong, all in one day. It started small, your sleeve getting caught in the door handle when you were cleaning the house, then it became a snowball. Accidentally hitting your foot on the corner of the bed, stumbling on the bucket and falling over it, spilling the dirty water all over the floor. At the end of the day you were overwhelmed, even the shower decided not to work properly, and you couldn't stand being near anything that could breathe. 

But there you were, endlessly trying to achieve the perfect eyeliner look because your college friends wanted to party. Failed attempts and sore eyelids lead you to a breakdown, and your attempts were soon washed away by your tears. Everything was too much and you just wanted a good night of sleep on a simple friday night. You sobbed in the bathroom as you tried to calm down, but your eyes were puffy and your face was swollen. The makeup was left on the bathroom sink and you went straight to your room to put on something more comfortable. 

Your parents weren't home, somehow when your dad was around he'd take your mom on late night dates. Simon, on the other hand, didn't have a wife or kids to come home to, and being your father's best friend, you probably saw the man even more than you saw your dad. He was almost always around when he was deployed, he had the keys to your parents house and he'd just show up. 

That wasn't exactly the best moment for him to appear in your living room when he realized the scream you let out. "Sorry, didn't mean to scare 'ya" he said. The room was lit by the TV screen and hopefully he wouldn't see your crying face. You sigh and walk to the kitchen, looking for something to eat, you end up making some popcorn and when you sneakily try to go straight back to your room, a cold hand grabs your arm. 

"Spit it out" he said. He knew you, usually you were happy and outgoing around him, and now you were just irritated and, of course, he couldn't comprehend. Your father didn't know but you were really close to Simon, he was kinda the cool uncle while your actual dad was strict and kind of annoying sometimes, Simon really made your high school years better just by being around when he could. 

"Not your business" you said, storming out. He followed your steps to your room, where you sat down on the bed and pulled a blanket over your legs, the bag of popcorn on your lap. He stood by the door frame, leaning against it, arms crossed as he eyed you. 

"Someone's grumpy" he tsked. "Come on, love, tell me what's wrong" he said as he came into the room and closed the door behind him. Something about him calling you love always caught you off guard, but now that you were in fact an adult with full knowledge of your feelings and needs, it made your stomach flip. 

"Nothing, Simon" you rolled your eyes at him as he sat in front of you on the bed. He made you a confused frown and laid a gentle hand on your knee. You could never keep things from him, his gaze burned you inside whenever he felt you were lying. "Just.. bad day, ok?" You sigh. 

"Bad day, huh?" You felt him mocking, but you couldn't care. "Elaborate." It felt so stupid to be angry because all the small things went wrong during the day, when you knew he had bigger problems to deal with in whatever army life he signed up for. 

"Everything went wrong today," you start, "I don't know, everything was either irritating me or hurting me, I even spilled the dirty water on me and the clean floor-" he cuts you off, laughing, you give him a killing stare. He holds the bridge of his nose and makes a disgusted face. 

"Have you showered?" His mood lightens you up and you chuckle, pushing him playfully. 

"Yes, I've showered." You say. "Cold shower, by the way." 

"What's wrong with the shower?" He asks and you shrug. "Aye I'll take a look at it later, 'k?" You nod. "Anything else that's bothering you?" God, it's like he could see through you. 

"I was going out with my friends," you explain shyly, "I couldn't finish my makeup and got frustrated, so I texted them saying I was sick." 

"And are you?" He tilts his head at you, you shake your head. "Why did you lie then, huh?" 

"Look I don't need a lecture on what to do, alright, Si? I just need to rest." The bag of popcorn on your lap became cold when you first took a handful to eat. 

"Want a massage?" He smirked. Of course you wanted a massage from those big, calloused hands of his that would fit perfectly around your neck. You stared at his hand and bit your lower lip, nodding. 

He gently pulled the blanket down from your legs and adjusted himself. You turned the TV on and he started to massage your feet. You let out a soft whimper as he ran his fingers against your skin, just now noticing how he shifted uncomfortably under your calves. 

Of course there was one more thing your dad didn't know: how touchy his best friend was with his daughter. You could say it was because he was a skirt chaser, or probably just touch starved, but the explanation didn't matter when his hand was traveling up your thigh under a blanket when you and your family were trying to watch a movie together. It was never more than this though, occasional touches that left you aching for him, hot and bothered. 

A movie played on the screen as he continued to massage your feet. There was something so sexual about him, the flexing muscles on his arm, his chest going up and down with his breathing, the growing bulge on his pants you could feel with your ankle and made a pool of arousal on your panties. 

Your shorts were... well, short, and he couldn't help but stare at you while you closed your eyes and imagined that monster of a man pinning you down and fucking you rough. More hums and soft whimpers escaped from your throat and they were going straight to Simon's dick. A malicious hand caressed your inner thigh and you opened your eyes with a confused, but hopeful look. He wasn't looking at you, and your stomach dropped when you saw a sex scene playing on the screen. You close your legs unsubconsciously and he looks at you. 

"'M sorry, love" he takes his hand off your thigh and chuckles. The nickname sent you over the edge, something snapping inside of you. He feels the way you shiver and how tense you seem, so he takes that bag of barely touched popcorn and places it by the bedside table and then land a warm hand on your waist. "What's on your mind, princess?" 

Well, nothing besides him naked, wasn't it obvious? But you couldn't say that, your mind was racing back and forth, and when you were unable to form a believable sentence, he caught you staring for too long. 

"Cat got your tongue?" He chuckled as his fingers traced circles on your waist. You can't remember the last time he tried doing this to you, but you know damn right you should've taken the chance to get laid, but God was it hard to understand this man. He'd tease you and pretend it was nothing, he'd leave you begging for him and say he couldn't touch you. Sometimes you just wanted to punch him for that. 

And yes, you found other ways to get satisfied. Got yourself a boyfriend during recess when neither Simon or your dad were around to pester the poor guy. But eventually they came home from wherever they were, and your father wasn't exactly happy about it, nor Simon, in fact, Simon was even more pissed than your dad. 

You couldn't say how many minutes you spent eyeing the man in front of you, but he grew impatient. The hand on your waist was gone and now spreading your legs to his liking, his body now towering over you. 

"If you don't tell me what's going on in that pretty little head of yours I'm gonna have to find out for myself." He said in a low, seductive voice. 

You gave in. Your hands grabbed the back of his neck and you kissed him feverly, a sloppy, wet kiss, he pressed his body onto yours and you could feel how hard he was on your lower body. But Simon was eager, he couldn't wait for it anymore, he needed to be inside of you. 

He yanked your shorts off, throwing it somewhere across the room, you also took his shirt off, revealing his perfect toned muscles and the scars that adorned it. He unbuckled his belt with one hand as the other one successfully removed your shirt. He didn't even bother taking his pants off, he just pushed them and his boxers down enough to let his dick free. He aligned it with your wet cunt, smearing your arousal all around your folds. 

"'S fucking wet already, huh?" He rubbed two fingers on your clit as he jerked himself off with his spare hand. "Can't imagine what you were thinking 'bout" he smirked. 

He put his tip on your entrance, looking at you for a sign of approval. You nod. He slowly pushed his length inside of you until it bottomed out. You clenched around him as you moaned. His body started moving faster as you adjusted to his size. He was big, you've felt it before with your hands, but you've never actually seen it. 

"Fuck, Si," you moan, "faster." You sounded like a desperate whore and he enjoyed it. You weren't exactly used to him not teasing you until you were on the verge of tears, so when he started to pound into you, you couldn't hold your moans. 

"Needy little slut." He grabbed your hips in place, almost using you like a fleshlight. He groaned, his chest rising with the heavy breathing. Fuck, that man was hot. 

His hands let go of your hips and held the back of your knees, so you were spreading even more. He watched as his dick abused your swollen and wet cunt, and he could cum just at the sight of his pretty princess getting ruined by his fat cock. You felt the cold metal on his belt hit the back of your thighs as he gave you deep thrusts. 

One of his hands traveled to your folds, his thumb drawing circles on your sensitive clit. As he was fucking your brains out, you dig your nails on his shoulders and earned a few moans along with a smirk. 

You were both really close when you heard a car park in the driveway, your eyes widened at Simon as he didn't seem to have listened to the sound of your parents getting home. 

"Fuck, Simon, my parents" you tried to push him away but his grip on you got stronger. He placed both of his hands on your neck and squeezed it. 

"Shut up" he whispered, not altering his pace. "Cum f' me, love" he demanded. Your hand rubbed your clit as he fucked you even harder. It was impossible to hold it back anymore and you reached your climax under him, your legs shaking from the overstimulation of his non-stopping thrusts. You heard the front door getting open. "'M gonna fill this pretty cunt of yours, huh? 'S that what you want?" He whispered in your ear. You could only slightly nod. "Good girl." He gave you a few more deep, shaky thrusts as he spilled his load into you and pulled out. 

"Y/n? We're home" you heard your mom shout from downstairs. Simon quickly pulled his pants up and put his shirt back on, throwing you your shorts that were across the room, tossed on the ground. He quickly got out and went to the bathroom, pretending he was fixing the shower. 

"Simon?" Your dad shouted in a worried and anxious tone, he obviously saw his friend's car in the driveway, and what was his friend doing here in the night when his daughter was alone? 

"Here" he shouted back from the bathroom, your dad ran upstairs to check if everything was alright and found Simon trying to fix the shower. 

"Everything alright? Heard noises" your dad asked. 

"Y/n gave me a call, she wanted to shower but apparently the shower wasn't working" you overheard Simon explain. He stepped out, turned it on and let the water run for a bit. "It's working now." 

You have absolutely no clue what the fuck he did with the shower in such a short period of time, but the effort was well appreciated. He tried to excuse himself out, but your dad insisted for him to stay the night. You waited in your room until your parents went to bed to get out, the back of your thighs were marked from his belt and your neck was red from his grip, not to mention the oozing cum on your thighs that your panties and shorts weren't able to hold. 

Simon was in the guest room when he heard you walk to the bathroom to get yourself cleaned, and of fucking course he wouldn't let you do it alone, he's finally got a taste of you after all these years holding back and he won't stop until he's fucking his cum inside you again as the running water muffles the sounds of how good he makes you feel.

[mangowafflesss]

Hi hello

Soooo this is probably a angst to fluff request so prepare for tissues!

Female!reader is kinda a rookie in the TF141 team, she is trained well and strong. But after a month or so while she was training with Ghost, he said that she was weak (pretty sad right?). So reader tried her best to prove herself that she will be stronger and better, the most sad part is she risked not sleeping well and not eating much just mostly training ya know? So I wanted the team to react to reader realizing what shes doing to herself.

(Sorry if this sounds depressing, im just not thinking straight and need a bit of comfort)

You were nervous to train with Ghost, his size and nature was terrifying but the others you’ve trained with and beat say you’re strong and well trained enough to take him on.

As you were mid sparring session he stopped and you were confused as to why. He said for you to take a break and as you were sipping your water the most gut wrenching words came out of his mouth “You’re too weak to be on this team” you thought you had misheard him but by the way he walked out of the room it was completely true.

For weeks on end you spent every single rest time and spare time you had and dedicated it to going to the gym. You only ate when you could remember to and most of the time you couldn’t remember.

The team were worried about you including Ghost, he felt a tinge of guilt inside of him as he knew he was the cause of your deterioration. Gaz was the first to notice that you hardly ever came to eat and raised his concerns to Price.

Price didn’t think anything of it until he finally took a good look at you and saw the bags growing bags under your eyes. You looked thinner than before and it definitely wasn’t heathy.

Soap noticed the increase of how often you used the gym and kept a close eye on you as even the most gym loving members of the base don’t go that often.

One day when you trudged yourself into the conference room, slouching in your chair everyone looked at one another and decided enough was enough.

“Y/N… you alright?” Price asked and saw in your eyes you weren’t entirely in the room at the moment. You were sort of staring into space as if you fell asleep with your eyes open.

Gaz waved a hand in front of your face from his seat beside you and gave the Captain a worried look as you didn’t even move an inch, not even a blink or anything. Gaz gave you a small nudge on the arm and you winced in pain as he did so. You came back to reality and saw everyone looking at you.

“Huh? W-what’s goin’ on?” You asked completely delirious and your eyelids dropped slightly as you finally blinked.

“Kid, what’s going on with you?” Price asked and you looked up at him with a confused expression.

“Yeah you’ve been in the gym more than 30 hours this week, that’s not exactly… healthy lass”

“You haven’t been acting yourself either, you’re quieter and also we’ve noticed you haven’t been eating”

You hear all of their observations of you and you let out a frustrated sigh as you lean forward, head in hands as they rest on the table in front of you.

“You can tell us if somethings bothering you”

“Do you guys think I’m weak?” Your eyes were laced with tears and Ghosts heart twinged at the sight, it was exactly what he was thinking.

“Weak? You’re the strongest person I know!”

“Don’t lie to me Soap, please”

Soaps mouth hangs open as he doesn’t know what to say and turns to anyone else in the room for backup.

“Did someone say this to you?” Gaz asks and you briefly look over at Ghost and shake your head but Gaz already saw your eye movements and caught on.

“Lieutenant. Did you say something to her?”

Ghost was sat unmoving in his chair and then swallowed thickly before speaking. “I called her weak when we sparred, I was just annoyed at that moment in time and I didn’t think she would go and do this”

“What exactly did you say?” Soap questioned as his voice turned on the harder side.

“I don’t know it was months ago-”

Months ago. This has been going on for months and no one even noticed until now. Price turned to you and lay a hand on your shoulder but from the intense workouts and training exercises you’ve been doing, without the sleep and eating also made your body tender.

“I’m sorry that I’m not good enough to be on the team. I understand if you want to kick me out Captain” you say lowly as you look down at where your fingers were intertwined with one another.

“Are you kidding me? You’re the best I got, ain’t that right lads?” Everyone agrees and you start to cry, the pent up emotions and exhaustion finally caving in.

Price gave you a months break to get back to your normal self and with the help from the others you finally reached it. The night before your due back to your normal duties you get a knock on your door and you got out of bed to see who it was.

Outside was stood Ghost and you saw him holding a box in his hand. “What do you want”

“To say I’m sorry, in private as this is an us issue”

You invite him inside of your room and you both stand there awkwardly. You haven’t spoken to him this whole month as you didn’t want him to put a stop in your process of getting your health back on track.

“I got you this as an apology” he holds the box out to you and you cautiously take it in your hands and open it. There was a bunch of your favourite things inside and then there was something shiny sitting at the bottom.

You pick it up in your palm and look at it closely. It was a plastic medal with the words ‘Worlds Strongest Woman’ printed on the front. Running a finger over the words you let out a huff of laughter out your nose and he takes it out of your hand and places it around your neck.

“I’m so sorry for how my words hurt you, I never wanted anything like this to happen and-”

“It’s fine, I forgive you” you deadpan and he looks at you as if he’s looking for you to say joking at some point.

“Really?”

“Yeah, no point being mad about something I got over. So Lieutenant Riley thank you for my medal but you’re messing up my sleep schedule” you say and place the box down on your desk while opening the door for him.

He was confused by the interaction but simply gave you a nod and walked through it “I’ll definitely need some help with all of these chocolates though, don’t want to become too fat now do I?” Is all you say before closing the door and leaving him to stand in the dimly lit hallway thinking about how that was the weirdest apology ever.

[starstruckmiraclekitty]

Hello!! How do we feel about a Ghost x reader where the reader has trouble opening up emotionally. When she does, she feels like she’s burdened him and has to make up for it…kind of “earning back his love” through acts of service. Love your work!!!!

Thank you so much!!!! I hope this is what you were looking for. I relate to this so much😭

Synopsis: You finally open up to Simon about your depression, but end up feeling like a burden after doing so.

Warnings: mentions of depression, worthlessness and being a burden, swearing, angst

I've Got You, Kid.

“Have any of you seen Y/N?” Ghost had spent the better part of 20 minutes trying to find you on base. 

“Think the lass went out for a walk in the courtyard, she said something about needing fresh air.” Soap said, looking away from his card game with Gaz to address Ghost.

Ghost grunted in reply, and made toward the courtyard. He’d been wanting to talk to you all day. You were fairly quiet the whole week, and not acting quite like yourself. 

He found you on one of the benches in the courtyard, staring up at the sky. He stopped before approaching you to take in your features. You looked beautiful in the moonlight. You had almost looked as if you were glowing. The thing that he'd noticed most of all, though, was the frown that was etched on your face.

"Hey, love." He gently touched your shoulder to get your attention.

"Oh! Hey. Doing okay?" You turned to look at him, mustering a smile best you could.

"I should be asking you that. Are you alright?" Simon's eyes softened as they took you in. He could tell the smile on your face wasn't a genuine one, and it tugged at his heart. 

"I'm fine, just tired is all." You waved away his concerns and looked back up at the night sky.

"Y/N. We've been together for how long? I know when something is off, love. Talk to me, please." He begged quietly, turning your face toward him with his hand.

You took a deep breath and furrowed your brows as you debated on telling him. You'd been feeling down for a while now. Your depression would come and go randomly, but this time, it was worse than usual. You weren't one for talking about your feelings, though. Coming from a family who was not keen on sharing emotions, you learned from a young age to bottle up your feelings. The way Simon was looking at you, however, had you feeling that it may be okay to let him in on your internal struggle.

"I um. Just haven't been feeling myself. I don't feel like I've been doing a great job out in the field, I'm tired all the time, and I just feel, I don't know. I've been feeling worthless." You grew quiet as you finished your thought, turning your gaze to your folded hands in front of you. "I just can't shake this feeling, no matter how hard I try."

"Hey, now. None of that. You've been doing amazing, kid. Price was just telling me the other day how good you've gotten." Simon said as he grabbed your fidgeting hands in his, stroking them softly. "Thinking like that will only bring you down worse."

"Yeah, you're right. It's stupid. Just gotta shake it off." You said softly and tried your best to give your lover a genuine smile. 

"It's not stupid." Simon gave you a warm smile in return and kissed your temple. "Why don't we go get some sleep. It's been a long day."

You nodded your head in agreement, biting your lip to keep it from quivering. You thought maybe opening up to Simon would've made you feel better, but it made you feel worse. You weren't sure exactly what you'd wanted him to say, but his words did little to ease your somber mood. To make matters worse, you felt that you annoyed him. He had enough of his own problems to deal with, he didn't need you adding yours to his plate as well.

Taking his arm, the two of you walked to his quarters in a comfortable silence. At that moment, you wanted nothing more than to climb in bed and cry yourself to sleep. 

The next morning, Simon awoke to your side of his bed being cold. He stretched his arms out to pull you close, only to find your side empty. He sat up hoping to find you still in his room, and frowned when you weren't there. 

Thinking you must've gotten an early start without him, he got up to start his day, pausing abruptly when he saw a note lying on top of his mask, with a pair of fresh clothes for him to wear.

Washed up your mask, and uniform! Was a little dirty, so I thought I'd give it a good clean. Used the soap you like, too. - Y/N

Simon chuckled to himself as he inspected his mask. It'd been a while since it was cleaned, and he couldn't help but smile as he got a whiff of the detergent he loved so much. 

~

Later on, he made his way into the mess hall where he found you sitting with Soap. 

"Morning, love. Thanks for washing my mask." He kissed your brow as he approached. " 'M gonna go get some-"

"Already got it for you! Coffee black with two sugars, and a plain bagel one side with cream cheese and one with butter!" You cut him off, pointing to the spot next to you. 

Simon's eyes widened at your words, and looked down to find his usual morning breakfast sitting on the table beside yours. 

"Gee, thanks, kid." He squeezed your shoulder lovingly before sitting down next to you. 

"Shit, you two ever go sideways, Y/N just so you know I'm single…and more than ready to mingle." Soap joked, dodging a piece of bagel being thrown at him by Simon. 

You chuckled to yourself before gathering your trash on the table and standing up. 

"Leaving already?" Simon's eyes lifted from his food to meet yours, a bemused expression forming on his face.

"Yeah, got some stuff to do. Busy day!" You chirped, kissing Simon's head before making your way to the trash bin. 

Simon looked back to his food before turning to Soap. "Is everything okay with her this morning?"

"Dunno, tried talking to her, but you know how she is." Soap smiled sadly, and his gaze fell on you, exiting the mess hall. "Somethings clearly up with her, though."

Simon grunted in reply, turning back to finish his breakfast. 

~

In the evening, Ghost still hadn't seen you since the mess hall that morning. He'd kept an eye out for you the entire day, not spotting you once. You hadn't even joined him for lunch, which was rare for you. 

He walked into the weapons locker to report for weapon cleaning duty, and was shocked when he stepped foot inside. All of the weapons had already been cleaned, and neatly stacked in such a way that he immediately knew you were the one to do it. 

Ghost took a deep breath, and let his thoughts race. You were always a kind lover, going above and beyond to help him, but this was extreme. For you to do all the things you'd done for him today, yet not show your face much at all the entire day? Simon felt his heart strings tug a little, and he knew he had to talk to you. 

Did he not say the right things last night? Were you still feeling upset? He knew he was bad with words, but he had truly thought he'd gotten better at it. 

Making a B-line for the mess hall, he was hoping you'd still be there finishing up your dinner. 

When he'd arrived he was elated to find you still sitting in your usual spot, this time with Konïg. You were laughing quietly with the man before Simon approached the two of you.

"Hey! I can go grab you some dinner, do you want to join us?" You gave Simon a small smile, and moved to stand. 

"No, I'm fine. Do you have a moment actually? To talk?" 

"Okay." You followed Simon, who was moving at a rather brisk pace to exit the mess hall.

"Are you okay?" You questioned him once the two of you were alone.

"Y/N, sweetheart, please talk to me." He pleaded, grabbing your hands in his. "You haven't been yourself in days, and I thought everything was okay after last night. But it doesn't seem better, and I can't help but feel like I said something wrong."

Your eyes started to gloss over as you took in his words. You felt even worse now, knowing that Simon thought this was his fault. You were the one being the burden, not him. 

"No, no. I just." You paused, not knowing what to say next. You, like Simon, weren't great with expressing how you felt, and were struggling to find the words. 

"I- I feel like a burden. I know you have enough on your plate and here I am whining about being depressed. I felt bad so I.. was trying to make you happy." Tears were now falling down your cheeks, and Simon's thumbs came to stroke them away. 

"Y/N, look at me. You are not, and never will be a burden, do you understand me? I love you more than you'll ever comprehend. I know I am not great at talking all the time, but my God I will listen to you and whatever troubles you may have, no matter how small they may seem to you." He spoke softly, as his thumbs continued to wipe away your tears. "And do not ever think you don't make me happy. I'm the happiest I've ever been in my shitty life, because of you."

"Simon." You sobbed, throwing yourself into his chest. 

"I've got you, kid. I'm always here, okay? I love you so fucking much." Simon wrapped his arms tightly around you, rubbing your back in soothing circles. "Why don't we make a pact. Let's both do better coming to one another with this stuff. So that it never gets this far. That sound okay?"

You nodded your head against his chest, blinking away the remaining tears. Simon leaned down to place a kiss on your temple.

The two of you stayed like that for a while, Simon continuing to rub your back. 

"I love you Simon, thank you." You said, pulling away to kiss him. 

"Of course, that's what I'm here for, yeah? Why don't we go inside, I'll draw you a bath in my quarters."

"Only if you'll join me."

"Always." Simon smiled down at you, and took your hand to lead you toward his room. 

—----------------------------------------------------

A/N: Thanks for reading!!☺️ Working on a few other requests but feel free to send any you'd like to see written!

[python333]

soft spot — python333

— — — —

synopsis you've been having a bad day, and ghost feels like being extra nice to you. plot twist you're an age regressor and him being so nice is NOT helping.

relationships platonic agere cg!ghost & gn little!reader.

characters ghost.

word count 6.7k.

warnings a victorious reference, age regressor reader, usage of c/n [call sign/code name], 2nd person pov [you/yours/yourself]

note please feel free to attack me as much as you want if this is inaccurate. i don't even care if it's not constructive criticism. i am begging for everyone's thoughts and opinions on this!! this is also the longest oneshot i think i've ever written!

“Having fun there?” 

You turn in your seat and find Ghost leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and one eye slightly wider than the other—an indication that his eyebrow is raised. 

“Not really,” You answer, setting down your gun. You’d been disassembling it, trying to take your mind off of the slowly growing headache that’s been building up for the past few hours. You don’t think it’s a migraine or anything, but it still bothers you greatly. 

“Yeah, no, I can tell,” Ghost chuckles, pushing himself off of the door frame and walking over to you. He eyes your gun for a moment, the magazine already removed as well as any live rounds left in the rifle ejected, and the bolt locked to the rear. You were only maybe a quarter of the way through your disassembly, even though you started around thirty minutes ago. 

For some reason, you woke up upset today. You were too tired, you felt awfully sluggish, and there was a throbbing pain clustered in the back of your eyebrows. So, in short—you were reasonably very upset. It showed visibly in the way your eyes twitched every so often, and in the way you felt the need to pinch the bridge of your nose to distract you from the pain that was still building up behind your brows. 

“What’s going on?” He asks, leaning on the table. 

“I have this headache that won’t go away,” You respond, sighing as you move your gaze from your gun to Ghost. You can barely see it, but from his eyes you can tell that his face scrunches up beneath his mask. He knows a thing or two about bad headaches, being someone who frequently gets migraines himself. 

“Have you taken any meds for it?” You shake your head ‘no’. Ghost holds up a single finger in a ‘one moment’ motion and rummages through the pockets on his tactical vest for a moment, before he pulls out a small bottle of ibuprofen no bigger than his palm. He hands it to you. 

“Here.” You blink at it for a moment. 

“Thanks,” You take the bottle gingerly and Ghost nods, watching you as you struggle with the child-proof lid for a second before getting it open. You shake out a small tablet, one the size of a low-dosage aspirin, and pop it into your mouth. You don’t have much of an issue dry-swallowing it, and it only takes one attempt before you successfully swallow the tablet.

“You’ve been feeling pretty bad this whole week, haven’t you?” Ghost frowns underneath his mask. 

You think for a moment before nodding, “Yeah, I guess. I think it’s mostly just stress.” 

You know it’s not just stress. 

For a while now, you’ve used something called ‘age regression’ as a form of stress relief. You don’t know exactly when it started, but you do know that it was before you were recruited for the 141. And originally, you made a promise to yourself that you wouldn’t regress while on base, and you kept that promise for maybe a month before you broke it. 

You think it was Ghost that was the trigger, actually. You can vividly remember the first time you regressed while on base; you had just finished talking to Ghost, and he called you something—you think he called you something similar to ‘kid’—that made a flip in your mind switch immediately. You can remember excusing yourself from the conversation quickly, leaving your lieutenant slightly confused but otherwise unbothered by the strange action. 

And, worst of all, you can remember being in your quarters and practically burrowing under your blankets. You were curled up into a fetal position, trying to fight the urge to suck on your thumb or at least chew on something, but ultimately lost the fight and succumbed to your urges. You spent maybe a few hours like that, wide awake when you just wanted to try and sleep it away, thinking about that interaction you had with Ghost over and over again. 

You’re not stupid. You know that Ghost has some sort of soft spot for you—albeit, you don’t know exactly how soft that soft spot is, but it’s definitely soft. Soft enough that he goes the tiniest bit easier on you compared to other recruits, soft enough that he spares you more time than he does for others, and the most obvious of all—he initiates most of your conversations. 

Contrary to popular belief, he’s not the scary super-soldier most people think of him as. Sure, maybe he is kind of scary, and maybe his mask does jumpscare you when you’re doing missions in particularly dark spaces sometimes, but other than that he’s not scary in the slightest. If anything, he’s awkward. Awkward enough that he’s almost never the first person to talk to someone—except for you, of course. You don’t know why he acts so differently around you, but you don’t complain about it. 

“That’s rough,” Ghost looks down at you with concerned, empathetic eyes, “Sorry you’re so stressed. Mind me askin’ why?” 

“I don’t, but I also don’t know why I’m so stressed,” You huff out, even though you know the answer completely. You stand up, “I think it’s just me being sleep deprived. I’ve been having the tiniest bit of trouble falling asleep lately.” 

“You should’ve told me earlier,” Ghost tuts, “I have melatonin.” 

You give him a confused look. “You do?” 

“‘Course I do.” 

You blink at him for a moment before sighing, “Could I have some then?” 

“What’s the magic word?” You give him an unimpressed look, ignoring the way the words make your stomach twist, and his eyes crinkle in a way that lets you know that he’s grinning under his mask. 

“Could I please have some melatonin?” 

“The magic word was lotion, but I’ll let it slide,” Ghost hums, “There’s some in my office. I’ll grab it for you later.” 

“M’kay,” You look over at the door, unintentionally zoning out as you do. Your vision goes unfocused as the throbbing pain behind your eyebrows grows and something else grows inside of you. 

Jesus. Why can’t you choose any other time to get the urge to slip into a younger mentality? Why does your headache have to make everything worse for you? Why does Ghost have to be so nice and helpful? 

“Hey,” Ghost frowns, tapping a finger on your shoulder to snap you out of whatever trance you’re in, “[c/n]?” 

Oh God. 

Your eyes—that you try desperately to keep neutral—meet Ghost’s, his eyes soft and his eyebrows dipped downwards in a confused manner. His eyes are searching, flitting over you, trying to find something. The way he looks at you makes you want to squirm, and you can’t help but just slightly shuffle in place. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He asks, voice as concerned as his look. That should be the breaking point for you, but you remain as big as you can be, and nod affirmatively. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” You try to assure him, hoping you don’t sound as nervous as you feel, “I think I’m just a little tired.” 

Ghost doesn’t look convinced. 

He puts a hand on your shoulder, the act like a hammer putting another dent in the wall you had put up. The leather of his glove is warm even through the thick material of your shirt, and it feels like hot metal against your cold skin, the clothing covering your shoulder be damned. 

“You can tell me if you’re not okay,” He tells you—what is he doing? Does he know something I don’t?—while his thumb starts rubbing circles into your shoulder, “I feel like you’re more than a little tired.” 

You stay silent for a little bit. You don’t know how to explain yourself, the words seeming to liquify and leak right out of you, making you speechless. He seems to notice this, sighing and letting his hand slip down to your hand, holding it and giving it a quick squeeze. 

“I think,” He looks around for a moment before turning back to you, “that we should head to my office so that nobody can bother us, and then you can tell me all about how you’re feeling right now. Does that sound okay?” 

You nod wordlessly, not trusting yourself to talk with how heavy your tongue feels, and you let Ghost lead you back to his office. It’s only a hallway away, but that’s still enough time to overthink everything that could possibly happen. How does he know something’s wrong? What gave it away? Did I do something bad? What did I do? Wh—

The creak of his office door opening snaps you out of your thoughts, and Ghost steps aside to let you enter his office first. Hesitantly, you take a few steps inside, and you hear the door click shut behind you as Ghost walks in. He takes your hand again, making you look at him as he guides you to a chair. 

You sit in the chair that’s in front of his desk, and he quickly drags out the chair that’s behind it so that it’s right next to yours. He sits down. 

He’s looking at you expectantly. 

“Uh.” You’re not sure what to say. He’s looking at you so reassuringly, it’s hard to keep yourself sitting upright. 

“I know something’s wrong,” Ghost says, leaning forward the tiniest bit, “I need you to tell me what’s wrong so I can help you.” 

He’s got to have at least some idea of what you’re experiencing, You think, trying to form some sort of explanation, He’s being so… weird? 

You swear there’s some other word you could use, but your vocabulary feels so limited, and you would mentally curse if you could because you know that now your explanation is gonna sound weird. You can’t use the words you want, you’re gonna be forced to use simple words, ones that can’t convey exactly how you feel. Words that—and it physically pained you to admit this—were childish. 

You can explain your situation. Just, now it would be more… blunt. And short. And also you’d feel like killing yourself afterwards. You won’t, obviously, but you can predict that you’ll come very close to doing so.

Okay, I have to say something because Ghost is looking more and more worried the longer I stay silent. 

“I feel…” You trail off for a moment, trying to get your thoughts in order for the next two seconds to actually say something that makes sense, before continuing in a far less confident tone, “… small.” 

The moment the words leave your mouth, you regret it. Ew. Ew. Ew. What. Why? Why that word? It leaves a sour taste on your tongue and yet you can’t think of any other word that would better suit how you feel. Still. Ew. 

Your thoughts are a jumbled mess ranging from fleeting thoughts of disgust to thoughts lodged in the back of your mind begging you to go anywhere else just so that you can stop having to have this conversation. This conversation requires words bigger than you have access to, and a sort of control over yourself that you can’t grasp. You can feel your hands twitching, wanting something to hold onto, anything to keep you distracted from the overwhelming urge to just regress. 

Ghost blinks. He didn’t expect that answer. 

“Small?” He repeats in a questioning tone, eyebrows furrowed, “I mean, compared to me, I guess you’re kind of short—” 

“No, no, not like short small,” You try to clarify, feeling just slightly discouraged by Ghost’s confused words, “Like…” 

You struggle to find the words that properly describe how you feel, only finding words like small and little in your current vocabulary. Your findings are making you increasingly upset, and you can feel your face start to grow hot with frustration and embarrassment. 

Oh my God. 

“Like…?” Ghost nudges your knee with his, trying to encourage you to talk, “I’m not leaving until you tell me.” 

There’s still a level of care in his words, no matter how confused he seems, and that adds all the more struggle to your predicament. Not only do you not want to tell him, but you can’t describe how you feel in a way that’s acceptable for someone your age to describe anything. At least, not in a way that you deem acceptable for yourself to describe anything. 

You’re far too old to be describing yourself as small. 

“[c/n]?” Ghost nudges you again, and you blink at him. Your eyes are flickering all over his mask, going anywhere but his eyes, since eye contact with anyone would make everything significantly worse for you right now. 

“It’s just—” You try to take a deep breath but your breath hitches. Everything is starting to make you feel so frustrated, and you’re starting to think that you might just throw a tantrum if you can’t do at least one thing right. You try to find the words you want to use but your throat is disobediently closing on you. Your mind feels like straight mush, and the quickly softening look that Ghost is giving you isn’t helping you at all. 

To your horror, in your inexplicable inability to talk in the way you normally do, you let out a small whine. It sounds obnoxious to your ears, and worst of all, sounds like something a little kid would do. 

You put your head in your hands, the quickly reddening skin of your cheeks getting cooled by the cold of your palms as you try and hide your face from Ghost. You can picture how he looks right now—somehow more confused than earlier, possibly annoyed, weirded out—and all those mental images make you bite your tongue to prevent another noise. 

“What was that?” You don’t answer him. 

To your non-answer, Ghost sighs, and you think, This is it, this is where he kicks me out of his office, oh my God I’m gonna get dishonorably discharged and he’s gonna give me a really mean look on my way out—

“Look at me.” You shake your head negatively. 

“Why not?” He sounds so confused, it makes you want to cry. There’s still a level of worry in his voice, and it adds to the fog that builds up in your brain. 

You move your face just slightly up so that your eyes peek out from above your fingertips, your hands covering the rest of your face. Ghost reaches out both of his hands, and ever so gently removes your hands from your face, uncovering your red cheeks and your lips—the lower of which quivers, like you’re about to cry. He notices this quickly, and you can practically feel the level of his worry shoot up. 

He doesn’t say anything, instead just holding your hands in his for a moment, before he sets them down into your lap. He looks at you, concerned, and asks, “Is it hard to talk right now?” 

You nod. His gaze shifts to his computer, and then back to you. 

“I’m gonna go look a few things up really quick, okay? I’ll just be right over there,” He nods over to the space behind his computer, “and I’ll be right back here in a few seconds.” 

You reluctantly nod again, and Ghost gets up from his seat. He grabs the back of the chair and drags it back around behind his desk, sitting down in it and powering on his monitor. It turns on almost immediately, much to his relief, and he goes to his browser and searches up a few things. You can’t tell what he’s searching up, only hearing the clacking of keys and the occasional final click that indicates that he’s hit the enter button. 

He stays there for maybe a minute or two. It’s a long few minutes, and you can feel yourself slipping more and more the longer he stays at his computer. And the more you feel yourself slipping into that younger mindset, the more you start to crave Ghost’s attention. 

The way his eyes are glued to his computer starts to irritate you. You’re aware that he’s doing something important, he must be, because why would he be so intent on looking something up otherwise, but still—you manage to feel the tiniest bit jealous of the computer. You know you’re too far gone when you can’t find it within yourself to realize that you’re jealous of a computer. 

Your eyes linger on him and he must notice this because he looks up from the screen of his monitor and looks over at you. As if he can read your mind, he reassures you, “Just a few more seconds.” 

But you said you were gonna be back in a few seconds a few minutes ago. 

You don’t voice your thoughts. Instead, you nod, because God forbid you annoy Ghost with your need for attention now when he’s being so patient with you. He looks at you for another moment before going back to his computer and looking something else up, this time with a little more fervor. 

Another few seconds pass and, true to his word this time, Ghost stops and gets up from his chair. He walks over to you, and your eyes follow him intently. He kneels down in front of you.

He looks hesitant to say something to you. That’s a first. That adds to the exponentially growing blob of fear that lives inside your mind, one of the only things that’s still prominent in the fog that conquers your brain. 

“Are you…” You feel like you know what he’s gonna ask you. You’re bracing yourself for the question, and he looks like he’s bracing himself just to ask it. 

“How, uh,” He’s trying to find the right wording, and you’ve never been able to relate to him harder than you do in this moment, “How… do you feel right now? How old?” 

How old? You don’t really like that question. As much as you like that you’re now getting attention, you’re starting to remember how little you actually enjoy this type of attention. The question is pretty vague, but at the same time so specific, and you’re almost ashamed to know exactly what the answer is. Or, at least, you would feel ashamed if there was room in your mind to feel so. 

“You said you feel small, right? Not like short small, just small?” He sounds more unsure of himself now, and you don’t think you like seeing him so reluctant to say something, “I looked up what it means to feel like that. Took some time, but I got to some person’s… website, and the person who wrote it was talkin’ about feeling like that. Something about regression, feeling a little bit younger than usual?” 

He’s being so awkward about it, and while you typically find his awkwardness funny, now it’s anything but that. 

“Uhm,” Your voice comes out as a mumble and you see Ghost perk up at it. You don’t know what to say. For a moment, you’re silent again, before you get over your embarrassment for a quick two seconds and force yourself to say, “Four.” 

“Four?” Ghost asks, before quickly realizing, “Right. Four. You feel four?” 

You nod, and your hands instinctively start moving back up to cover your face. Ghost swiftly grabs them, keeping his grip gentle as he keeps them from reaching your face. 

“Hey, don’t try to hide again,” He says, tone softening as he holds your hands, “everything’s fine, okay? Do you— what, uh— do you need me to do anything? Do you want me to leave you alo—”

“No!” You quickly answer, a little surprised by your own volume, before you clear your throat and answer in a much more quiet voice, “Don’t leave me alone.” 

“Okay, okay,” Ghost’s thumbs rub across the back of your hands, a soothing gesture that makes you the tiniest bit more relaxed, “what do you need?” 

You sniffle, and you can see an immediate look of panic cross Ghost’s eyes. You don’t know how well he is with crying children, and don’t want to impose such a situation on him, but you also can’t stop the tears that begin to well up in the corners of your eyes. 

“Hey, don’t cry,” He borderline begs, “everything’s gonna be okay, okay? Please do not cry. Take a deep breath.” 

You try to take a deep breath, you really do, but your breath just hitches and gets caught in your throat. It only makes you more distressed, adding to the urge you have to just disappear. Ghost notices your failed deep breathing and lets go of one of your hands, before taking the other and holding it to his chest.

You can just barely feel his heartbeat, his thick tactical vest and gear in the way of it, but you can still feel it. Ghost takes a deep breath, holding it for a second or two before slowly exhaling. 

“You copy me, okay?” He tells you, his words an order but his tone suggesting otherwise. He takes another deep breath, this time hoping you’ll follow his lead, and you do. 

You try to breathe with him, your hand on his chest helping, but your breath keeps getting caught in your throat. Ghost notices this, but continues his breathing anyway, hoping you’ll catch on soon. You do, thankfully—after a few more attempted breaths, you finally manage one almost identical to Ghost’s. The next few after that go similarly, and that’s when Ghost decides you’re alright to take your hand off of his chest. 

“I need you to tell me what to do,” He says, keeping your hand in his hold, “or at least tell me how all of this works. I want to help you.”

 You really don’t want to tell him what you need right now, but you also don’t think you have a choice. 

Wordlessly, you stand up from your seat, balance just slightly off-center before you quickly get your footing right. Ghost watches you, not moving, before you tug on his hand to try and urge him to get up as well. He obliges, getting up. 

“What—” You interrupt him by taking another step forward and letting your head thump right into his chest, ignoring the itchy uncomfortable feeling of his vest against your face. You don’t bother to wrap your arms around him to at least try and form some sort of hug, preferring to just smush yourself into him and hope for the best. 

After a moment of stunned silence, he wraps his arms around you. 

“You mind if we move behind my desk so I can look up some more stuff on all of this?” He asks, voice quiet, “Unless you want to just tell me?” 

“Desk,” You simply mumble into his vest, making him nod. 

“Alright, but you’re gonna have to stop hugging me for a second,” Ghost warns you. You reluctantly step away, and Ghost smiles softly down at you, bringing his hands away from your back and instead holding one of yours. 

He leads you behind his desk, and lets go of your hand before sitting down in his chair. Pausing, he quickly realizes you have nowhere to sit, and thinks for a moment before getting back up. He drags his chair just slightly to the side and looks back at you. 

“Sit down,” He nods to the chair, “It’s only gonna be a minute or two, alright?” 

You nod, hesitantly moving to sit in the chair, not really liking how far away from Ghost it is. It's not that far, You try to rationalize, I’m gonna be fine. 

Ghost can see your hesitation and tries to work as quickly as he can, grateful that he didn’t turn his computer off earlier, typing away on his keyboard. You don’t care to see what he’s looking up, more focused on looking at the time on his monitor. 21:44. 21:45. The time ticks by and even though it’s only been a few seconds you already want Ghost’s attention again. His attention has actually turned into good attention, and that’s the type of attention you’ve been craving for the past week. 

The clock reads 21:47 once Ghost is done, and he powers his monitor off this time, the small whirring the device makes dying down to a low hum before going completely silent. He turns to you, and somehow can sense that you need more attention. 

“Am I not paying enough attention to you?” He teases you, making you conflicted on whether you should be annoyed by the teasing or happy you’re finally getting attention. As if he can read your mind, he chuckles, and kneels down to your level. 

“I’m gonna give you as much attention as you need, alright?” He promises, “I just need you to stay in this room.” 

— 

Ghost watches you nod non-verbally, and it only adds to his softening expression. 

He’s always had a soft spot for kids. He knows that you aren’t technically a kid, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t still see you as one. You’re young for someone in the military, much less someone in this 141, and now that he’s found out that you’re an age regressor, that you’re a little—well, that doesn’t help how he sees you at all. 

He thinks that maybe the reason he has such a soft spot for kids is a few encounters he’s had with them in the past. He’s seen far too many in compromising positions while on missions; positions like being held hostage, being held as prisoner, or just generally being mistreated or even just living in bad conditions. 

He looks at you, and he just sees another one of those kids. 

He sees how you act around him. He’s not stupid. When he talks to you, you’re actually engaged in the conversation, compared to when anyone else tries to talk to you—maybe excluding Price, or Soap, or Gaz, heavy on that maybe—you’re more likely than not brushing them off every chance you get. You’re standoffish with everyone else, but with him, you’ll always accept any conversation he initiates. 

He can also see the way you look at him. It’s like you’re looking at your idol, or your savior, the way you look up at him. He can see that curious glint in your eyes when he tells you about a recent mission, or when he tells you anything, really. He can see when you try to mimic how he holds his weapons, and when you try to copy his techniques. 

He remembers catching you one day in the shooting range trying to mimic how he aims at the targets—looking through your scope with one eye closed, the other focused only on the dot centered on the scope, taking a deep breath in and out before shooting, and keeping the gun exactly like that even seconds after the shot’s been fired. 

In fact, the copying has gone from guns to melee weapons recently. Ghost swings only his forearm when he uses a knife, thumb resting on the very end of the knife’s handle, and entire arm stiff as he does. He does a slow windup when behind someone, a fast one on the off-chance that he’s in front, and buries the weapon to the hilt in whoever’s flesh he’s penetrated. He’s already seen you do the same on a recent mission. Not only that, but he caught you using a knife almost identical to his. 

And now, you’re still looking at him like that—except, different. Sort of like how a kid might look up to their parents. 

“What do you feel like doing, kiddo?” He asks, hoping the pet name isn’t too much. 

From the way your eyes light up, he suspects it isn't. 

“Mmm…” You hum, thinking for a moment, before requesting, “Coloring?” 

“Coloring, huh?” Ghost looks around for some blank paper and some sort of marker or pen thick enough to act as one, but can only find some highlighters. He turns to you, frowning, “Sorry, but I don’t think I have any paper, kid. Anything else you wanna do?”

You shake your head, and Ghost is just about ready to jump off of a bridge before you point to his arm and repeat, “Coloring.” 

He looks at his arm for a second, confused, before he remembers a conversation the two of you had a month or so ago. 

“If you ever wanna get tattoos, I know a guy in Brighton,” Ghost said, reclining his chair back so that he can lay down in it. You were sitting across from him in front of his desk, fiddling with one of his pens. 

“Good to know,” You hummed, “You have any tattoos?” 

“Yeah,” You perked up at his admission, and he sat up for a second to roll up the sleeve of his shirt. He wasn’t wearing his usual gear, only one of those standard issue army-green shirts. 

“Here,” He pointed to a large tattoo covering his whole arm like a sleeve, a few designs you could point out to yourself being a skull, a few Roman numerals, and some kind of scythe. 

“Very emo,” You commented, making Ghost snort, “I like it.” 

“I’m glad,” He rolled his sleeve back down. 

There’s a lot of blank space in the tattoo, despite it being a sleeve, and he can already tell that you mean you want to color in that space. He thinks about it for a moment, a fleeting thought of is that even safe? crossing his mind before he ultimately decides that he doesn’t care and would rather kill himself than see you disappointed because he denied your request, his own health be damned. 

“Alright,” He hums, grabbing a few highlighters from a mesh cup on his desk in the colors pink, yellow, and blue, “Go for it.” 

You give him a small smile and if he cared about if he’d get ink poisoning two seconds ago, he sure as hell doesn’t care now. You gingerly grab the highlighters from his hand, your grabbing not too secure and sort of clumsy but secure enough that the markers stay in your hand.

You hold them with both hands, and it makes Ghost realize how small your hands are—sure, you could hold the highlighters with one hand, but he’s glad you aren’t because now he can admire just how small you are as a whole. 

You set the yellow and blue down on his desk, making sure they don’t roll off for a moment before uncapping the pink and hesitantly holding out a hand for Ghost’s arm. He rolls up his sleeve and obediently holds out his arm for you, watching curiously as you press the cold tip of the highlighter to his skin. You’re starting by coloring in the skull a neon pink, much to his amusement, and you’re starting in the dead center of its forehead. 

You’re so much more quiet than you usually are when you’re little, and you’re so much more hesitant, it makes Ghost want to just wrap you in a blanket and keep you safe and in his sight forever. 

Your tongue slightly pokes out from between your lips as you concentrate on coloring in Ghost’s tattoo, making him grin beneath his mask. The ink of the highlighter doesn’t stay within the black bounds of his tattoos at all, but he doesn’t care one bit, and he doesn’t think you care either. You finish up the skull quickly, and move onto the scythe that’s right next to it, this time capping the pink highlighter and grabbing the yellow. 

Ghost is pretty sure this is gonna stain his skin for a day or two, but he couldn’t care less.

He can’t help but notice how much more relaxed you look in your regressed state. More at peace, he should say. There’s no longer a hunch in your shoulders, your eyes aren’t twitching from your headache, and you’re not bouncing your leg like you usually do when you’re sitting down somewhere. It’s like any anxieties you had pre-regression had evaporated, like slipping into a younger mentality had taken away most of your worries, if not all of them. 

He also can’t help but wish he could see you like this more often. Not necessarily the regressed part, but the relaxed part. Well, maybe the regressed part too. You’re being such a sweetheart right now, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to live through this experience. 

“You having fun there, darling?” Ghost asks, his grin evident in his voice. The corners of your lips quirk up at the pet name and you nod silently, and now Ghost is starting to think you’re actually trying to kill him. You’re being so uncharacteristically shy, and you’re being so quiet, and you’re just being so sweet. 

It seems you’ve moved onto the blue highlighter now, coloring in the last bit of his tattoo. He doesn’t think he’ll ever wash it off—or, at least, he wouldn’t if he had a choice. He knows that he has to shower sometime soon, but surely he can put that off for a bit, right?

Once you’re finished with your coloring, you cap the highlighter, and set it down next to the others you’ve discarded. You turn Ghost’s arm the tiniest bit towards him so that he can see your work better. 

“‘s it good?” You ask quietly, watching intently for Ghost’s reaction. He looks over your coloring job and hums approvingly. 

“It’s amazing, I love it,” He assures you, smiling down softly at you, “You did great.” 

You seem to preen at the praise, and you take your hand off of Ghost’s arm, moving to put in your lap. You’re keeping yourself very contained, Ghost notices, Why? 

He’s snapped out of his thoughts when he hears you yawn, and you quickly move to cover your mouth as you do. He’s reminded that it’s almost twenty-two hundred, and while that usually wouldn’t be an issue for him, it’s an issue for you. You originally came to the 141 as someone who had a sleep schedule almost as fucked up at Ghost’s, but soon developed a habit of going to sleep somewhat early considering the training you had in the morning. So, now you get tired anywhere from eighteen-hundred to twenty-one hundred. After that, your only goal is to find somewhere to sleep. 

“Sleepy?” You nod tiredly, making Ghost coo, Ghost, the man who quite literally haunts some people’s nightmares, coos at you, “Aw, of course you are, sweetheart. Pretty sure it’s way past your bedtime by now.” 

“Nuh uh,” You deny, making Ghost chuckle. 

“‘Nuh uh’?” He asks, amused, “What d’you mean ‘nuh uh’?” 

“No b’dtime,” You shortly elaborate. 

“Ohhh, okay,” Ghost feigns realization, “You think you’re too big for a bedtime, huh?” 

“Mhm. Way too big.”

“I dunno about ‘way’ too big,” Ghost hums, checking to see if the highlighter on his arm has dried before he pulls his sleeve back down. “You seem pretty little to me.” 

“No,” You whine, dragging out the ‘o’, “Not lil’.” 

“Hmm… you sure, kiddo?” Ghost asks, “So if I ask you if you need to go to bed, you’re gonna say ‘no’?” 

That makes you hesitate, and Ghost almost thinks he’s won, before your own pettiness wins and you nod affirmatively. He raises an eyebrow at you. 

“Alright, well, you’ve gotta sleep at some point,” He says, crossing his arms as he leans back in his chair. 

You think this over for a second, and he watches as you look over him for a moment before looking down at his lap, then looking back up at him. He can already tell there’s some sort of plan forming in your mind.  Wordlessly, you get up, and Ghost does nothing to stop you as you decide to just plop yourself down into his lap. You straddle his thighs, moving until you’re sitting comfortably on him, and then let yourself slump forward so that your face is resting in the crook of his neck. It takes him a moment to process what just happened, before he laughs lightly and wraps both of his arms around you to keep you in place. 

“Oh, okay,” He grins, resting his chin on your shoulder, “you just wanna cuddle with me until you fall asleep? Is that what this is?” 

He feels you nod against his neck, and his grin grows as he rubs one hand against your back, trying to soothe you to sleep. He doesn’t say anything else, not wanting to distract you from your attempts to sleep anymore, simply letting you stay slumped against him. Your breathing wasn’t too fast-paced to begin with, but as you relax even more in his arms, he can feel your breathing even out. 

You’re falling asleep fairly quickly, and the only complaint he has is that he didn’t get to spend nearly as much time as he wanted to with you while you were awake and regressed. 

Once he’s sure you’re barely awake, he murmurs, “You’re such a sweetheart, you know that?” 

— 

You don’t know how long it’s been since you fell asleep, but you’re woken up by the slight rustling of clothes, and then you feel yourself moving up. 

Your mind still feels foggy and you can tell you’re still somewhat in that younger mindset of yours, but now you’re significantly less bothered by it than you were before. You’re awake enough to be aware of what’s happening, always having been a light-sleeper, but not awake enough to know exactly what’s happening. You don’t dare open your eyes, and try to keep your breathing even—though that isn’t much of a challenge. 

That headache that had been building up earlier has fully disappeared, thank God, and you no longer feel the tension in your shoulder that you’d been unconsciously carrying. 

You can sort of feel someone’s arms snaked under your back, and you know that you’re being moved somewhere. Quickly, you remember that it’s Ghost carrying you, and that you had fallen asleep on him, much to your embarrassment. Or, at least, it would be much to your embarrassment if you had the mental capacity to feel embarrassed about that right now. But you feel so comfy and so safe that it really doesn’t matter to you right now. 

You can hear the clicking of Ghost’s boots against the concrete floors of the hallway, and he’s carrying you off somewhere; you imagine that somewhere to be your sleeping quarters. He’s walking pretty fast, not hurriedly but still at a somewhat fast pace. 

Soon, he reaches a stopping point where he has to awkwardly put one leg up to support your back on his thigh as he quickly reaches one arm out to turn the knob of the door to your sleeping quarters and pulls that arm right back to support your back again. He sighs as he puts his foot back down, kicking open the door and walking in. 

He’s quick to reach your bed, and he pauses as he considers what to do. You can practically hear him thinking, wondering how he’s gonna get you under the covers while he’s still carrying you, and for a second you think about showing him you’re awake so that things are easier for him before he sets you down on the bed. 

He pulls the covers up and stops when he reaches the part your body covers, and picks you back up, before dropping you right back off where the blankets have been pulled away. He pulls the covers back over you. 

After a few moments, you think he’s left the room, before you hear the rustling of fabric and feel him leaning down. He gently presses his lips to your forehead and pulls away after a second or two, before quietly mumbling, “Night, kiddo.”

He stays there for a moment before you hear his footsteps leave the room, and then the door clicking shut behind him as he leaves the room entirely. 

You’re quick to fall asleep after that.

[imaginesheaven]

Fem!Reader x TF 141 - Undercover Mission

It’s time to get out the badass playlist you have been saving to make you feel incredible while reading this ;)

Warnings: Badass reader and cursing

This particular mission is quite a pain in the ass. Especially for you. Laswell declared it as an undercover mission for you and one of the boys. But that evil woman did not tell you that you had to wear an incredible breathtaking dress to blend in.

No one on the base has ever seen you in different clothes than the usual cargo pants and shirts. The worst part? You have to walk in incredibly high heels through the whole base to the car that’s waiting for you.

“I swear to God I’m going to kill you, Laswell.”

John Price

With quite a grim face you walk through the base dolled up like never before in your whole life. To be honest it’s quite the confidence boost as all the tough men and women turn their heads to stare at you in disbelief.

Some of them run against walls or against each other not looking where they are actually going. A few of them let go of everything they have in their hands. Your absolutely horrific mood shoots up into the sky. Smiling you wink at little group of men as you walk past.

“Where is she? We need to get going”, John feels like he’s suffocating in his suit. Undercover missions are the worst if you have to wear formal clothes. “Keep cool, John. (Y/N) is a Lady. It takes time to get ready”, Laswell can see right through his poker face. The Captain is kind of nervous and the reason is for sure not the mission.

“Oh shit”, usually Kate is not the one to curse but she couldn’t help herself as she sees you coming closer. You looking incredibly breathtaking got a trail of lost men and women stumbling behind you like lost puppies. At least none of them is drooling.

For the first in forever John is at loss of words. He can feel how his ear tips start to get red and suddenly the collar of his button down gets tighter. How is he supposed to think straight when you are by his side looking like a literal goddess? This is going to be probably the hardest mission for him.

“(Y/N), you look absolutely gorgeous”, John tries to focus on your face even if the rest of your body is very distracting. “Just let get this over. I’m dying in this thing”, you let out a deep sigh hoping he can’t see the slight blush on your cheeks. The Captain is way too handsome in his suit.

His hand hovers over the small of your back guiding you to the cars. He doesn’t dare to touch your bare skin without your consent. What a gentleman, right? When you aren’t looking at him, Price throws death glares at the other soldiers to scare them away. They start to scramble away into different directions.

You are a Lady. You are his Lady.

“Have fun, kids. Don’t be back too late!”, Kate grins at them knowing exactly what she has done choosing the two of you for this undercover mission.

Simon Riley

You are in an incredibly bad mood as you stalk through the base with your high heels and backless dress. The stares from the other soldiers makes this whole situation worse. Your death glares keep them away yet they still keep hollering and catcalling. Not once in your entire life you have felt like this. A walking piece of meat.

Ghost has definitely the easier part since he has only to play your bodyguard. So, at least he is wearing normal clothes. He already knows how pissed you are going to be. This man prepares himself mentally for the fallout of your mood.  

“There she is. Grim as always”, Price comments the situation quite amused. They are used to your resting bitch face, but now you have written murder on your face. Your facial expression doesn’t dull your beauty at all. Simon is thankful to wear his usual mask, because his face is red as a tomato.

Usually Ghost knows how to contain all his emotions yet his body betrays him on all levels. His hands start to get incredibly sweaty not knowing how to compliment your looks without getting killed in the next second.  

“Hey, baby girl! Give me a smile that suits you much better!”, one of the soldiers yells stopping you dead in your walk. Something dark and dangerous twinkles in your eyes as you turn around slowly towards the man.

“Fucking hell, get her, Ghost, before she kills them”, Price orders needlessly because Simon is already on his way. Softly but with quite a grip he grabs your shoulders to guide you towards the car. You are actually not tossing and slashing at him, which makes his task rather easy, but you keep yelling out all the curse words you ever heard in your life.

“It’s okay. You will get your revenge when we get back from the mission”, Ghost knows how to soothe your raging soul with a few words. “Don’t you dare to break your promise”, you point your finger at him. A cocky smile on your lips stops his heart for a second.

“I literally don’t have a death wish, (Y/N)”, he closes the car door after you got into the vehicle. Of course, Simon looked away when the leg slit revealed way too much of your skin than he could take in this moment. Ghost takes a deep breath to calm himself and his racing heart down.

You are going to be the death of him.

John MacTavish

You are literally glowing wearing this dress with the matching high heels. Usually you are already overly confident, but now you are walking like you are owning this whole place. The soldiers on your way through the base don’t know what is actually hitting them. The mixture of the clothes and your confidence is incredibly hot.

No one dares to speak to you or do something stupid like catcalling or hollering. The soldiers are way too intimidated by your beauty. They know you are out of their league. You are otherworldly.

“Don’t make a fool out of yourself this time, Johnny”, Ghost stares at Soap as he nestles with his button up shirt. “You are never gonna drop that, right? It was one fucking time”, he gives Simon a goofy grin, but he returns it with his usual “you fucking serious?!”-glare.  

Both turn their head at the same time to see you walking straight towards them with an incredible smile on your lips. Johnny fights the urge to stare at you with a gaping mouth and eyes big as saucers.

A part of him works on auto-pilot as he holds his hand out for you. Happily, you take it and swirl around for him to see you from all sides. It takes just a second and Soap is back to his old self burying the gentleman thousand feet under, “Don’t tell me you got some nice weapons hiding underneath.”

Ghost rolls his eyes annoyed by his stupid words. You give him your sweetest smile as you pull him closer at the collar of his shirt. His lips are so close to yours now, “I don’t need weapons, Johnny. I am the weapon.” To emphasize your statement you wink at him, before you let go of him and get into the car without any help.

“I told you don’t make a fool out of yourself…”, Ghost shakes his head slowly disappointed, but Soap’s mind is way too far away to register his words. His heart still beats oddly painful against his chest riding through the high of almost kissing you. The smell of your perfume lingers in his noise lulling him into fantasizing about your lips on his.

“Get in the car, Johnny”, you bring him back from his little dream world. With burning cheeks and ears from embarrassment he runs around the car. He’s trying not to think too much about spending the next few hours so incredibly close to you playing your lover. He’s probably going to get a heart attack very soon…

Kyle Garrick

Not caring about all the soldiers staring your way you keep walking through the base. It’s a mission like every other… Just in very elegant clothes… And playing a young married rich couple in their honeymoon phase with Gaz by your side. Just another Monday in your books like always.

Gaz fumbles around with his tie feeling like this thing is going to choke him in the next few seconds. Nervousness is eating away at him. Undercover missions are always particular dangerous and this time it’s just him and you.

“Calm down, kiddo. You are going to be fine”, Price puts his heavy hand on Gaz’s shoulder in a calming gesture. For a second Gaz actually calms down his racing heart, but then you stop in front of them.

The way you are standing in front of him hands on your hips, which are perfectly wrapped up in this tight dress of yours. Kyle can’t help himself but stare at you. Sweat starts to pool on his forehead and in his clammy hands. Since when do you look like a goddess?

“You look absolutely beautiful, (Y/N)”, Price gives you a fatherly smile showing how proud he is of you. “Thank you, Cap”, you turn around to Gaz to see what he has to say. His eyes are not searching for yours. They are definitely locked on the target. Your chest.

“My eyes are up here, Gaz”, you cross your arms in front of your chest making the target even more prominent. “I-I-I wasn’t... I wasn’t staring! I swear”, Gaz stumbles over his own words with a burning face full of embarrassment and shame. He probably can never look at you ever again.

“Way to go, buddy, way to go”, Price looks at him deeply disappointed by his non-gentleman behavior. Unimpressed you raise an eyebrow waiting for a better excuse. Gaz raises his hands in surrender”, I didn’t mean to! I-I … They looked at me first!”

Realization slowly sinks in. Doomed by his own words he gets into the car without a further word. Gaz will probably jump in front of the first bullet he can find.

“Go easy on him. We don’t want a broken Gaz”, John can’t help himself but smile. You only shrug one of your shoulders, “Can’t promise anything, Cap.” Like the true gentleman he is he helps you into the car, “Have fun, kids.” It’s going to be a very long mission…

[minty364]

DPXDC Prompt#148 Part 3

It had been a few weeks since Danny got back to Amity park and he was still a little nervous to text Damian.

He could tell Damian was getting a little nervous and impatient with how slow he was taking to respond.

That and every time he felt like he had a moment, something like another ghost attack would happen. That and the GIW announced their campaign to enact something they called the Anti Ecto acts, effectively making his existence illegal. 

“Get back here ghost scum!” His mom shouted at him. Danny dodged an ectoblast as he flew away. His parents had been very persistent about catching him lately. If he was being honest it worried him a little.

Danny landed in his empty living room and changed back. Before he could do anything, the door to the lab bursts open and Danny’s dad is standing there with an ectogun pointed at Danny. 

“I knew those security cameras would come in handy” he boasted as he turned the dial up on the gun, “I hope those acts get passed, ghost scum!!”

Danny, fearing for his life, fled the house changing back into Phantom. He headed to where he knew was a small abandoned house with an emergency bag but before he could make it he felt a sharp pain in his side. 

His Dad was known to be a poor shot but not his Mom, and as he looked back at her piercing eyes he knew exactly what shot at him. “Get back here Imposter!” She shouted after him.

Danny turned invisible and made his way unseen. 

He got to the  abandoned house shortly after and found the emergency bag. He shakily wrapped his side with a bandage and used his ectoplasm to reform his suit. He took a few calming breaths before he stood up and put the backpack on his back. 

 He wasn’t sure how but he was going to find his soulmate and tell him everything. He hated how his parents reacted and he didn’t think he could handle if the same thing happened but he needed to know. 

He spent the next few hours flying and before he knew it he was in Gotham. 

Landing on a roof Danny took a few moments to catch his breath. He put pressure on his side and laid his head back on the side of the stairwell leading down. 

He changed back into his human form and unfortunately that meant he needed to re-bandage the wound in his side. 

Once that was done he packaged everything back up in his bag and brought out his phone. 

He could tell Damian was getting worried about him, the shock and betrayal Danny was feeling was something he couldn’t really control or hide.

He sighed and let his head thump against the wall behind him.

He should probably just call Damian but how exactly he’d explain about everything that just happened… but that would mean telling him the other things too and he just didn’t know if he had the courage for that just yet. He took another deep breath and then opened his eyes to see the smog covered skies. That was one bad thing about Gotham, no stars. 

He then took another deep breath and stood up and walked near the edge of the roof and looked down. 

He was way up probably 7-8 or so stories high. The cars down below go about their daily lives giving no mind to the kid on the roof way up high. 

He watched for a few minutes mulling things over. Then he heard a soft thump behind him. He turned around and found Nightwing had landed on the roof. 

“It’s dangerous up here, would you mind stepping away from the ledge?” He said but there was an edge to his voice like he was genuinely scared Danny might do something. He guessed the vigilante’s in this city really cared about its citizens. 

“Don’t worry I wasn’t going to jump or anything, just trying to clear my head…” Danny tried making his tone as even as possible. The wound in his side throbbed painfully and made it a little hard for him to concentrate. Whatever Mom hit him with did more than just singe his side. 

Unfortunately Nightwing seemed to have noticed Danny was in pain, “Do you need me to take you to the hospital?”

The word hospital rang out in his head for a moment before he realized that wasn’t exactly an option, “Yeah, no… I’ll be fine, I just got to figure out exactly what I need to text my soulmate… I’ve been procrastinating because he seems like an amazing person and I kind of hate to admit I’m kind of a failure that ran from home.” Danny forgot who he was talking to for a moment as he rambled. It felt nice to finally let some of what’s been bothering him out. He took a calming breath before continuing, “I can’t risk them calling my parents.” 

“Alright well, unfortunately you're not in Gotham just yet, we’re in Bludhaven. Can you tell me what their name is?”

Great so Danny can’t even fly to the right city. He took another calming breath, “Damian Wayne.”

Master Post:

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[slayfics]

Katsuki says he’s sorry.

Warnings: Katsuki aged up | alcholo use

You threw your phone angrily on your bed. Ignited by furry from the last text you received from Katsuki. He always knew how to get under your skin, but tonight went just a little too far.

You looked out your window and a sudden realization occurred to you. You hadn’t really been out with your friends in a while. The last few months your days had been filled with sneaking out to see Katsuki or sneaking him in through your window.

Your finger grazed a part of the window frame that he had damaged once coming in. You let out a sigh and picked up your phone to beg a friend to go out with you. You desperately needed a break from the ups and downs of your relationship.

Your friend excitedly agreed to meet you, having been a while since they’d seen you. You quickly got ready and waited outside for them to pull up.

“Hey! I was beginning to think my best friend was a ghost,” your friend laughed rolling down their car window and beckoning you to come in.

“I know I’m sorry things have been kinda different lately,” you replied getting into the car.

“It’s ok, no need to tell me I know you are busy with your scary UA boyfriend,” your friend teased you. Your best friend was the only person you’d entrusted to tell about your relationship with Katsuki.

“Yeah…” you mumbled and looked out the window.

“Uh-oh, trouble with Mr. Hothead?” Your friend asked.

“He just really pissed me off today and I want to forget about it for a bit.” You said still staring out the window as your friend began to drive.

“What? That guy pissing you off? No way he seems like such a sweetheart,” your friend continued to tease, causing you to roll your eyes. “I’m just kidding, say less I know exactly what you need!”

“What's that?” You said finally turning to face your friend.

“To go out drinking and dancing of course!” They responded enthusiastically now having a destination in mind.

It didn’t take long for you to reach your destination. Immediately getting inside your friend pulled you to the bar to grab a drink. Already you started to feel a bit better.

Meanwhile, Katsuki angrily glared at his phone. He knew he went a bit too far with his insult, but were you really not going to text him back? Being ignored cut through him sharper than any comeback could have.

Katsuki yelled and threw his phone. He hated this. He hated being so angry all the time, but he couldn’t help it. He did it to himself. The pressure he put on himself, the way he’d ignore his actual emotions and mask them with anger.

He never cared when it pushes others away, but you… He didn’t want to push you away, but he couldn’t say sorry to you either. That just wasn’t in him. Katsuki threw on a sweater and stomped out of the house.

He’d just have to show up at your window again, that was the only option he decided.

He had walked the route from his house to yours so many times, that he got there in no time. Jumping up and climbing up to your window pane had become a muscle memory to him.

You had left your window slightly ajar when you left making it easy for him to enter. He looked around noticing you weren’t there. He sat on your bed hoping maybe you were just downstairs grabbing some water or something. Until he realized a pair of your shoes were missing and your purse wasn’t in its usual spot.

That was when he understood, you weren’t home at all. Where could you have been? Why weren’t you texting him back? Letting out a grunt, Katsuki stood up, and left out your window determined to find you.

Your friend had stuffed more than enough drinks in you to easily convince you onto the dance floor. However, it didn’t take long for you both to decide it wasn’t enough and swiftly make your back through the crowd of people to the bar.

“Ok, what do you think we should try this time?” You asked your friend.

“Hmm good question,” they replied looking around to get some ideas

“I’d gladly pick out both your next drinks for you,” a stranger had called out standing next to you both at the bar.

“Oh, that’s nice of you!” Your friend responded blinking sweetly fawning over the random man’s attention.

“And what drinks would you suggest?” You asked.

Just when the man opened his mouth to respond someone shot out from behind you and slammed the man’s face onto the bar.

The man fell to the floor and you looked up to see Katsuki as his assaulter.

“Katsuki! What are you doing?!” You yelled, taken by surprise at his arrival. Your friend bent down to check on the man.

“He was staring at you.” He responded, with his explanation for attacking the man.

“Of course he was, we were having a conversation!” You argued back.

“No you don’t understand the way he was looking at you-“ Katsuki tried to explain but you cut him off.

“Don’t you see I’m here to get away from you!” You yelled back. Others around the bar had now started to take glances at the both of you.

“We’ll you can’t just ignore me!” He yelled back.

“Yes! Yes, I can!” You responded, grabbing your friend's hand and pulling her onto the dance floor with you. The man she had been trying to help get back up fell back down crashing onto the floor.

Your friend reluctantly danced with you, while taking glances at Katsuki who did not move. He stayed in the same spot watching you both arms crossed against his chest.

“Maybe he’s trying to apologize in his own way?” Your friend suggested.

“I don’t care!" You spat back refusing to look in his direction.

“Oh come on, he looks so sad over there.” Your friend nudged you. You still refused to look and kept dancing with your friend.

“He just assaulted a random guy at the club!” You argued.

“Yeah but- we probably shouldn’t have been talking to a stranger in the first place. He was kind of looking out for us.” Your friend rationalized. “Besides you can fate a soon-to-be pro hero and not expect them to do some extreme stuff every once in a while.”

“Ugh-“ you signed and rolled your eyes. “Fine- I’ll bring him over to dance with us. But only because if I don’t he’s just going to keep staring like a creep!” You said and made your way over to him.

You started to make your way back to Katsuki doing come-hither dance moves at him. Katsuki just rolled his eyes and looked away before quickly glancing back at you. He pretended as if he was indifferent about you approaching him but the truth was it melted away the anxious feeling in his stomach that had been eating at him.

Finally approaching him, you grabbed his hand and tried to pull him onto the dance floor. However, he did not budge.

"I don't dance," He said dryly.

"Ugh fine-," You let out an exasperated sigh. "Then you're buying me a drink since you won't let anyone else do it," You teased, dragging him to the bar.

Katsuki was fine with your new plan and ordered you both a drink. You swiftly downed yours causing Katsuki's eyes to widen.

"Alright well, I'll leave you to your creepy staring then," You said and began to walk back to your friend on the dance floor. Katsuki reached up and grabbed your wrist holding you back. You turned to face him with furry in your eyes.

He mumbled something under his breath that was impossible to hear with the loud music playing.

"What did you say?" You asked.

Katsuki just mumbled again, barely any louder than the first time.

"Katsuki, you have to speak up. I can't hear you over the music," You said annoyed.

"I'm sorry..." You barely heard the words leave his mouth. You froze in place having heard those words leave his mouth. You knew how hard it was for him to ever admit he was wrong. Still, in disbelief, you moved closer to him kissing the tip of his nose.

"I forgive you Katsuki," you responded.

[desire-mona]

things abt dps i feel like we dont address enough (photos attached will be shit quality, i took screenshots from yt clips LMAO)

heavily ib @pencileraser1's post abt stuff he noticed n such

the fucking KIDS at welton. the CHILDREN. maybe its just me but i always find myself forgetting that welton isnt a highschool + there are in fact a lot more students than the ones we're focusing on. thats what makes welton so like. evil? to me? they start pushing these kids into a box EARLY.

related, i wouldve LOVED to see how(/if?) keating taught these kids, or rly any other class! he has other classes!!! i think!

ok. of course. neil is a smoker, we've touched on that. but charlie is too?? and he's the one who provides the cigs???? obviously the easy explanation is that he does it to be rebellious and stuff but also Is There Something Else. much to think abt. also wondering where he gets his cigs but thats not rly anything i dont think.

this ones just funny but when mr perry tells the boys they can take a seat and todd simply does not. i KNOW he wasnt sitting before and he needs to unpack and stuff but ITS STILL FUNNY.

"take your seats boys"

"🧍"

also my guilty pleasure is the dps but its todd being anxious video bc man usually crack videos arent my jam but unfortunately i find it so funny

also!!! neil calling his dad sir. obviously its something so glaringly obvious that we dont need to have a discussion abt how theres a disconnect between them. like wow rly thanks mona i didnt know. but come on!!! it makes me sad!!! also they shake hands later in this scene and its the most affectionate/ friendly we see these two get. and its a handshake. and i think what makes it worse is that neil is a SUPER physically affectionate person with his friends. if u watch the movie and pay attention to how often he's touching someone else then ur gonna be like man. he rly was jumping at every opportunity huh.

something about the way neil and the boys act around mr perry makes me view him as more of a drill sargent than anything. everyone immediately stands upon him entering the room. they dont sit until given permission. it rly puts the whole military school thing into perspective but NOT ENOUGH TO SATISFY ME. as much as i hate mr perry, i wanna know what his life was like growing up. this man lived thru the great depression AND wwii, theres stories.

cam's stupid fucking face when keatings behind him larping ghosts. i will never stop talking about how sassy this kid is. the dps redheads go criminally unacknowledged in terms of comedy because OH MY GOD. CAM AND MEEKS WERE SO FUCKING FUNNY??? they both pulled the most dastardly judgemental looks and they make me cackle. a bit earlier in this scene meeks goes full 🙄🤨 on sniffles (tissue kid. i call him sniffles) and it is, without exaggeration, my fav part of the movie.

the fact that i totally thought knox was gonna fall off his bike and eat shit in this scene. it would be so out of place since dps isn't exactly full of physical comedy but GOD i still fully anticipated it. either that or him getting attacked by a bird. theres totally symbolism surrounding birds in this movie btw and idk what to make of it. if any of u lovely ppl have a theory then lmk immediately.

keating so accurately calling cam out being like "is this right is this right. am i walking right." BC YESSS. i will eventually make a fully fledged cam post but to briefly touch on it, i find cam to be very confused on what is right, usually in terms of morals. a whole situation of confusing your personal values with the rules, thinking theyre one in the same, and completely abandoning what u actually believe. unfortunately i think neils death rly amplified that nd is what led him to tattle. cuz cam is still willing to break the rules in the beginning of the movie!! he's outwardly judgemental but he still does it!! much to discuss, i promise i will eventually.

keatings face after todd yawps!!! theres not much to say here he is just so proud!!! sweet little moment!!!! keatpostin!!!!!!!!

YOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

u guys know im an avid knox hater but this made me giggle. rip knox overstreet u wouldve loved twitch streaming.

THE SPECIFICS OF THIS SHOT. i was gonna make a post a while ago being like "idk i find it funny that the main focus of this shot isnt even one of the poets" and then i realised that WAITTTTTTT THATS THE POINT!!!! keating reached kids besides the poets!!! u didnt have to be in the dead poets society to be affected by the way he taught his classes!!! u just had to be his student!!!!! also i love the fact that the kids who stayed seated r ASHAMED. EMBARRASSED.

the ending shot. oihghgghgg. it was SUCH a choice to set it up this way and honestly i adore peter for making it. this shot is SOOOO UNCOMFORTABLE TO LOOK AT and i love it. when i first watched this i was like "uhm ok interesting choice putting todd between this kids legs but I GET IT. one of the biggest things i remember from the film classes i took is that the way u set up shots is sooo important narratively, and one way to rly push the narrative is the space around a character in a shot. for example! if u have a character on screen surrounded by a TON of negative space then it rly emphasises how alone/ isolated they are. on the other end of the spectrum (the todd spectrum), if you surround a character in a shot with other objects or obstructions, like todd and this kids legs, then it rly emphasises how trapped and confined they are. looking at this makes me feel like. claustrophobic almost, like it's genuinely a bit harder to breathe looking at it. TODD IS STILL TRAPPED IN THAT SCHOOL. YES HE STOOD ON THE DESK AND YES HE NOW HAS THE MOTIVATION TO BE MORE CONFIDENT BC OF NEIL BUT HE! IS STILL! TRAPPED THERE!

more on todd since im on a roll here.

i was also gonna add that we dont rly talk about todd personality wise outside of poetry and anxiety but then i realised, what else is there? we dont really see much about him as a person outside of that, and i think thats the point! todd is constantly overshadowed by his brother, we know that, but i dont think we realise HOW MUCH that ties in with his entire character. quite honestly, outside of poetry and anxiety, ALL we have surrounding todd is his brother and his achievements. and of course! that makes sense! his parents want him to be just like his brother, they dont care about who he is as a person. UGH.

the desk set scene rly is the most insight we'll get into todds actual personality and desires imo, and thats what kills me. he wants a car!!!! get this boy a car!!!!!!!!! we rly see him start to open up before neils death and i wouldve LOVED to get to know todd when he's actually in a place to be himself!! but of course we never got that! sobs.

anywho. thats all i have for now. PLEASE share ur thoughts if u have any pls pls pls. encouraging discussion!! i love love love hearing about the specifics nd stuff, theres soooo much to pick apart abt this movie so i wanna hear everyones thoughts.

[bingoboingobongo]

cod characters alphabet: equal

Characters: Simon "Ghost" Riley, John "Soap" MacTavish, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, John Price, Alejandro Vargas, Rodolfo "Rudy" Parra, Valeria Garza

Warnings: allusions to smut

Prompt: Equal - Are they the dominant one in the relationship, or rather passive?

A/N: omg kaleidoscope is so good help me it can't be over. also my life is maybe starting to become a bad wattpad fic and idk how to proceed

simon “ghost” riley:

okay so i feel like the kneejerk reaction is to say that ghost’s the dominant one in the relationship (especially in the bedroom) but tbh idk how true that is

i feel like on the outside, he definitely does seem like he’s more dominant just because of his sheer size and demeanor but i think in actuality he’s actually pretty passive

quick offshoot though, i think he is still dominant in the bedroom just because he has a pretty good idea of what he’s doing, and he’s not really comfortable relinquishing any more control than he has to

especially because it’s already a very vulnerable situation

but when you’re not doing that, yeah he’s pretty passive i think

relationships (especially ones that are as important to him as yours is) aren’t exactly his strong suit and so he doesn’t want to come in guns blazing and make a mistake he can’t fix

i know he definitely has a leadership-suited personality, but i think that’s only when he knows what he’s doing

since relationships are new terrain to him, when you’re in the privacy of your own home he’s definitely more inclined to let you take the lead and make decisions

he’s probably also not the greatest at communicating his feelings, and so he’d rather let you take the helm than do something himself and ruin things

that being said, if you’re also pretty passive then he will step up and take a more dominant role if it’s needed

john “soap” mactavish:

hmm so honestly i feel like a relationship with soap would be pretty equal (both in domestic life and in the bedroom)

i mean soap really does see you as an equal and so he just doesn’t feel right putting you down or acting like you’re underneath him

he has a lot of respect for you and so the last thing he wants to do is make you feel like he’s disrespecting you by walking all over you or something like that

that being said, i feel like he’s inclined to take on a more dominant role (whether that’s conscious or unconscious)

i think it really just has to do with the way he was raised and the gender norms he was exposed to as a kid

that being said, he knows that just because he grew up with certain gender expectations, it doesn’t mean they’re right and so he’s making a conscious effort to try and unlearn that kind of thinking

however, if you’re the more passive type than he’s happy to take on that more dominant role

whether it’s by paying for your meals, telling the waiter your food preferences, or picking you up/dropping you off on dates

im sort of realizing that i don’t really understand this prompt but oh well

even if he is taking on a more dominant role though, he still includes you on any important decisions he makes

communication is pretty important to him (even if he’s sometimes not the greatest at it) and so he does his best to make the relationship an equal one through healthy communication

kyle “gaz” garrick:

okay so i feel your relationship with gaz is actually pretty equal, or if anything gaz is the sort of passive one

it’s not so much that he’s like shy or anything like that, but more that he’s content to kick back and relax and let you take the lead

he has a lot of trust in you and so he trusts that you’ll talk to him about anything important, and that you’ll make good decisions

that being said, just because he’s passive doesn’t mean he’s completely uninvolved in the relationship

he’ll always provide input on any decisions you’re making, whether it be for yourself (if you want it of course) or for the two of you

he’s definitely not power hungry or anything and so he really doesn’t have any explicit desire to be the dominant one in the relationship

for example, if you want to be the breadwinner, he’s more than happy to be a male wife; if you want to get down on one knee and propose, he’ll clasp his hands together and accept with tears in his eyes

he is sort of dominant though but he’s dominant in the sense that he has a tendency to motivate and encourage you

although in the end, i feel like he’s more of a follower than a natural born leader

but if you need him to step, then step up he will

john price:

god okay so i feel like price’s natural state is probably a dominant one

you don’t get to be a military captain of one of (if not the) most deadly task forces in the world without some natural born leadership in you

that plus some (probably antiquated) gender role ideas (at least for him) make him a pretty dominant partner

guys i hate to break it to you but price is old and so his views are probably pretty old fashioned

at least in the sense that his kneejerk reaction is that he should be able to provide for his family financially and stuff like that

that being said, just because he’s old fashioned doesn’t mean he’s bigoted 

if you wanna work or don’t want kids or literally anything that goes against the gender norms of like the 20th century he’s completely down

he might have a little trouble letting you be the dominant one in the relationship but trust it’s not intentional

it’s just sort of ingrained in him that he should be the dominant one as the “man of the house” but if you wanna take the lead, he’ll let you

it just might take him a little bit of time to get used to 

that being said he’d definitely enjoy taking a more passive role and letting you take the lead

mans needs a break what can i say

and he trusts you to make good decisions and communicate with him

alejandro vargas:

hmm so like price i feel like alejandro definitely is the more dominant one in the relationship

again part of it is just how he was raised and another part if because he’s just got a leadership-inclined personality type

unlike price though, i feel like it might be a little harder for him to give up that dominance and let you take the lead

he could probably warm up to a pretty equal relationship relatively quickly, but i think it will take a lot of relearning for him to let you take the lead completely

it’s not that alejandro is like a raging misogynist or anything, but i think he does feel like he needs the control he has when he’s taking on a more dominant position in the relationship

i feel like he probably has trouble trusting people completely (especially after graves) and so besides rudy (who he’s known for ten years) he prefers to take the lead because he knows for a fact he can trust himself

that being said, as you guys know each other for longer and longer and he trusts you more and more, it will become easier for him to let you take the lead

as long as you involve him with any important decisions (and also the seemingly unimportant ones) and communicate with him he feels like he can trust you

i think he just really wants you to stay with him, and so an ironic way in his mind he can do that better by taking the lead, but eventually he needs to learn that the best way to keep you is to let you take the lead too and have your own agency

but in the end, he would prefer being the more dominant one/the provider or at least being equals

rodolfo “rudy” parra:

alright i don’t think this is gonna surprise anyone but rudy is definitely more passive in the relationship

honestly i feel like in rudy’s eyes you can do no wrong and so he trusts you to take the lead and make whatever decisions you need to make

that being said, if you want his input he’ll be happy to give it (anything to make your life easier)

but even though he trusts you completely, he would prefer you to communicate with him before you make any major decisions just because it makes him feel acknowledged

however, rudy is a people pleaser and by people i mean you so he’s kinda a chameleon ngl

if you want him to be dominant, he can do that

it might not be the most natural thing in the world for him, but he’s got his fair share of military training to help him when he needs it

if you want him to be more passive then he’s happy to sit back and admire you while you do your thing

that being said, i think his natural state is being in a pretty equal relationship

he probably does have a little dominant streak in him that compliments yours (or your lack of one) pretty well

valeria garza:

okay so valeria is definitely the more dominant one in the relationship

she has essentially spent her entire life being forced to be submissive or passive because of her gender, and so when she finally has autonomy she’s definitely more dominant

honestly part of it is probably because she feels the need to do so to “prove herself” even though she has nothing to prove

but what can i say, the drug industry as well as the military are both male dominated fields and that sucks when you’re a woman

but just because she’s dominant doesn’t mean she’s controlling or anything

i think her way of “displaying her dominance” in the relationship is through financial means

i mean cartel leader/drug lord pays good money so she definitely has the means to do so

she’ll buy you lots of gifts, clothes, pay for your meals, stuff like that

as well as protect you of course, because you don’t become a cartel leader without making some enemies

i think she is down to being a little more passive in the comfort of your own home though

because she trusts you to not force it onto her or hold it over her head

and it’s nice to relinquish control and let someone else take the lead every once in a while

[raaorqtpbpdy]

Grave Discovery

Wes was so excited about having dug up some real evidence of ghosts that he forgets that police consider riding around with a corpse strapped to your bike suspicious behavior.

For the prompts: Wes Weston was proving it. Ghosts were as real as the dirt under his fingernails and the shovel he used to slice through grave earth. [from @ishouldgetatumbler], and Wes, tired and fed up with everyone not believing him, sets out on a mission. And this time, with the evidence in his hand, everyone will have no choice but to believe him. [from @ashboy-3]

Read also on AO3

[Warnings for graphic description of a corpse, police involvement, and grave robbing]

Wes Weston had bought a shovel.

It was more expensive than he would have thought, and he didn't get an allowance, but he did do odd jobs for neighbors every once in a while to fund his hobbies, racking up a respectable savings before spending it all at once on a new camera lens or basketball uniform. This time, he had spent it on a shovel.

He'd tried to borrow a shovel, but the apartment his family lived in only had a couple small potted plants, and you didn't really need a shovel for those if you didn't mind getting your hands a bit dirty. Nobody else in the building had any use for a large shovel like Wes needed either. And when he asked beyond his apartment complex, people started asking questions like 'what's a kid like you need a shovel for?' and he couldn't very well tell them he was going to dig up a grave.

So Wes had pulled together his savings, biked down to the hardware store, and bought himself a brand new shovel that cost him nearly twenty dollars after tax. Wes hadn't really been expecting it to cost more than five, but the clerk at the store assured him he wouldn't find a good, long-handled shovel cheaper anywhere else.

Wes had bought it, but checked elsewhere anyway, planning to return it if the clerk happened to be lying and he found a cheaper one. He didn't.

He grumbled in frustration anyway, as he rode home with the shovel zip-tied to the side of his bike. He'd wasted all that time riding to every hardware store and gardening supply store in Amity Park for nothing.

When he turned down onto his street, he noticed some of the neighbors looking at him funny when they saw the shovel, but he paid them no mind. Most of them already thought he was a bit of an oddball, so this probably wouldn't make their opinion of him any worse at least.

Wes locked his bike up in the apartment building's garage and headed upstairs. His father was working late, and Kyle was out skateboarding with his friends, so the apartment was empty when he went to his room to hide the shovel under his bed.

What he had to do would be an all day sort of task. Probably it would even take multiple days. He knew exactly what he was looking for, but he only had a general idea of where it was buried, or how deep. He would start tomorrow.

That night, he slept restlessly, anxious for what he planned to do the next morning, both excited and afraid.

He awoke early the next morning. Well before his family, who preferred to sleep in on weekends. He took his shovel with him down to the garage, and with it, he rode out to the edge of town.

There were miles of woods between Amity Park and Lake Eerie, but Wes didn't go very far. There was only so much distance three people carrying a hundred and twenty pounds of dead weight could have covered over the rough terrain of the woods. He wrapped his bike-lock around a tree just deep enough in to not be visible from the road, slung his brand-new shovel over his shoulder, and started walking.

There was a heavily marked up map in his pocket, but he'd memorized it by now, so there was no real need for him to consult it. Wes knew exactly where he was in relation to the road, the town limits, and Fenton Works, and that was all he needed. He'd done the math. He knew more or less where he needed to dig.

The shovel made a hollow metallic shink as it sunk into the soft forest floor.

He knew what he was doing. He knew the truth. And soon enough he would have all the evidence he needed to convince everyone else.

It shouldn't have been that deep, Wes thought. Even with three people together, it was doubtful they would have gone all the way down to six feet. In fact, he thought it was doubtful they would have gone deeper than three, but when his first hole got about four feet without finding anything, he shoved all the dirt back in and stabbed a stick upright into the ground to mark that he'd already dug there before moving on to the next spot.

Even if it took him all day, all week, all year, he would keep digging until he found what he was looking for. He was fed up with all the mockery and ridicule he faced from his peers and neighbors, and now he was determined. He was a man on a mission.

Wes Weston was going to prove it. Ghosts were as real as the dirt under his fingernails and the shovel he used to slice through grave earth.

He didn't find anything that weekend, and when he came home covered in dirt and leaves his dad made him do all the laundry. That didn't stop him from going out again next weekend.

He was so sure it was there. So sure he could find it.

On the third Saturday he spent digging holes in the woods, with calluses now forming on his hands and sweat dripping from his brow, he found it. His shovel hit something hard, and when he looked down into the hole he saw some dirty fabric that looked like it might once have been white, but was so badly stained now as to look brown.

Wes returned to his task with renewed vigor, digging wider and wider until the whole thing was visible.

For a moment he hesitated. It didn't... smell like he had been expecting it too. and though the white sheet wrapped around it was stained with mud, it didn't appear to be stained with... anything else.

Cautiously, Wes pulled back the edges of the sheet, wondering if what he'd dug up had been buried far far more recently than what he had been looking for. But no.

He had been expecting a reeking lump of rotting decay barely recognizable as the person this corpse had once been, but that was not what he found. What he found was the corpse of one Daniel Fenton, a student who still attended Wes' school, even in death, and the son of the town's local quote-unquote 'ghost hunters'. 

It was perfectly preserved, like he was only sleeping, except his skin was deathly pale, his eyes glassy and sunken, his cheeks gaunt. The body was covered in burns, as was the jumpsuit it was wearing, holes melted right through the rubber in places, and black scorch marks on the surface. But though it must've been buried there for months by this point, there was no bloating, no decay, and no smell of death. 

A cloud passed over the sun as Wes marveled at it in curiosity, and when the light dimmed, he could see that the corpse was glowing faintly.

Wes didn't know why, but he checked for a pulse. He pulled off one of the gloves, melted to the point of being nearly unrecognizable for what it was, and pressed his fingers to the corpse's wrist. 

Nothing. 

He breathed a sigh of relief.

Now all there was left to do was transport the thing back into town and show everyone. And this time, with the evidence in hands—or dragged along behind his bike, rather—they would have no choice but to believe him.

Wes wrapped the sheet back around the corpse and dragged it to where he left his bike, then took both of them to the edge of the road. He'd brought with him his skateboard and some rope. Wes almost never used his skateboard. He and Kyle had both gotten one from their aunt on their thirteenth birthday, but Wes had never gotten into skating like Kyle had.

He lifted the corpse onto the skateboard. It wasn't tall, but neither was the board very long, so it's feet still dragged on the road behind. It would have to be good enough, Wes decided as he lashed everything together and to the back of his bike.

The road was rarely busy, but on the weekend, there were a few cars carrying people out to the lake for fishing or camping or what-have-you, but Wes didn't especially notice or care. 

So single minded was he in his mission, that he didn't even think about how it would look for him to be pulling along a corpse behind his bike until he was stopped by the police.

"Uh... what's the problem, officers?" Wes asked.

"You mind showing us what you got under that sheet there?" One of the officers asked.

Wes grinned. "Absolutely officers!" he said. "What I've got here is absolute proof that ghosts are real, and you two get to be the first to see it!"

He loosened the ropes only slightly, planning to tighten them again once the officers acknowledged that he was right and brilliant and sent him on his way. Then he pulled back the edges of the dirty sheet to show the police officers the sunken face of... Danny... Fenton's... corpse....

Once Wes was literally staring in the face of what he had done, he suddenly had second thoughts about so eagerly showing his proof to law enforcement. Well... shit. It was too late now.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ," one of the officers breathed out. 

"Lay down on the floor and put you hands behind your back," the other shouted. "Down on the floor, now!"

Wes did as the officer said, mentally kicking himself for being so thoughtless in his excitement to have proof.

He was pretty sure that, technically speaking, he hadn't done anything illegal here. Digging in the woods wasn't illegal. They couldn't exactly charge him with obstruction of justice, or accessory to murder, or even a cover up, because he had been very specifically uncovering up something. It wasn't illegal to show people a dead body someone else had killed, especially not to show cops. They wanted you to do that.

Yes, this looked very very bad, but once the misunderstanding was cleared up, Wes was sure he'd be let go without any charges being filed... probably... hopefully.

"I know how this looks," Wes said, as he was handcuffed and roughly shoved into the back of the squad car. "But I want you to know that this is just a big misunderstanding. I discovered the body and was bringing it back to town to show people. Someone tried to hide it in the woods, and I found it there. I am not a murderer."

The police officers did not look convinced as one of them read him his Miranda rights and the other called for back-up to deal with the... well... the crime scene, he supposed. His bike was a crime scene now.

"Hey, am I gonna be able to get my bike back after this?"

"You have the right to remain silent," the officer reminded him. "Fuckin' sicko."

Never in his whole life had Wes dreaded a call home as much as he did this one.

Despite having definitely broken the law before, usually breaking and entering and privacy violations, he'd never actually been arrested for it. Now that he was being arrested, he technically hadn't broken the law, but it was looking increasingly less and less likely that anyone would believe him.

Luckily, he was a minor, so they weren't allowed to question him without talking to his parent or guardian first, but unfortunately that meant they had to call his dad in on his day off after he'd been working over time all week. His dad was a patient and understanding guy, but even he got grouchy when his day of rest was interrupted after a 60 hour work-week. 

"Wes..." his dad looked absolutely exhausted. He sighed and massaged the bridge of his nose. "Why did I just get a call from the police telling me to come down to the station because my son had been found in possession of an unidentified corpse?"

"I didn't kill anyone," Wes said immediately. "He was like that when I found him."

His father sighed again, more deeply this time, and blinked tiredly at him.

"Why don't you explain this whole thing to me, from the beginning?"

Wes began to recount his theory about ghosts, about Danny Fenton. He explained how he'd learned that Fenton had somehow died, and that his friends, possibly with his help, had taken his body out to the woods and buried it. Then about how Wes had bought a shovel so he could find the body and show everyone the truth, that Fenton was dead, and ghosts were real, and he was one. Finally, he told his dad about being stopped by the police and arrested when they saw what he was transporting.

"But technically speaking, I haven't done anything illegal," Wes finished. "At least... I'm like 90% sure nothing I actually did was illegal. So this is all a big misunderstanding."

When he was done, his father just stared at him silently for a very long moment. When he spoke, he said only a single word, shaking his head, looking more tired world-worn than Wes had ever seen him

"Why?"

"Because I'm right!" Wes insisted. "People need to know the truth, that there a ghosts walking among us. They could be dangerous! And even if they're not, think about what this means for humanity! This is proof of an afterlife, that our souls can stick around even after we're dead. This is world-altering information, and I had to prove it, and I have the evidence now—"

"And you're in a holding cell!" His dad pointed out, tone cold and harsh. "Wes, you know I love you no matter what, and I never discouraged you from pursuing your hobbies and theories before, but this is a step too far, kid. There is a corpse involved now, and my fifteen-year-old son had been arrested under suspicion of murder. This is serious. Do you understand how much trouble you could be in if we can't prove that you aren't responsible?"

Wes snapped his mouth shut and swallowed before shifting his eyes downward and nodding guiltily.

His dad sighed once more and scrubbed his hands over his face. Evidently he'd rushed out of the house so fast he'd barely been able to change out of his PJs and didn't even get the chance to shave, because his face was scruffy, and his clothes were rumpled, and he hadn't properly aligned the buttons on his shirt.

"I'm sorry," Wes said. "I didn't mean for you to get dragged into this."

"No, don't... don't be sorry about that," his father said. "Be sorry about digging up a corpse and transporting it through the middle of town in broad daylight. I thought you were smarter than that."

"Yeah, I got over-excited," Wes admitted.

"Is this why you've been coming home covered in dirt the past few weekends?"

"Yeah. Are you mad?"

"Oh, you are doing everyone's laundry for the next year after this little stunt, mister."

"That's fair."

It wasn't long before an officer came to take Wes and his dad to an interrogation room, where Wes was handcuffed to the table.

"Is that really necessary?" his dad asked.

"It's standard procedure for suspected murderers," replied the cop gruffly.

His dad scoffed and rolled his eyes, and the cop sneered at him.

"You should really be taking this more seriously," the cop told him darkly. "Your son was discovered transporting a dead body through town without any indication of remorse for his actions. If the coroner determines it was murder, he could be tried as an adult."

"Maybe you should consider that I know more about it than you do right now, and take my lack of concern as a sign that you're blowing this whole thing out of proportion."

Wes gawked a bit at how coolly his dad was handling this. He knew the man was taking this situation as seriously as anyone, but he was acting very convincingly like he didn't think it was a big deal, and the cop seemed to be genuinely put-off by it. Wes had to hand it to his father, he was selling it well.

A few minutes later, a detective came into the room and dropped a thin file on the table. He sat down across from the Westons, took out a pen and notepad, and opened the file to reveal crime-scene photos of Wes' bike and the makeshift corpse trailer behind it. 

In the corner of his eye, Wes noticed his dad grimace in disgust, but he kept quiet

"Let's start with who this poor stiff is," the Detective said. It wasn't a question, and it left no room for debate.

"Daniel Fenton," Wes replied. "He is a freshman at Casper High."

The detective's eyebrows shot up in surprise at how easily Wes had answered him. "Sounds like you're gonna make this go nice and smooth for me," the detective said. "In that case why don't you go ahead and confess for me."

Wes scoffed. "Weren't you listening?" he asked. "I said he is a freshman at Casper High, not was. He's still a student there. I can guarantee you he'll be in class tomorrow."

"Now how's he gonna do that when he's stuck in a drawer at the morgue?"

"The same way he's been doing it for the last several months despite being buried in the woods," Wes said. "He's a ghost. Or... ghost-adjacent maybe. He's not an ordinary human, at least. And I didn't kill him. You can call him up yourself to come identify the body. I'll even give you his number."

"That's real cute," the detective said with a sneer. "But I'll take that number."

Wes gave it to him, and he wrote it down on his notepad to check later.

"Now, if you're really gonna claim you didn't kill him, why don't you explain just how his corpse happened to end up tied up to your bike while you rode into town?"

Wes explained again, just like he had to his father, the whole story, from the first time he realized Danny Fenton wasn't quite right, to finding the body and taking it into town.

The detective nodded along, occasionally interrupting to ask for clarification, or details, but it was clear he was just trying to catch Wes in his lie and didn't actually believe a single word he was saying.

"Alright, well we're gonna send someone to verify every single part of that story of yours," the detective said. "Until we get a cause of death back from the morgue, there's not much more we can investigate, since clearly you didn't kill him on your bike in the middle of town. We're done for now, but don't think for a second that this is the end. I'll send someone back to take you back to your cell in a minute."

There was no way Wes' dad could afford bail, so Wes made himself as comfortable as possible in his holding cell. Luckily, he didn't have to share it with anyone. That didn't really mean there was any privacy, just that he wouldn't have some drunk falling all over him.

He spent most of his Sunday there, bored out of his skull, although one of the beat cops let him have her newspaper when she was done with it. Then, late in the evening, the detective that had interrogated him came to the door of his cell, his face pale as a ghost, and opened the door with trembling hands.

"You're... you're free to go," he said, his voice weak and cracking with... fear?

"What changed?" Wes asked, stepping to the door of his cell.

The detective moved out of his way with a look of terror as Wes stepped around them. The fact that Wes was a good few inches taller than him probably wasn't helping him calm down.

"The uh... the victim," he managed to get out. "He's still alive."

Wes raised an eyebrow, and that was apparently question enough before the words just tumbled out of the man in a rush.

"He came to the morgue and... and he looked just like the corpse. Same DNA, same everything. Hospital records confirmed he doesn't have any twin, no explanation he just... he just said 'that's me, don't worry about it' and... and-and then he walked out afterwards like nothing was even wrong, like nothing was... fucked about the whole thing. He said you didn't kill him—that-that-that it was an accident and... fuck. I don't know how you did it. I don't know how anyone could do something like this, but if the victim's not dead, then... then...."

He shook his head. It seemed like he was on the verge of hyperventilating.

"You're free to go," he repeated finally.

"Don't supposed there's any chance of me getting the corpse back?" Wes asked.

The look the detective gave him wasn't just horrified, or baffled... it was broken. He gave Wes the most broken look the boy had ever seen, then mutely shook his head and stumbled down the hall as if he was either very drunk, or very much wanted to be. 

"Can I get my bike back at least?!" he called after the man.

"That's... a question for impound," came the warbling reply.

Wes frowned, but did not pout as he walked out of the holding area and to the front desk to see who he had to talk to about getting his bike out of impound. He couldn't get it back right away, and had to make an appointment to reclaim it. He would also need a photo ID and proof of ownership. He wasn't sure he even had proof of ownership. He'd bought that bike at a garage sale, so it wasn't like he had a proper receipt for it.

He'd have to figure something out before next Wednesday, but for now, it looked like he was walking home.

The next day at school, Danny found him and gave him a very angry talking to about violations of privacy, and the severity of disturbing someone's grave, unmarked though it may have been.

"I'm going to show everyone the truth, Fenton," Wes told him, unafraid of the monster before him. "Maybe I lost the corpse, but I'll find new evidence. And when I do, everyone will know the truth about you. Everyone will know what you really are."

Danny scowled and threw his hands up in frustration and left Wes alone.

The was nothing in the news about Wes' arrest, or the corpse. It seemed the police had chosen not to release any information about Wes' initial arrest until they had more information—and once they got more information there was simply no plausible way to explain it to the news outlets, so instead they decided to cover it up.

Maybe Wes should have been grateful that his arrest wasn't in the news, but he was mostly just frustrated that his evidence wasn't either. He'd worked hard to find that corpse, and now it was just going to sit in a drawer in the morgue, or a pauper's grave... not rotting.

[itsbackwoodsbby]

Locker Room Sex

Stephen Curry x Black Fem Reader

A/N: I wrote this for my pleasure. I AM TWENTY, so there is an age difference. I am sorry if you don't like the age gap, but I still am obsessed with this FINE ASS man so don't judge me, judge ya mammy.

Warning: Age Gap! Dirty Talk! Cheating! Swearing! Unprotected Sex!

Summary: You were messaging Steph Curry for a while and then eventually he ghosts you. You were desperately in need to talk to him. For reasons. For answers, on what exactly is going on. You sneak in the Golden State locker room and you definitely get more than answers.

You greeted and told the guys goodbye and goodnight as they left the locker room. He was the only one left in the locker room taking a shower. He turned the shower off and came out with a towel wrapped around his waist. You look at his body. He was very toned for a 35 year old. You bite your lips and start imagining him with the towel dropped.

“Uh… can I help you?” He asks you kind of sternly. You look at him nervously. “Uh yeah. May I get an interview?” He looks at you, “You’re not an actual interviewer.” Reading right through your bullshit. “I’ve heard of ABC, ESPN, and Ballislife. Never have I heard of Big Balls Entertainment.” He reads your fake ass badge your best friend made you.

You swallow hard and you try to come up with a new lie, but you can't. Honestly, you only here to talk to Stephen Curry and possibly even fuck him. But you obviously know the plan is blown, so you walk out. He grabs your arm.

“You know fans can’t be back here either. You can go to jail.” He tells you. You sigh. “I just wanted to see you. You stopped replying to my messages.” He looks at you, “Wait, you’re the girl that I was snapping.” You bite your lips and shake your head before you look down. “And when you stopped texting me, I had to find a way to see you and talk to you.” He starts examining your body as you are talking. “Aye my eyes are up here.” You say sternly. He chuckles, “My bad.” He clears his throat. “Look. I have a wife. I have three kids. I can’t be doing this with you.” You look at him and nod you head. “You’re right. I’m so sorry.” You say as you get up to leave the locker room.

You don’t know why you thought your plan was going to work. You two are 15 years apart. He has a family. You just want him back though. You guys were only talking and sending nudes through Snapchat. It shouldn’t have got this deep as in you sneaking into the Golden State locker room.

A voice comes back to the locker room. It’s Klay. Steph and you run to the shower room and you hide in there as Steph puts on some clean boxers and goes back into the locker room. You listen to their conversation until Klay says he has to go home to see his doggie son, Rocco. He leaves and it’s just you and Steph. You were about to leave and he grabs your arm again.

“Nah. Wait a minute. You can’t leave yet.” He says. You look at him confused, “Maybe we can hook up one time.” He says before caressing your body. “You just said you don’t want to be caught up with me.” You say biting your lip as he squeezes your boobs.

Steph wanted you now. It’s only because he remembered his wife was going for two weeks for a cooking show. The kids were with his parents. So you could be his little cum eater while his wife was away. It wasn’t like Ayesha would care. He can just dispose of you when he got done.

You strip down and go inside the shower room taking your clothes with you. You wanted shower sex and he wanted the same. He smiles at your naked body before you disappear and follows you. He takes his boxers off and pushes you down on your knees.

“You said if you were to see me, you’d suck it.” He smirks. “Do it.”

You start with his tip and slowly lower down an inch. His dick is really big and thick. It’s kind of hard to swallow. You’re a big girl though, so you push through. Eventually you’re damn near eating his dick up.

“My balls need love too.” He says and pushes your head down. You bite your lip before you start sucking on his balls. He smiles and groans even more. You smile knowing you're doing a good job. “Fuck, I’m going to cum.” You go back to sucking and stroking his dick with one hand and massaging his balls with the other and he rolls his eyes in the back of his head. “Fuck, you’re a good at giving head.” He says. “Young ass eater.” He chuckles.

He starts fucking your throat. You start gagging at how rough he is getting with you, but it only motivates him to be rougher with your throat. He hits the back of your throat once and he starts nutting in your throat. You swallow it all. Eventually, he pulls out to see if you did. You smile and stick out your tongue. He smiles.

“Good girl.” He says. You stand up and he admires your wet body. He sucks on your neck and lowers to your nipples. He starts rubbing your clit and he smiles. “You want me to return the favor now or later.” You bite your lips, “Later. I need that dick.” You say.

He picks you up and slides you down his dick. You gasp and hang your mouth open, moaning a sweet note in his ear. He starts thrusting in and out of you. He proceeds to go faster and choke you a bit.

“You take this dick so good, baby girl.” He says groaning in your ear. “And your pussy is so fucking wet.” You whimper. “Ooh shit. You’re so deep. You’re so deep.” He smirks and goes harder. Your legs begin to shake. You’re on the verge of climax already. “Steph. Chill. I’m going to cum.” He chuckles, “Nah. Take it.” He says and goes harder. You try to grip the wall. “Mm, fuck daddy.”

He turns the shower off and heads back to the bench. The steam from the water was making it kind of hard to see. He lays you down with his dick still inside you. He pulls out and starts eating your creamy pussy. You start moaning and gripping the edges. His head game was vicious, it almost made you cum. Then he rams his dick back in roughly. You scream out. He chokes you.

“Chill the fuck out. You can’t be too loud, ma,” He says. You bite your lips. He begins to pound your shit in. “Ooh. Ooh Steph! I told you to chill. I’m going to cum.” He smacks your boobs and goes deeper. “Nah. Say my name.” He groans. “Oh daddy.” You say low. “Loud ma.” He says. “Fuck! Daddy! I’m coming.” You say louder. He chuckles and starts back pounding you. You let out a long moan before creaming his dick up. He looks down, “Yeah. That’s right. Paint this dick.” You cover your face as he starts going deeper. You try to push him away but he just pins your hands above your head.

Suddenly, he starts going faster and faster then you feel his warm liquid fill inside you. He groans in your ear as he does it. He pulls out and watches you leak out both of your juices. He looks down at you as you look at him. The two of you laugh at each other. You sigh and get up.

“Now, I got to shower.” You say and run to the shower. He joins you and you two just shower. You two get dressed and walk out to the parking garage together. He kisses you and rubs all over your body. He practically didn’t want to let go of you. You very slowly break the kiss and giggle. “Chill.” You smile. “You should come with me tonight.” He says. You think about it. You don’t mind but you would rather lay in your own bed tonight. “Nah. I’m going home. Maybe if you need me again, I can stay over.” He smiles, “Ight, lil ma.” You blush and get in your car and he gets in his. He honks his horn as a goodbye and you go to your house.

[ragingbookdragon]

hello bubuuu, how are u? i hope that ur fine :) can I request something? could u write strangers to lovers with ghost x fem reader? ignore this if ur uncomfy :) xx

the only time i've ever been made uncomfortable by an ask was when an anon asked me if i would write a fic where the kink was breeding and i was...floored, and not in the good way

but here you go <3

**********************************************************************

The first time he shows up in her bar it’s an hour to closing, there’s barely a handful of people in the bar at this point, most of her regulars already gone home for the night. He’s an odd one to peg already, dressed in all black, hood raised, and a black mask covering his forehead and lower face; only his eyes are exposed, but even then, they’re covered in what looks like soot. He sits on the very last stool furthest away from the doors and waits.

“What can I get you, babe?” she asks, propping an elbow on the bar.

“Bourbon, neat,” he replies, a rumble of a voice like thunder on the distant Birmingham skies.

She hums as she gets a glass. “Any specific kind?”

“Kentucky.”

“Ah, a good ole boy, aren’t you?” she teases and grabs a bottle of amber liquid; pours more than a generous amount for him, she’s not about to question his day, it already looks like a rough one. She places it in front of him about the time he’s pulling out a tenner. “On the house,” she smiles and his hand freezes before he puts it away.

“Thanks,” he mutters lowly, and she can tell he wants to be left alone while he drinks.

She throws the towel over her shoulder and givers him another smile. “Let me know if you need anything else, babe.”

When she comes back a few minutes later, he’s gone and she’s rather surprised that she hadn’t even noticed the man leave, as big as he was, she should’ve at least seen him, but not even Barry, her bouncer, saw him. She reaches for the glass and chuckles at the tenner tucked underneath it.

***

“You’re not from Birmingham, are you?” he asks, one evening, and she’s shocked to hear him even talk to her.

“Me?” she repeats, as if he’s speaking to anyone else. “No, I’m not from here.”

“The bar’s American.”

“It is. Based on World War Two and other American wars. A family friend who took me in as a kid was a Vietnam vet. I dedicated the bar to him and other Americans who fought in wars then and now.” She cleans a glass. “You military?”

“Army.”

“From the way you carry yourself, I say special forces. SAS, isn’t it?”

“Mhm.”

She takes a long look at him, the mask riding just above his upper lip. “You’re an odd sort of fellow, you know that, right?”

“I’ve been told.”

“So, what’s the deal with the mask? Is it a comfort thing? Security? Both?”

He looks back at her, slate gray eyes staring right through her; it makes shivers ripple up and down her spine. “You ask a lot of questions.”

“I am bartender,” she chirps and sets the glass down. “I like to know my regulars.”

“I’ve only been here twice.”

“And if you didn’t feel comfortable, you wouldn’t’ve come back, babe,” she says knowingly, looking at him. “Have a name?”

“Ghost.”

“Hmm…how fitting.” She sets another bourbon down and takes the empty glass he has. “Let me know if you need anything.”

***

It’s a regular occurrence over the next few months to see Ghost in her bar an hour before closing. She recognizes he likes the silence and peace that last call brings. She’s gotten into the habit of setting his drink up exactly a minute before he walks in. Which is always ten on the dot.

This time, when he sits, he pushes the glass forward and she’s confused. “Want a fresh one?”

“What do you like?” he asks, looking at her.

“Oddly enough, I’m not a good ole girl.”

He smiles at that, and she knows by the way his gray eyes crinkle.

“Why don’t I make you something I’d like and see how you like it?”

“Surprise me then, love.”

It only takes a few minutes of vigorous shaking and switching liquors and Ghost has a tall, yellow fruity drink in front of him, complete with whipped cream and pineapple on top.

“Voilà.”

He blinks. “What…is that?”

“Hawaiian Rum Punch. Spiced and dark rum, pineapple liquor, passionfruit and pineapple juice. Little bit of sun in the gloomy English weather.”

Ghost snorts as he picks it up and takes the straw in his fingers, sipping it. “Funny.”

She waits, a slow-spreading grin on her face as she watches for his reaction. “Well?”

“It’s good. A little too sweet for me,” he replies honestly, and puts it down. “You’re good though.”

She reaches over with the towel and nicks the corner of his mouth where the whipped cream got him. “I know I am.” As she walks off to attend to another customer, she calls, “Drink your bourbon, good ole boy!”

***

It’s the rare night that the bar is closed that she’s out on her own, visiting an older family friend at the base on the other side of the city. She’s only been once, but this time, he’d insisted on her coming. Plus, she had a bottle of old whiskey on hand, so she knew he wanted that too. He escorts her inside, answering her few questions she asks with more grunts than answers.

“How’ve the missions been going?”

“Good. Just finished a hefty one out in Syria.”

“Interesting. Have to tell me about it tonight.”

“I will. Soap will want to brag.”

“Soap?”

“New team member. Made the mission a success with his demolitions.”

She smiles as he wraps his arm around her outside the door. “It’s good to see you, Price. It’s been a while since you came to the bar.”

“I’ve been coming, you just haven’t seen me there.”

Her brows pull in confusion but he opens the door and there’s a group of men surrounding a card table; all of them look up, but one looks shocked.

“Ghost?” she asks and turns to Price. “Did you send Ghost to scope out my bar?”

“I had to keep an eye one you somehow,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “You know your Uncle Tommy would’ve wanted me to.” He nudges her. “Besides, Simon would’ve protected you if anything bad happened.”

“I can protect myself,” she retorts, sticking her nose in the air. “I only went through six months of rigorous training with you and Uncle Tommy.”

She walks over and around Ghost with the bottle, grabbing a glass from the table to set beside him; cracking the bottle, she pours him a round before leaning on his shoulders and asking, “So, Simon, is it?”

Simon takes the cigarette from between his lips, grinds it out before he looks up at her and replies, “I thought it was ‘babe’?”

“I call everyone babe.” She smiles at him. “If you want to be special, you’ve gotta take me out.”

“I can do that.”