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alexiroflife · 1 month ago

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“pretty woman.”

nanami kento

inspired by the film, you are a prostitute that nanami falls for quite instantly

[mdni]

you never came from much. you earned your profession by means of your body, clinging to skin stinking of cigarette smoke and hands gripping viciously into your flesh as though you are something to be owned temporarily before being tossed away for the sake of earning the funds for your next meal.

you knew aggressive lust, impatience, filthy corruption. you knew palms swatting at your cheek and fluids spilling over your back that you were forced to clean yourself in the darkness of filthy motels laden with the loud thoughts of self inflicted after care.

the world taught you of its greed by cursing you with your enticing appearance combined with your severe lack of privilege, and consequently it turned you into what you are now, and you were fine with that. you were able to live with that. you were content with that.

until him.

the moment his sleek black convertible pulled to the side of the curb catches your eye, you’re on your feet, heels clicking loudly against the concrete and hips swaying beneath the short tight dress you wore, and your eye targeted on the prize.

you approach and knock on the window carelessly, shifting your weight on one foot as the window rolls down slowly. you lift your sharp brows and almost hold your breath when the outline of the man you had seen within the vehicle reveals himself to you, his curious honey brown eyes staring directly into yours as the barrier of safety breaks between you.

no one had ever looked you in the eye like this before.

you know he doesn’t belong here when you take in the sleek waves of his blonde hair and the breathtakingly expensive suit he wears, as well as the very car he inhabited, and you immediately see and opportunity.

“you lost, handsome?” you curl your red lips into an enticing smile, pressing yourself against the side of the door with ease and familiarity.

the rich man’s brow twitches as he continues to roam his eyes over your face. you make a point to expose your chest, pressing your tits out from your clothing, but he does not look- he does not fall for your temptation. instead, his eyes remain trained on you. just you, and your own eyes and face. it scares you.

he hesitates, turning to look to the side before looking back at you, and you catch a softness in his expression. “i’m alright. thank you.”

“you sure?” you question, raising a brow. “it looks to me like you’re not from around here. what’re you doing on this street?”

the man scans the area, a rather shady one he must internally admit, but he does not mention this observation to you. he knows what you are just by the sight of you, and truthfully he knows better than to roll down the window in an unfamiliar area, especially one such as this, but beneath you’re painted face and skimpy clothes, you look so… beautiful.

he can’t help but allow you a moment to try to speak with him.

“well i,” he starts, exhaling heavily. “i was driving home from work and seem to have lost my way,” he murmurs rather tiredly.

“so you are lost.”

“i’m figuring it out.”

he’s bluffing, of course. you can tell by the way his brows begin to angle and a hint of flush dusts over his cheeks as he attempts to decide what to look at.

“you want some help then?” you propose, and the blonde man of class hesitates.

“…i may not have a choice in the matter,” he tells you, and in that moment you think you have him. you think that you’ve got him under your control, wrapped around your finger, so when he eventually invites you into the passenger seat to direct him to his place of residence: an unfathomably wealthy penthouse in the west end, you don’t expect him to allow you to accompany him upstairs for the sole sake of ‘courteously providing you a nice place to stay’ for the night.

you believe it to be a trick. surely men of riches harbor the very same greed men of less fortune do, certainly so when they find themselves in a house alone with a pretty girl.

you try to lock your eyes on the opportunity, to not be swayed by the dim lighting illuminating a velvet encrusted residence of sleek glamour, of big open windows and lights that brighten automatically when you walk into the room, of granite top islands in porcelain white kitchens and the polite request to slip your shoes off at the door. you try to look past the unfathomable wealth you have stumbled upon that reveals itself boldly in this penthouse, but your slack jaw betrays you as you stumble rather clumsily across the living room with your head tilted to the ceiling and your jacket sliding from your shoulders.

you go to toss it onto to couch when the man is suddenly behind you, slipping it from the ends of your arms and tucking it over his own. you turn and cock a brow at him with a half smirk, to which he clears his throat with gentle eyes and a nod. surely he is being kind for the payment of your body in return, you believe. and you would like nothing more, than to wring penny by penny from this devilishly attractive, horribly wealthy man.

you are quick to slide against him when he returns from the closet, pressing a hand to his chest and wrapping painted fingers around his tie to draw him closer.

“how long?” you ask him in a seductive whisper, trailing your other hand over his shoulder. he shudders, sucking in a breath and pinching brows together before gently taking your hand in his and removing it from his clothing. you falter in slight confusion.

“how about a meal first?” he proposes, not necessarily denying you yet not necessarily accepting you either.

your instincts kick in. you step back slightly. “i don’t eat from strangers,” you deflate.

“yet you’ll sleep with one on an empty stomach?”

the question is innocent, but it has your stomach turning and your brow twitching against your will. you clench your jaw. “i can tell what men want from sex. i can’t tell what they want with food.”

he hums, a pensive look on his face as he examines you with those gentle eyes again, and you frown. “you can watch me cook. i promise i want nothing more than to eat, and to at least make you feel welcome. after all, you’re a guest.”

your head spins. you’re a guest? and he wants to cook for you?

an instinct to run flourishes. not because you feel endangered, but because you can not understand what you are doing here if this man does not want you physically.

nevertheless, you stay. you sit on his countertop and watch as he moves about the kitchen with ease, your feet swaying back and forth and obscene remarks falling from your lips periodically. he’ll turn and look at you from time to time, lips pressed together and brow raised though you catch the redness that dusts over his face each time.

he pulls the chair out at his dining table for you to sit when finished, and you eye him as he does, confused, concerned. does he treat all strangers like this- all women like this? has he done this before? is he a serial killer secretly aiming to lure you in with kindness, shelter, and nourishment? does he even want to have sex with you?

your overthinking only increases when you slowly lift a fork full of piping food to your mouth and your eyes double in size when the incredible flavors burst on your tongue. you feel his eyes on you, silently inquiring if you enjoy it or not, but before he can ask, you’re stuffing your face as though you haven’t eaten in days.

he looks surprised at first, by your sheer lack of manners, but soon smiles in satisfaction, happy that he can appease you.

you clean your plate, and he runs you a bath, he gives you a robe, he allows you to use all his lotions and oils that you have never heard of before in your life and can hardly even pronounce the name of.

he provides m you comfort in his home as he cleans from dinner, and finally, as time would have it, you are bathed and free of makeup and skimpy clothing, clad solely in fluffy garb with damp hair and bright eyes.

you don’t know why you’ve succumbed to this treatment. you don’t even understand what it means. hell, you don’t even know the man’s name, but he has somehow made you feel more human within the span of a couple hours than you ever have in your life.

and when you emerge from the bathroom into his bedroom as he lay aside his blazer and undone tie, he catches sight of you in his long mirror before turning to face you completely.

his eyes glimmer slightly, the tenseness in his shoulders falling as he takes you in for the umpteenth time, chocolatey eyes surveying you as though you’re and angel on earth, and you hug your arms around yourself with a pout.

you’re bare. no provocative clothes to hide in, no makeup to conceal your insecurities, but just you before a man you’ve never met, and you’re internally frightened. you’re confused. you’re… comfortable.

you think it’s finally time to do what you’ve come to do when he approaches you with slow strides, gaze heavy and button up hugging his build regally.

he stands before you, wood and minty fragrance clinging to his air in your presence, a hand reaching to your cheek. you flinch when his warm palm meets your skin, your eyes roaming over his well sculpted features as his lashes flutter over his cheek in a you-induced daze.

you swallow hard, attempting to muster up the confidence you had earlier in the night. “how long?” you ask again, voice lower and arms tight around your own waist.

“what’s your name?” he asks you instead and your expression sours again.

“what?”

“your name, beautiful,” he murmurs, thumb tracing your cheekbone. “i never caught it.”

flashes of hands slamming against your cheek flicker through your mind as this warm contrast occupies the same space, a once stinging plane of touch. “why d’ya need to know it?”

“i don’t need to. i just would like to.”

“is this some kind of joke?”

his brows knit. “no?” he says truthfully. “i only think it’s appropriate-“

“you think i need saving?” you bite, interrupting him and brushing his hand away.

he recoils it just as quickly. “no. no i don’t.”

“then what is this?” you shrug, your last experiences bleeding into your vision of this moment. “are you gonna fuck me or not? i don’t have time for this- this- frilly, psychotic- whatever this is! i’m not broken. i don’t need you to swoop in and save me. you’re not doing me any favors. either pay to fuck me or leave me be.”

and even your abrupt outburst does not turn him away. he allows you to speak. he doesn’t interrupt, only listens patiently, and when you’re done, he’s calmly responding: “i never meant to offend you. i’ve never done anything like this before, and i’m used to treating women to dates, and not...” he pauses. “…whether you expect me to or not, i don’t intend to toss you around and throw you aside for money. i want to get to know you and to treat you how you should be treated.”

“buddy, i’m a street whore. there’s no other way to treat me but to do with me what i’m paid to do.”

he breathes in slowly. “perhaps. but i’m not that kind of man,” he looks you in the eye. “you deserve better. i can give you better.”

“but why me?” you scoff. “there’s plenty other girls like me out there.”

a hint of a smile ghosts his face. “i don’t know if there are,” he says and you still. “you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but again, i would like to know your name.”

all those swift, angry nights, those hard hands, those filthy words, they swarm your head and attempt to scream at you to run, to flee from these foreign romantics, as you were never made to receive them, but instead your relaxed heart and body speak for you.

“…(y/n)… is my name.”

he hums, smile brightening. “how gorgeous,” he compliments again and you shy away. “my name is kento.”

kento nanami.

the name rings through your head and past your parted lips with the gentle drag of his palms over your bare body, sweltering lips sweetly devouring the plump freshness of your skin.

whispers of praise and eager devotion spill into your ears, breath ghosting your earlobe and thick fingers working in and out of your soaked heat, drooling all over his hands as he takes his time with you, practically worships you with the consumption of your very soul.

your heart is hammering into your chest, your nerves on fire, for no one has ever been this slow with you, no one has ever been so gentle yet firm at once, clinging to you for fear that you’ll run away before he can appreciate every inch of your being.

you’re overwhelmed, by kisses and heated glances and weighted breaths and sultry moans. you’re dizzy with pleasure you never knew to be true as you writhe against silk sheets with your legs wrapped tightly around his neck, his tongue swirling and slurping over your clit and into your aching walls.

kento’s hair is a mess of sexy tangles as he pushes himself into you slowly, and thrusts with the urge to care, to feel.

you think you’re dreaming up this new world of indescribable satisfaction, one that leaves you numb yet tingling all at once. one that wraps you up, flush against his well defined abdomen with hands pressed to the small of your back and lips dragging over your own. one that has you cumming from penetration for the first time, and over and over again after that. one that has you dragging your nails down his bare back, one that draws your brows together and pulls glints of tears from your eyes. one that assures you, encourages you, that groans through gritted teeth how amazing you take him, how good you are, and how much more he desires to pull from you.

and in your spent stupor of overstimulation after hours of various positions and white hot pleasure, a warm cloth drags over the areas in which he has spilled his own arousal amid yours, and you realize in the back of your mind that this is the first man who has ever partaken in aftercare with you.

he embraces you warmly from behind as you drift off, kissing your shoulder and winding his burly arms around your waist. you sink into delighted slumber, your body light and your mind at ease.

you wake the next day to find the bed empty, but a note, an obscene wad of cash, a plate of fruit, muffins, and a coffee on the bedside dresser. you lean over to grab the note slowly, the pleasant aches in your body limiting your motion, and read his curly writing:

good morning, beautiful. i’m sorry i couldn’t wake next to you, i had to run out to work. i’ve left some breakfast and money for you to get yourself something nice, as well as to get home safely if you decide to leave, but by all means, stay if you would like. i would love to spend more time with you, whether it be today or any other time. i’d like to take you on a real date sometime, too, only if you’ll allow me. the decision is yours. i hope you enjoyed yourself. I know i surely did. have a wonderful morning, and if you need anything, give me a call. xxx-xxx-xxxx.

you think, then and there, you are absolutely doomed.

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chuthulhu-plays · 4 months ago

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I generally watch LPs of horror games bc I'm too anxious to actually play them but a lot of them have FANTASTIC stories, so sometimes I just binge-watch KrinxTV for background noise. Been watching a lot of playthroughs of Still Wakes The Deep because it's such a delight to hear Scottish voice actors get work and I thought I'd address some questions I keep seeing Let's Players ask:

--Adair is a member of the National Front as you can find out from posters in his cabin, a Neo-Fascist British political party that’s been going since the sixties. While it often preaches British ethnic unity, in practice that often means “everybody in the UK should be exactly like East End Londerners” and features plentiful disdain for Scottish, Irish, and Welsh folk, alongside those perceived as “not British”. No wonder the wanker eats alone in the canteen.

--Neeps and Tatties=turnips and potatoes, mashed, drenched in butter or sauce. Fills your belly, keeps you warm, probably makes you sink like a stone because it’s so heavy.

--Cranachan=a dessert made of raspberries, honey, cream and oats, absolutely delicious

--Rennick calls Caz a “wee ned prick”. Ned is apocryphally said to stand for “non-educated delinquent” and is basically just a way of calling someone an uneducated, lower-class criminal

--A lot of things said by and about Roy indicate that he’s a teetotaller who went through AA and specifically became Catholic and is making an effort at converting Caz.

--I think it’s entertaining how Scottish nicknames often follow a pattern of shortening/rejiggering that I also see a lot with Australian nicknames—Cameron becomes Caz, Rafferty becomes Raffs, etc. Trots is an unusual one but is almost certainly a reference to him being a communist, presumably a Trotskyist. Gibbo is also an unusual one in that it’s just very silly. There’s a kind of indignity implied in being killed by a guy called Gibbo.

--A few times on the radio you hear the Shipping Forecast, a type of weather report aimed at specifically reporting weather conditions out on the ocean, and is also famous for the report being read in such a calm, soothing tone that some folk use it as a sleep aid.

--All the yellow paint for interactable things is very video gamey, yes, but is also in line with old British health and safety standards, and yellow paint on things like emergency ladders or on the edges of stairs that are trip hazards is a thing ou can still see in some older buildings.

--Caz keeps saying he’s “good with the leccy”; leccy=electricity. Caz is implied to be quite a wee guy who can get through a lot of tight spaces, and my uncle swears blind that electricians used to refuse to take on apprentices over a certain size because they only wanted to train wee guys who could get up into the tight spaces that a lot of older buildings are full of. On that note, “wee man” is a term of endearment, generally, and isn’t exclusively applied to short guys.

--Finlay saying of Gibbo that “he’s no right” is INCREDIBLY OMINOUS. It sounds mild but “he’s no right, that boy” is what older folk say about a child who’s been found disembowelling cats for fun or someone they strongly suspect is a pedophile. It’s not something you’d say about a friend who’s just acting a bit unusually.

– “Great minds united over a Buckie”--Buckfast, or Buckie, is a caffienated tonic wine that’s cheap, widely accessible, and is a bit like rocket fuel for bad decisions.

– “Ya roaster” tbh I don’t really know where it comes from, calling someone a roaster, but I’ve always felt like it has a vibe of telling them they’re huffing their own farts.

--Scunnert/scunnered--buggered, screwed, utterly fucked, etc

– “You’re the jammiest bastart on this rig” Someone who is jammy is someone who has incredible luck that is implied to be related to their sheer confidence or willingness to engage in risky behaviour. Walking along the street and finding a pound coin isn’t jammy; crossing the road confident that the cars won’t hit you and stopping in the middle to pick up a pound coin before making it unscathed to the other side is jammy as all hell.

--Barlinnie is the biggest prison in Scotland, and largely hosts violent offenders—it’s where Caz would definitely go for hospitalizing a man.

--Weans are children (contraction of wee yins/wee ones). I thought this one was contextually obvious but apparently not.

SPOILERS BELOW

--”One spark and the whole thing’ll go up”—this is referring to the wee spark of flame in the lighter used to blow up the rig, but is also kind of a pun because electricians are often called sparks or sparkies, and in the end it’s Caz who blows up the rig.

#Still Wakes The Deep

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repulsiveliquidation · 8 months ago

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Sun to Me || Leah Williamson

For the sake of the story, we’re going to pretend that Zach Bryan’s song of the same name came out way earlier than it really did :) no warnings i think, just a little fluff and angst?

Leah lay in bed wide awake at 5:34 am. The sun was just starting to rise and a sliver of light slipped into the room. She could hear Simon, your dog, walking around the room, trying to find himself a comfy spot to go back to bed. You had your leg thrown over hers, wrapped around her knee. Your breath hit her neck steadily, arm around her stomach gripping her shirt just a little.

Leah had had a bad day. It started with missing the first hour of training because her car had a flat tire that she insisted on changing herself when she didn’t really know how. You jumped in and saved the day when you heard her grumble in frustration as you enjoyed your morning coffee on the balcony above her.

Then she hurt her hamstring during training with Arsenal just a day after being announced in the England squad again. She called you sobbing, feeling angry with herself for being reckless and impatient. Again, you swooped in and met her in the training room in record time, pulling your girlfriend into your arms to comfort her.

Hauling her into your car an hour later, you surprised her with sunflowers in the passenger seat for her. She stood at the door and just stared at them, caressing the bright yellow petals with gentle fingers.

“How did you have time to get them? To get me?”

“Funny how fast news travels to me when it concerns you, Lee. You know I’d drop everything for you.”

“Who called?”

“Who didn’t?”

Leah sighed and looked down at you, pushing a couple of loose hairs from your bun out of your sleeping face. The look of pure calm on your face reminded her of the first time she met you. The scrawny kid trying out for the football team back home in Milton Keynes. Eleven year old you had braces and pigtails, an Arsenal jersey 2 sizes too big on, boots that were also too big, and a look of panic that none of the other girls had.

You immediately made it clear that your parents signed you up for an after-school activity that you were not particularly fond of. However, with some tips from your three older brothers and a stern warning from them about keeping up the family name, you made it on the team. Leah was also picked and you two made quick friends.

Your agility and smaller stature gave you the advantage as a striker while Leah’s taller, more athletic build benefitted her as a defender. You two had undeniable chemistry on the field and it showed on game days. Her long balls always found your feet and were almost always converted into goals. She just had to glance up at you to see you already looking at her, waiting for the ball.

By the time you were 17, your feelings for each other could no longer be ignored. For the sake of the team, you both had kept it to yourselves and pined for each other day in and day out but when the reality of Leah getting a position on the Arsenal first team came up, you couldn’t let her leave without a confession.

You pulled her into your room the night before her last game for the home team, shooing your roommate Grace out of the room for the night.

“You ready for tomorrow?” she asked sheepishly, standing awkwardly in the doorway of the hotel room. You sat on your bed and picked at your thumbs, confession right on the tip of your tongue. Leah could sense your nervousness and knew you were hiding something.

“Yeah,” you mumbled, closing your eyes and balling your fists. You took a deep breath, opened your eyes, and screamed, Leah standing in front of you with her face in yours.

“Don’t do that!” you yelled and hit her arm, watching as she flopped back on Grace’s bed laughing.

“Leah?” you call, the tension in the room broken. She chuckles just a little as she remembers the look on your face, sitting up and looking across from you.

“What’s up?” she questions, foot bouncing furiously. You reach over and rest a hand on it, immediately noticing her calm.

“I really like you. I realize that I have for a long time and the idea of you not knowing while you move up in football scared me. I know you probably don’t feel the same way and that this could ruin what we have but I couldn’t go one more game without you knowing how I feel about you.”

You carefully look up and expect anger on her face but are met with a look of love. Before you could say anything her lips were on yours, soft and warm. They molded perfectly in yours, that tingling sensation in both your stomachs. You fall back and she follows, lips never leaving yours.

She pulls away first and smiles, moving off you to lay beside you. You snuggle into her side like you are in the present, hand right over her rapidly beating heart.

“Will you be mine?” she asked after the game the next day on the bus home. You two were tucked away in the back of the bus, hidden from everyone else. Her hand found yours and held it in her lap, thumb gently rubbing the back of your palm as you shared earbuds. Zach Bryan’s raspy voice filled both your ears as you moved to lay your head against her chest.

You fell asleep to his voice and her hand in your hair, gently awoken 2 hours later with Leah’s Arsenal jacket draped around you. She walked you home hand in hand, face falling when she reached your doorstep.

“I leave in the morning with Mum,” she told you quietly, face fixated on the ground. You stood on the steps of your house, bags piled by your feet. A tear falls and hits her sleeves in her hoodie pocket and the dam breaks. She falls to her knees and you catch her, hugging her tight as she wishes you could come with her.

“I’ve got other plans for my future, Lee,” you tell her, tears filling your own eyes. “But all those plans have you in them, I promise.”

You take her face in your hands and her eyes are still watery. You wipe the stray tears away and smile, leaning in to peck her lips.

“I’ve waited a lifetime for you,” you whisper, “now I get the spend it with you.”

Leah glances at the clock and it’s almost when your alarm goes off. Simon jumped onto the bed fifteen minutes earlier and curled up by your feet, now fast asleep like his mum. She slipped out of bed as carefully as she could but Simon woke up when the blanket shifted. You remained in deep sleep, rolling over onto Leah’s much warmer spot on the bed.

She tiptoed out of bed and Simon followed, the little pads of his feet echoed in the living room as she poured his kibble into his bowl. She started the coffee machine and pulled out your favorite to make for breakfast, thankfully it was simple and hard to burn. As the toaster oven heated a couple of frozen waffles, Leah set out to clean the living room just a little to ease your load.

She laid the blanket over the couch and began to clear your notebooks when one of your sticky notes slipped out of it. She randomly stuck it back into your notebook hoping it wasn’t important when your pretty writing and her name caught her eye.

She opened the notebook and gasped, your writing was perfectly cursive and left no wasted space in the margins. You had been researching her ACL injury extensively, working closely in your clinics to find out why female athletes were plagued with this injury.

After Leah left for Arsenal, you pursued a lifelong dream of medicine, specifically as a sports medicine physician. After a career-ending knee injury for your father, he channeled his dream of playing professional football onto his children. Your brothers all became successful athletes, playing for fantastic clubs but you loved treating them when they got hurt. While you were still a great footballer, in the operating room was where your talents shone.

Having performed Leah’s surgery yourself, you drove deep into a rabbit hole of research to find out why this was common in women’s sports, specifically football.

Leah came home one day and felt the world crumble before her. She missed football. She missed being on the pitch. She missed getting teased by the girls for loving you so deeply. All she wanted was to come home and hear you yell at her for not putting her kit bag away or for forgetting to pick up celery like you’d asked. All she wanted was to see you wearing her jersey in the stands next to her family while she raced across the pitch to tackle someone or to watch the girls fawn over you when you brought coffee on Saturdays.

That day, she came home to an empty house. Simon was with you at the office and there was a note on the fridge for her. It told her you had an emergency surgery and to not wait up for you, and that there was dinner in the fridge for her too.

She sat in the living room in silence, the tinnitus in her ears the only constant in the room. Her leg was propped up like it should be and iced all around. The TV remote was too far to reach and her music player too far to set up. Her voices in her head were taking over the buzzing and she was slowly sinking in on herself.

What if she didn’t make it back to the team?

What if they didn’t want her to play for them again?

What if they found someone better than her?

What if they…

“Leah?”

Her head whips up and some tears fly off her cheeks with the speed. You’re standing in front of her in your scrubs and a wagging-tailed Simon by your side. He jumps onto the couch and settles beside her, you joining him seconds later. You caress her cheek and wipe her tears away, pressing your lips to hers.

Words aren’t necessary for her to tell you what was wrong. In her haze, she was beating herself up verbally and you had heard every word come out of her mouth. Your heart broke and felt heavy, she’s been struggling and kept it hidden very well.

“I can’t do this anymore,” she weeps, clutching your shirt tightly. You cradle her face like you did all those years ago on your doorstep. She looks up at you with that same watery look and you peck her lips just the same.

“You can and you will, Leah. I’ll be here every step of the way.”

The lyrics to Zach Bryan’s song that was playing from the music player pulled her out of her thoughts and the smell of burning waffles reminded her of why she was still here.

“Find someone who grows flowers in the darkest parts of you.”

#leah williamson #leahwilliamson x reader #leah williamson imagine #arsenal wfc x reader #arsenal wfc #england wnt #lionesses #woso x reader #woso soccer #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso imagines #woso community #woso one shot #woso #zach bryan #sun to me

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mostlysignssomeportents · 1 year ago

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No, Uber's (still) not profitable

Going to Defcon this weekend? I'm giving a keynote, "An Audacious Plan to Halt the Internet's Enshittification and Throw it Into Reverse," on Saturday at 12:30pm, followed by a book signing at the No Starch Press booth at 2:30pm!

https://info.defcon.org/event/?id=50826

Bezzle (n): 1. "the magic interval when a confidence trickster knows he has the money he has appropriated but the victim does not yet understand that he has lost it" (JK Gabraith) 2. Uber.

Uber was, is, and always will be a bezzle. There are just intrinsic limitations to the profits available to operating a taxi fleet, even if you can misclassify your employees as contractors and steal their wages, even as you force them to bear the cost of buying and maintaining your taxis.

The magic of early Uber – when taxi rides were incredibly cheap, and there were always cars available, and drivers made generous livings behind the wheel – wasn't magic at all. It was just predatory pricing.

Uber lost $0.41 on every dollar they brought in, lighting $33b of its investors' cash on fire. Most of that money came from the Saudi royals, funneled through Softbank, who brought you such bezzles as WeWork – a boring real-estate company masquerading as a high-growth tech company, just as Uber was a boring taxi company masquerading as a tech company.

Predatory pricing used to be illegal, but Chicago School economists convinced judges to stop enforcing the law on the grounds that predatory pricing was impossible because no rational actor would choose to lose money. They (willfully) ignored the obvious possibility that a VC fund could invest in a money-losing business and use predatory pricing to convince retail investors that a pile of shit of sufficient size must have a pony under it somewhere.

This venture predation let investors – like Prince Bone Saw – cash out to suckers, leaving behind a money-losing business that had to invent ever-sweatier accounting tricks and implausible narratives to keep the suckers on the line while they blew town. A bezzle, in other words:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/19/fake-it-till-you-make-it/#millennial-lifestyle-subsidy

Uber is a true bezzle innovator, coming up with all kinds of fairy tales and sci-fi gimmicks to explain how they would convert their money-loser into a profitable business. They spent $2.5b on self-driving cars, producing a vehicle whose mean distance between fatal crashes was half a mile. Then they paid another company $400 million to take this self-licking ice-cream cone off their hands:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/09/herbies-revenge/#100-billion-here-100-billion-there-pretty-soon-youre-talking-real-money

Amazingly, self-driving cars were among the more plausible of Uber's plans. They pissed away hundreds of millions on California's Proposition 22 to institutionalize worker misclassification, only to have the rule struck down because they couldn't be bothered to draft it properly. Then they did it again in Massachusetts:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/06/15/simple-as-abc/#a-big-ask

Remember when Uber was going to plug the holes in its balance sheet with flying cars? Flying cars! Maybe they were just trying to soften us up for their IPO, where they advised investors that the only way they'd ever be profitable is if they could replace every train, bus and tram ride in the world:

https://48hills.org/2019/05/ubers-plans-include-attacking-public-transit/

Honestly, the only way that seems remotely plausible is when it's put next to flying cars for comparison. I guess we can be grateful that they never promised us jetpacks, or, you know, teleportation. Just imagine the market opportunity they could have ascribed to astral projection!

Narrative capitalism has its limits. Once Uber went public, it had to produce financial disclosures that showed the line going up, lest the bezzle come to an end. These balance-sheet tricks were as varied as they were transparent, but the financial press kept falling for them, serving as dutiful stenographers for a string of triumphant press-releases announcing Uber's long-delayed entry into the league of companies that don't lose more money every single day.

One person Uber has never fooled is Hubert Horan, a transportation analyst with decades of experience who's had Uber's number since the very start, and who has done yeoman service puncturing every one of these financial "disclosures," methodically sifting through the pile of shit to prove that there is no pony hiding in it.

In 2021, Horan showed how Uber had burned through nearly all of its cash reserves, signaling an end to its subsidy for drivers and rides, which would also inevitably end the bezzle:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/08/10/unter/#bezzle-no-more

In mid, 2022, Horan showed how the "profit" Uber trumpeted came from selling off failed companies it had acquired to other dying rideshare companies, which paid in their own grossly inflated stock:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/08/05/a-lousy-taxi/#a-giant-asterisk

At the end of 2022, Horan showed how Uber invented a made-up, nonstandard metric, called "EBITDA profitability," which allowed them to lose billions and still declare themselves to be profitable, a lie that would have been obvious if they'd reported their earnings using Generally Accepted Accounting Principles (GAAP):

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/11/bezzlers-gonna-bezzle/#gryft

Like clockwork, Uber has just announced – once again – that it is profitable, and once again, the press has credulously repeated the claim. So once again, Horan has published one of his magisterial debunkings on Naked Capitalism:

https://www.nakedcapitalism.com/2023/08/hubert-horan-can-uber-ever-deliver-part-thirty-three-uber-isnt-really-profitable-yet-but-is-getting-closer-the-antitrust-case-against-uber.html

Uber's $394m gains this quarter come from paper gains to untradable shares in its loss-making rivals – Didi, Grab, Aurora – who swapped stock with Uber in exchange for Uber's own loss-making overseas divisions. Yes, it's that stupid: Uber holds shares in dying companies that no one wants to buy. It declared those shares to have gained value, and on that basis, reported a profit.

Truly, any big number multiplied by an imaginary number can be turned into an even bigger number.

Now, Uber also reported "margin improvements" – that is, it says that it loses less on every journey. But it didn't explain how it made those improvements. But we know how the company did it: they made rides more expensive and cut the pay to their drivers. A 2.9m ride in Manhattan is now $50 – if you get a bargain! The base price is more like $70:

https://www.wired.com/story/uber-ceo-will-always-say-his-company-sucks/

The number of Uber drivers on the road has a direct relationship to the pay Uber offers those drivers. But that pay has been steeply declining, and with it, the availability of Ubers. A couple weeks ago, I found myself at the Burbank train station unable to get an Uber at all, with the app timing out repeatedly and announcing "no drivers available."

Normally, you can get a yellow taxi at the station, but years of Uber's predatory pricing has caused a drawdown of the local taxi-fleet, so there were no taxis available at the cab-rank or by dispatch. It took me an hour to get a cab home. Uber's bezzle destroyed local taxis and local transit – and replaced them with worse taxis that cost more.

Uber won't say why its margins are improving, but it can't be coming from scale. Before the pandemic, Uber had far more rides, and worse margins. Uber has diseconomies of scale: when you lose money on every ride, adding more rides increases your losses, not your profits.

Meanwhile, Lyft – Uber's also-ran competitor – saw its margins worsen over the same period. Lyft has always been worse at lying about it finances than Uber, but it is in essentially the exact same business (right down to the drivers and cars – many drivers have both apps on their phones). So Lyft's financials offer a good peek at Uber's true earnings picture.

Lyft is actually slightly better off than Uber overall. It spent less money on expensive props for its long con – flying cars, robotaxis, scooters, overseas clones – and abandoned them before Uber did. Lyft also fired 24% of its staff at the end of 2022, which should have improved its margins by cutting its costs.

Uber pays its drivers less. Like Lyft, Uber practices algorithmic wage discrimination, Veena Dubal's term describing the illegal practice of offering workers different payouts for the same work. Uber's algorithm seeks out "pickers" who are choosy about which rides they take, and converts them to "ants" (who take every ride offered) by paying them more for the same job, until they drop all their other gigs, whereupon the algorithm cuts their pay back to the rates paid to ants:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/12/algorithmic-wage-discrimination/#fishers-of-men

All told, wage theft and wage cuts by Uber transferred $1b/quarter from labor to Uber's shareholders. Historically, Uber linked fares to driver pay – think of surge pricing, where Uber charged riders more for peak times and passed some of that premium onto drivers. But now Uber trumpets a custom pricing algorithm that is the inverse of its driver payment system, calculating riders' willingness to pay and repricing every ride based on how desperate they think you are.

This pricing is a per se antitrust violation of Section 2 of the Sherman Act, America's original antitrust law. That's important because Sherman 2 is one of the few antitrust laws that we never stopped enforcing, unlike the laws banning predator pricing:

https://ilr.law.uiowa.edu/sites/ilr.law.uiowa.edu/files/2023-02/Woodcock.pdf

Uber claims an 11% margin improvement. 6-7% of that comes from algorithmic price discrimination and service cutbacks, letting it take 29% of every dollar the driver earns (up from 22%). Uber CEO Dara Khosrowshahi himself says that this is as high as the take can get – over 30%, and drivers will delete the app.

Uber's food delivery service – a baling wire-and-spit Frankenstein's monster of several food apps it bought and glued together – is a loser even by the standards of the sector, which is unprofitable as a whole and experiencing an unbroken slide of declining demand.

Put it all together and you get a picture of the kind of taxi company Uber really is: one that charges more than traditional cabs, pays drivers less, and has fewer cars on the road at times of peak demand, especially in the neighborhoods that traditional taxis had always underserved. In other words, Uber has broken every one of its promises.

We replaced the "evil taxi cartel" with an "evil taxi monopolist." And it's still losing money.

Even if Lyft goes under – as seems inevitable – Uber can't attain real profitability by scooping up its passengers and drivers. When you're losing money on every ride, you just can't make it up in volume.

Image: JERRYE AND ROY KLOTZ MD (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:LA_BREA_TAR_PITS,_LOS_ANGELES.jpg

CC BY-SA 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/deed.en

I’m kickstarting the audiobook for “The Internet Con: How To Seize the Means of Computation,” a Big Tech disassembly manual to disenshittify the web and bring back the old, good internet. It’s a DRM-free book, which means Audible won’t carry it, so this crowdfunder is essential. Back now to get the audio, Verso hardcover and ebook:

http://seizethemeansofcomputation.org

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/09/accounting-gimmicks/#unter

Image: JERRYE AND ROY KLOTZ MD (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:LA_BREA_TAR_PITS,_LOS_ANGELES.jpg

CC BY-SA 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/deed.en

#pluralistic #bezzles #hubert horan #uber #rideshare #accounting tricks #financial engineering #late-stage capitalism #narrative capitalism #lyft #transit #uber eats #venture predation #algorithmic wage discrimination

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lorre-verie · 3 months ago

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this is just gojo satoru being an idiot btw

ft. gojo satoru x gn!reader (& some unfortunate dude) w/c: 780ish

warnings: author knows nothing about cars.

written by lorre, proofread by jude.

thinking about stranger!gojo satoru revving his car loudly behind your pink convertible on the deserted highway

you know he's doing it on purpose because as soon as his Ferrari SF90 matches speed with your McLaren 750S, he grins, sticking his tongue at you as his free hand waves a teasing 'bye-bye~' before blasting ahead.

you raise an eyebrow, eyeing the blue streak speeding on the road in front of you, the arrogance practically oozing from the roar of the engine.

it's not long before you let out a scoff, tapping on your phone to change to your racing playlist. you smirk as you press harder on the gas pedal, whipping on your sunglasses all the while. oh, it's on, stranger.

stranger!gojo satoru who gapes as he sees your pink mclaren absolutely tear right past him, just barely catching the rude gesture you throw up over your shoulder. you just not-so-subtly told him to eat your dust. stranger!gojo satoru who immediately puts both his hands on the wheel, his posture snapping straight as he tails you. his eyes are wide, the already bright smile growing on his face as he can feel every shiver of his car, excited to finally be able to push it to its full potential.

stranger!gojo satoru who, as soon as he starts to catch up to you, pats the side of his vehicle lovingly, murmuring an encouraging "let's go, baby."

you cock your head to the side as he nears you, your eyebrows raised. he's trying to say something to you, but you can't hear him over the combined roaring of your engines.

deciding that you don't really have the time, you imitate his movements from before, waving a bye-bye as your pout your lips mockingly, leaving him behind as you turn right at the fork in the highway.

there's no way he's going to Gifu too, right?

you're proven wrong immediately as you take one glance into your side mirror, noticing the blue ferrari still hot on your trail.

you hum. so he is going to Gifu. what are the chances he's going to the same work retreat you are?

well, whoever he is, if he wants a race, he'll get a race.

stranger!gojo satoru whose his eyebrows are knitted together in concentration as he isn't focused on his car anymore, his bright blue eyes trained on yours instead, the pink reflecting back on his sunglasses.

meanwhile, a gas station worker is hunched over his newspaper in a gas station's tiny office, a nice warm cup of joe in his hands. takin' a free coffee from the machine every once in a while won't matter anyway, right?

nobody comes over here anyways, he thinks.

the next time he tries to take a sip of his coffee though, the ground starts shaking, growing more intense by the second.

he looks out the window of the office curiously (which is situated very close to the road), wondering if this is just another earthquake.

two streaks of blue and pink flash by, practically blurring together, his head turning way past his shoulder to follow the blips as they disappear down the road.

unfortunately for him, he wasn't paying enough attention to the cup of coffee in his hand, the warm liquid spilling all over his work pants as he lets out a yelp.

sigh.

stranger!gojo satoru who feels his heart lurch when he notices your mclaren finally slowing down and pulling into a rest area on the highway. he flicks on his blinker and pulls in right behind you.

stranger!gojo satoru who practically leaps out of his car, jogging up to yours.

his heart is racing, chest puffing in and out from the sheer adrenaline as you look at him suspiciously, the white-haired stranger chasing you down the road for what's been nearing an hour.

stranger!gojo satoru who puts on a charming smile—or as best as he can muster because his ears are flushing the same colour as your car, asking for your number.

you look at him incredulously, swiping a lock of hair from your face before tossing your head back in a laugh. "sure, stranger." you give him a small smile, amused.

you scribble your work number down on a napkin, drawing on a little smiley face. handing it to him you ask, "what are you going to Gifu for?"

he blinks.

"Gifu?" he asks with a finger pointed at himself, a little dumbfounded.

"i'm going to Nagano."

"but- Nagano's the complete other way?"

stranger!gojo satoru who isn't a stranger anymore, letting out a loud laugh before quickly changing the subject.

thinking about stranger!gojo satoru, who would rather dye his hair a bright, searing red, than admit that he followed a cute stranger in the wrong direction for nearly an hour just to ask for their number.

you definitely got more suspicious of him after that conversation

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hometoursandotherstuff · 7 months ago

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Found another of my former posts that didn't sell. This is a 1925 Pullman railroad car converted to a home. I think that the problem is that it's out in the middle of nowhere and it has to be moved. I have no idea how you would transport it, but the seller is willing to help facilitate the move. Right now the 3bd, 3ba home is in Bonner, MT. It comes furnished and is $249K.

It's got a western theme. The shades have cowboys on bucking broncos, and I love the soft velvet furniture. Look at the chairs w/scenes on the fabric.

This sofa is an original train seat.

Now, here we have a beautiful desk that looks like it could be original & a chair, plus another vintage bench seat with storage drawers.

Small room flex space.

Outside this bedroom there's wallpaper and a shower curtain with a barbed wire print.

I like the stainless steel shower (there are 3 of them, one for each bedroom). There's also a very private toilet in each bedroom next to the chest of drawers.

Above the toilet is a clever unit with a mirrored medicine chest and a pull down sink.

Cute room with bunks and vintage cowboy wallpaper.

The bedroom toilet units and chest of drawers must be original b/c they're built-in. They probably had bunk beds, but these wouldn't be the originals.

The dining room fits 6 in comfy upholstered chairs.

An antler chandelier matches the smaller antler sconces around the home. On the right is the hall to the bedrooms and showers.

A nice built-in serving cabinet has cowboy stained glass to match the window shades.

The kitchen also looks original. It's completely stainless steel and commercial. I trust that all of this works

At the end of the car is this cute little original seating area.

I'm not sure if even a small chair can fit out here, but it sure is cute.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/Nhn-Nka-Bonner-MT-59823/2054689249_zpid/

#converted train car #train car conversion #houses #house tours #home tour #homes under $300K

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julesclues · 5 months ago

Text

Battlefield Bonds

Warnings: war (I feel like that’s a given), gun shot wound, clean up of an injury

Pairing(s): Simon “Ghost” Riley x f!reader

Word count: 7.3k

Notes: your code name is “Phoenix” and Soap has a wife and kid

a/n, might do a part two to this, but it's not necessarily needed. pls lmk if you want another part! if enough people want another part, then I'll do one. Until then, enjoy!

Summary: After Graves betrays the team, everyone is split up. You manage to escape with Soap, but he has some bad news: Ghost is no where to be found. Determined to not leave him behind, you venture out into the corrupt town with nothing but fear and a pocket knife. But, of course, something always has to go wrong.

Driving up to the base, you can feel something is wrong as the car comes to a stop. You turn to Ghost sitting in the driver’s seat, but his eyes are drawn to the situation at hand. You turn back, seeing Graves and the other Shadows exit the vehicle. Everyone else has the same idea, including you and Ghost.

“What’s this?” Alejandro asks, pointing at Graves with confusion. You turn to Ghost and he looks at you, shaking his head ever so slightly. “This is the immediate future,” Graves replies. “Step away from the gate.” Two Shadows exit the back of the vehicle you and Ghost were in. They both stand behind the two of you, weapons in hand. Ghost looks over his shoulder, and back to you, and you could tell he was aware something was about to go down. Something was definitely wrong. “What?” Soap asks, walking up behind Alejandro, eyes trained on Graves. “You heard me,” Graves says in a monotone voice. “You’re crazy,” Alejandro claims with a shrug. “This is my base.”

“It’s not a base. This is a sizeable convert facility and I admire it,” Graves says with slight amusement in his voice. “So, I’m taking it. You all have been relived. Thank you for your service.” Immediately, Alejandro takes a step closer to Graves. You could feel your heart racing now, not sure how this was going down, nor what Graves’ intentions were. “No, I don’t take orders from you.” You could also feel the anger radiating off of Alejandro. Ghost was pissed too, his body tense and ready for any violence about to take place. “Didn’t Valeria say that? Now that makes me wonder what else I don’t know about your affiliation with a drug-lord.” Alejandro looks back at Soap with a chuckle and steps forward. “What the fuck did you just say to me, pendjo..?”

Soap grabs Alejandro’s shoulder before he could do anything. “You’re out of line, Graves,” Soap speaks up. “This is ridiculous!” You yell from the side of the car, Ghost eyeing you, and a Shadow behind you taking a tiny step forward. “Don’t do that. Don’t.. do that.” Graves points to you and Soap. “No one needs to get hurt here.”

“Are you threatening us?” Asks Ghost, his voice echoing through the dead of night. “Solider, I don’t make threats. I make guarantees. So let’s not do this.”

You scoff and throw your hands in the air, walking toward Alejandro and Soap. Eyes locked on Graves, you shake your head. “You’re a disgrace to the army, Graves. I’m calling Shepherd.” Turning your back, you begin to walk back to Ghost and the car.

“General Shepherd sends his regards.”

You stop dead in your tracks, eyes widening and now on Ghost. He tilts his head slightly, hand on his side and very close to his pistol. “He told me ya’ll wouldn’t take this well.”

“He knows about this?” Ghost asks in disbelief as you turn around to face Graves yet again. “Ya’ll need to stand down. It’s time to let the pros finish this. And why the hell are we talking like this is some kind of negotiation? It’s not. I’ve got my orders, and now you have yours.” Ghost goes to walk up to you, but a Shadow grabs his shoulder, holding him in place. You take note of this.

“And who the fuck do you think you are, cabrón?” Raising his voice, Alejandro points to his base. “My men are inside!”

“I’m afraid not,” Graves smiles. “Your men have been.. detained.”

Angry and betrayed, Alejandro lunges toward Graves but a Shadow stops him, throwing him against the car and knocking him out with the end of his gun. They zip tie his hands, leaving him trapped. “Graves, what the fuck?!” You yell, as Soap retreats from the gun fire. He grabs a Shadow to use as a body shield. Ghost elbows the shadow behind him, as you grab you side gun and spin, shooting the one behind you. Ghost throws a knife at a Shadow too close for comfort, and grabs your wrist, throwing both you and him to the floor for cover.

Graves shoots the Shadow Soap was using as a shield, catapulting him to the ground. You could see him from the other side of underneath the car, scrambling for his gun and injured. “Go to Soap,” Ghost says to you, but you scoff. “No, why would I leave you?”

“He’s injured, I’m not. Go Phoenix! That’s an order.”

“Sir-”

“Go.”

Scoffing yet again, you crawl behind the car and up to Soap, helping roll the guy off and helping him up. Ghost follows behind, the red tail light of the car illuminating his mask. “Go, now! Both of you, get out of there.”

“Ghost-!”

“Y/n, now!”

Panting, you look at Soap as he grabs your hand and leads you to the woods. Hesitant, you follow. You both slide down the slippery slope, as gun fire follows. “Fuck,” Soap hisses, holding his side. Then, nothing but silence.

Minutes turn into hours as you and Soap find an empty house to hold up. “What the fuck is going on?” You ask, running your hands through your hair, as Soap grunts, sitting down on the nearest chair. He doesn’t respond, but keeps trying comms, as he has been for the past two hours. Yours had been destroyed by the gunfire.

“This is Bravo 7-1 in the blind along with Phoenix.. How copy?” Silence.

“Still nothing?” You ask. He shakes his head. “I’m starting to lose hope,” he chuckles. But he’s not joking at all.

All of a sudden, static is heard from his radio. “Bravo 7-1 this is Bravo 0-6, how copy?” Your eyes widen along with Soap’s, and you smile widely. “Price, thank god. We’re alive, I’m with Phoenix.”

“Lovely to hear. Spoke to Laswell, Shepherd’s off the grid. We’ll speak more when my evac team comes to pick you up. We’re five minutes out.” Soap lets out a sigh of relief but you’re a little more guarded.

“Sir,” you start, directed toward Price. “What about the others? Alejandro was taken and Ghost.. well, we don’t know where he is. We need to look for him.”

“Negative, Phoenix. I’m sending an evac team, not a rescue squad. I’m afraid they’re on their own.” You scoff and look at Soap. He looks down.

“That’s bullshit!”

“I don’t like it anymore than you do, I’m all for no man left behind. But we need to be in good shape if we’re going to save the others.”

“They won’t make it if we don’t start a rescue mission now,” you hiss. “Phoenix-“ Soap starts, but you ignore him. “No, I won’t do it. I won’t leave them behind. Price, if not now, when is the next evac chopper available?” He pauses for a brief second before answering you. “Not for another week, Phoenix. With Shepard off the grid, we’re low on supplies and men… two minutes out. We’ll talk when my team gets to you, over and out.” You turn to Soap and shake your head with a sigh. He speaks up. “Y/n, Ghost is not answering comms. We have no idea where he is, and evac is about to be here. We have to go.” You shove Soap lightly, remembering he’s injured and run your hands over your face due to stress. “No way in hell, Soap! I’m not leaving him!”

“Phoenix-”

“He’s our lieutenant- fuck that, he’s our friend! It’s Simon for fucks sake! I’m not leaving him!” You’ve never called Ghost by his real name before. Soap knows you’re serious. “I don’t want to leave him either but another evac chopper won’t be available for another week! You heard Price. I have a wife and kid at home, and our chances out here for another seven hours, let alone seven days, is slim to none. You and I both know it.” You give Soap a death stare as you both hear the evac chopper approach. You understand where he’s coming from, and if you were in the same situation, perhaps you would’ve made the same choice.

But you weren’t. No one was waiting for you at home. Your only family was Task Force 141.

“Then I’ll take my chances. I’m going after him.”

Sighing, Soap nods and grabs your shoulders. “Please be careful. Between the Shadows and the weather.. I mean, it’s pishin a doon out here.”

“..English, MacTavish.”

“It’s raining fucking hard.” You chuckle at the voice change and grab his hand on your shoulder. “I’ll see you in a week, Johnny,” you yell, due to the chopper landing. Before boarding the chopper, Soap takes out his comms and hands it to you. “So you can stay in touch with us all, and potentially find Ghost.” You nod at him, symbolizing a ‘thank you.’ Soap grabs Price’s hand to get on the chopper and turns back to you. “Be safe Y/n.”

You salute both him and the Captain, and watch them fly away to safety. Taking a deep inhale, you set off to the town to find your lieutenant. “Ghost, it’s Phoenix? Do you copy?” Silence, yet again. “Fuck,” you whisper. You walk into the town, and instantly hear a bunch of Shadows along with gunfire and screams. With only fear and a pocket knife, you make your way into an empty home, searching for anything and everything that could help increase your chances of survival. And, of course, finding Ghost.

“Soap? Phoenix? How copy?”

His deep voice in your ear startles you, but you don’t hesitate to respond. “Ghost! Fuck, I thought I- we lost you.”

“Can’t get rid of me that easily, Phoenix. Where’s Johnny?”

“He left,” you say. “Price and his evac team arrived and Soap went with them.”

“Why didn’t you go too?”

“Guess I just can’t live without you, Lieutenant.”

Ghost pauses before replying with a question. “You stayed behind to look for me?”

“Affirmative.”

“Wrong choice, soldier.”

“We’ll talk about that when I see you, sir. For now, let me just get to you. Where are you?”

“The church on the north side of town. Shadow activity is silent.”

“Silent? Where are they all?”

“Hell.”

You chuckle at Ghost’s comment. “I’m coming to you, sir. Just stay where you are, I think I’m close to the north side of town.” Ghost doesn’t reply, mainly because you don’t give him a chance to. “Are you okay?”

“I’m alive,” he replies. “You?” You smile to yourself, making your way through the houses as a way to cover yourself from being too much in the open. “I’m alive,” you say, repeating his words.

Walking in the town surrounded by enemies didn’t seem to bad now that you had Ghost to guide you. You two had never really gotten a chance to know each other. That was mainly because of the fact that he was laid back and silent half of the time.

“Two goldfish are in a tank…”

“What?” He repeats himself, word for word. “Go on..”

“One turns to the other and says, “You know how to drive this thing?”” You chuckle and shake your head, though you know he can’t see you. “Little army humor.”

“Very little.”

“We can do this all night, L/n.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of, sir.” And you swear, for the first time ever, Ghost actually laughs. Well, maybe it was more of a chuckle, but that counts. You made Ghost laugh. That’s a win in your book. You can’t wait to tell the rest of your team. “Location?” He asks, distracting you from your thoughts. “I’m in the coffee shop.”

“Get us a tea, yeah?”

“Tequila sounds better right about now.”

“I’d murder for a whisky.”

“You mean scotch?”

“I drink bourbon.”

“Like a good boy.” He’s silent now, and you cringe the second the words come out of your mouth. “Sorry sir, that was—“

“Always have confidence, L/n. Don’t apologize for speaking. If you say bourbon means I’m a good boy, then I guess I am.” You smile to yourself and walk out of the shop, not forgetting to grab a few more supplies on the way out. After a couple moments you say, “You’re gonna owe me for this.”

“Why?”

“We’re fixing each other’s problems.”

“What’s my problem?”

“The mask… take it off.”

“Show my face?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Negative.”

“Are you ugly?”

“Quite the opposite.” You laugh a little too loud for someone whose on a stealth mission. You feel your face heat up a bit, and can’t help but wonder what he actually looks like underneath the mask. It’s killing you to know. “Guess you’re taking your ‘confidence’ advice, huh lieutenant?”

“Just speaking the truth, Y/n.” Boy if you weren’t flushed before, you definitely were now. The way he says your name in a low, hushed voice brings heat to your cheeks in an instant. “Location?”

“I can see the church now. I’m exiting the green house across the street. Do you see it, sir?” Before he could answer, you open the door but you’re knocked down by a Shadow.

“I got one sir! It’s Phoenix!” You scramble to get your knife but the Shadow steps on your hand, kicking the knife away. “Kill her,” you hear Graves yell from half a klick away. The Shadow points his gun at you and you close your eyes to prepare for the inevitable. But it doesn’t come, as a shot is heard and the Shadow above you falls forward, landing on you. You take his gun and shove him off of you, taking cover by the fountain in front of the church.

“Was that you Ghost?”

“Who else?”

“Thank you sir. I’m approaching the front of the church as we speak.”

“Coming out now, Phoenix. Watch your fire.”

Your gaze never leaves the front of the church, and soon enough, your eyes lands on Ghost. You let out a sigh of relief, watching him run toward you and throw himself over the fence to meet you at the stairs. “Ghost!” You yell with joy, but he grabs your hand and leads you down the stairs with him. “We need a vehicle! On me L/n.” He lets go of your hand and you’re right on his tail, running through the town having almost every Shadow after you. Ghost finds a pickup truck and you turn, shooting some more to try anything and everything to escape.

“Get in Phoenix!” He yells. He jumps into the drivers seat but before he could get in, he's dragged out by a Shadow. Before thr guy could even get his hands on Ghost, you shot the Shadow right between the eyes. "Thanks for that," Ghost says, a bit out of breath. "No probl-"

As you open the passenger door, however, you’re tackled by a Shadow and begin to brawl on the ground. “Get the fuck off me!” You scream, fighting the guy above you. He grabs his pistol and points it toward the right side of your torso and smirks. He pins your wrists above your head using of his hands, and your eyes go wide.

You hear a gun shot, quickly followed by another, and the guy above you falls on top of you. But you’re frozen and every sound around you is muffled. You hear Ghost calling your name and pushing the guy off of you. Just then, your hearing comes back into focus but an intense pain shoots through your entire body.

You were shot.

Before Ghost was able to kill the guy, that fucker had shot you. And shit, did it hurt like hell.

You whimper out as Ghost kneels down besides you. “Fuck,” he curses. “We gotta get out of here. Can you walk?” He asks, cupping your face with his hand. You had already begun to feel lightheaded by the blood loss but managed to nod your head anyways. Ghost nods too and lifts you up on your feet, causing you to wobble and yelp in pain.

“Get into the car. I got you, don’t you dare pass out L/n. If you can walk, then fucking walk!” Your head was pounding as you lifted yourself into the passenger side of the car, slamming the door shut. Once it’s closed, Ghost slams on the gas and you fly back into the seat, groaning and putting your hand on your wound to try and stop the bleeding as best as possible. Still, blood seeps through the gaps between your fingers. “Fuck,” you hiss, and Ghost glances you at while speeding away. You look in the rear view mirror and realize you’re not being followed anymore, letting out a sigh of relief. Ghost slows down a bit, now just driving along the abandoned highway, still on the look out but also paying attention to you.

“How’re you doing, Phoenix?” He asks, as you adjust in your seat. You let out a long exhale and blink slowly, wanting to fall asleep. “Hurts like hell,” you say, slurring your words slightly. As you push against the wound and fight to stay awake, Ghost pulls up to a safe house. He gets out of the car and your eyes follow him as he rushes to your side of the car, opening the door. He reaches over you and pulls your seat belt off. Your right hand goes behind his neck and he hooks his arm underneath your legs to carry you.

You whimper in pain as he lifts you, closing the door with his foot. “Ghost..” you whisper, and he looks down at you. “Don’t fall asleep,” is all he has to say as he rushes to the safe house. “Where are we?” You manage to mumble out. “Alejandro’s safe house. He gave me the coordinates, it was need to know.”

“What if I needed to know?”

“Shh. Let’s just worry about getting you fixed up, yeah?”

“So you do care about me?”

“I care about you alive.”

You chuckle softly as he enters the house. Empty and dark, he finds a near by table to prop you down on. You grunt, adjusting yourself on the table as he scouts the area to make sure no one is with you guys. Once the area is deemed to be clear, he looks for supplies to clean you up. You feel yourself blink slowly and look around.

You vision is somewhat dark as you feel yourself wanting to just go to sleep. Just for an hour, and you’ll be back on your feet in no time. But before you can do that, Ghost comes back and makes eye contact with you. “Permission to lift your shirt?” Ghost asks, and you chuckle slightly. “Affirmative, sir. You can peak if you want. You deserve it for helping me.” You smirk as you slur your words and Ghost just sighs. “You’re definitely out of it, Phoenix.” He lifts up your shirt right below your chest and you breathe heavily. He examines the wound, his fingertips grazing around the wound, not touching it. It still hurt, so you groaned out and lifted your left arm above your head.

As Ghost’s eyes were glued on your injury, yours were glued on his face. The mask didn’t show much at all, except for his eyes. You couldn’t even tell what his face structure was, or what color his hair was. It could be blue for all you know. But his eyes.. His eyes gave away his emotions almost immediately.

He was scared.

Ghost‘s eyes were always cold, always empty and filled with no emotion whatsoever. But now, for some reason, he let himself show emotion, show his, some what, vulnerable side.

Honestly, you didn’t think the guy was afraid of anything.

He turns back to the supplies he was able to obtain and you close your eyes momentarily. You were scared too, of course. Sure, you were a solider, a fighter. But that doesn’t mean you had a death wish. You wanted to go back home and lay down on your bed, watching stupid reality shows that meant absolutely nothing.

He turns back around with bandages, surgical forceps, and gauze. “I’m gonna start now, okay darling?” You scoff with a smile, looking up at him. “You pull up my shirt and now you call me darling? Seems like we’re getting somewhere, Lieutenant.”

“Are you always this flirty when you’re on the brink of dying?”

“Only with you, sir.” He exhales and so do you. “I’m ready. Just please, try not to kill me, alright?”

“No promises,” he says as he nods slightly and brings the gauze to your wound, making contact with it. You hiss in pain, arching your back slightly and shutting your eyes. The gauze absorbed your blood almost immediately, causing Ghost to quickly replace them with clean ones. After a couple minutes of this, Ghost grabs the forceps and breathes deeply.

He brings the forceps to you wound, and begins digging for the bullet. You bite down on your hand, making teeth marks in your skin to try and muffle your sounds. “You can scream, we’re safe. They won’t hear you,” Ghost says with slight concern in his voice. You immediately start to scream in pain as Ghost looks for the bullet in your torso. “Fuck! Please- oh god, it hurts so bad! Fuck, I can’t- oh god Ghost, stop!”

He immediately stops, halting his actions but not removing the forceps. “I can’t stop, Phoenix. I need to keep going. We need this bullet out.” Tears pour down your face as you look up at Ghost. Whispering, you speak to him.

“I don’t want to die, Simon.”

His eyes go wide, surprised that you said his real name. Normally he wouldn’t let anyone say his name, but it sounded different with you. He liked it.

He brings his hand to your cheek as a sign of comfort. “Then let me do this. I know it hurts, trust me, I know. But I don’t want you to die either. If I get this bullet out, you’ll be okay.”

“You promise?”

“I promise, Y/n.” You knew he was making a promise he couldn’t guarantee, but it still reassured you. You huffed in frustration and pain, allowing Ghost to continue his work on you. The forceps moved again, making you yelp in pain. Ghost was mumbling half to himself and half to you. He repeated the words “I’m sorry” and “You’re okay” like a mantra. But you barley heard him. Between the pain and your screams, your hearing was muffled.

Sooner or later, you gasped as you felt Ghost retract the forceps. Your eyes shot open and landed on the bloody bullet between the tongs. “Gotcha,” he whispered. “Oh thank god,” you chuckled, feeling woozy and tired. You heard the bullet fall into a metal bowl, but as Ghost’s face appeared above you, you saw your vision fading. “Simon,” you slurred. “Stay with me, Phoenix. Hey, don’t sleep.” But you couldn’t do it. The blood loss was too much.

Within seconds, you had passed out.

～～

Your eyes flutter open, instantly squinting as you make contact with an overhead light. You groan, feeling a comfortable mattress underneath you. You go to sit up, but instantly yell out in pain, almost forgetting of the injury on your side. Your head hits the mattress again as you fall back. Sitting up was too painful. But you were alive. Your mind wandered to Ghost, wondering where he was and how the hell he managed to save your life once you had passed out.

You were ripped from your thoughts as you felt the bed next to you shift. Your head snaps toward that direction, and your eyes land on Ghost. He was sitting up next to you, armor still on and gun directly on the nightstand next to him. “Phoenix? You’re awake? Are you okay?” Bombarded with questions, you begin to chuckle, meeting his eyes. “I’m still hurting bad, but I’m alive. That’s gotta count for something, right sir?” He stayed silent, just watching you with squinted eyes. You felt bad that he had to save and fix you. “I’m sorry,” you apologize, closing your eyes in guilt. “Between you having to save me from that guy, then having to carry me and fix my wounds? Not to mention me passing out. I.. I didn’t mean to put you in that position, Ghost. I’m sorry.” By this time, you open your eyes and find that he has his face rested in his hands, elbows on his knees. He turns to you and places a hand on your thigh, causing goosebumps to appear on your skin.

“Did you purposely get shot?” He asks nonchalantly. Confused, you shake your head. “Then don’t worry about it. You didn’t get shot on purpose, and you didn’t die. If anything, I’m.. I’m sorry. You stayed back because of me.” You put your hand on top of his on your thigh and smile softly, feeling extremely tired. “You didn’t force me to stay back, sir. It was my decision. We saved each other in a way, if you think about it. How about we call it even?” Even under the mask, you could tell he smiled ever so slightly. “I like the sound of that.”

Ghost stands up and grabs his gun, keeping it on his possession. “How long was I out?” You ask, turning your head to face him. “About a couple hours. We need an evac chopper though, need to get you to a real medic. You need a blood transfusion and I can’t do that here. Don’t have the supplies.”

You wince, feeling the wound throb a bit. “Another evac chopper won’t be here for a week,” you admit. He turns to you quickly in disbelief. “Price told me when he came to pick up Soap.” Ghost curses and sits down on a chair across the room, still in sight. “You won’t make it that long,” he says angrily. “You should’ve gone with them, Phoenix. Fuck, you should’ve just left me and went back safely.” You scoff and roll your eyes. “I wasn’t going to, and there was nothing you could say or do that would’ve made me leave.”

“I would’ve ordered you to leave with Johnny.”

“I wouldn’t have.”

“You would disobey a direct order?”

“If it meant saving your life, then yes. I would.”

Ghost stayed silent, lifting his skull mask above his face to just leave him in his balaclava. You were able to see his eyes more properly. They were beautiful and you were always going to think that. You’d probably never tell him though. Telling your lieutenant that he has pretty eyes? A little awkward.

“You’re delusional, L/n,” he shoots back. You could tell he was conflicted and honestly, so were you. Sure, you weren’t going to leave him behind. Even if he was one of the best soldiers you’ve ever seen and could easily take care of himself, you didn’t want to abandon him. You didn’t want him to be alone. “Would you have done the same for me?” You ask, and without hesitation, he replies yes. “So why is it so unbelievable that I would do it for you?” He ignored your question and grabbed his radio, trying to reach someone. He obviously didn’t want to talk, so you didn’t pressure him. This was a conversation for later.

“Ghost to Price, how copy?” After a couple of seconds, radio static is heard. “Ghost, good to hear from you. Phoenix with you?” Ghost turns to you and makes eye contact. He doesn’t break it as he responds to Price. “Affirmative, but she’s injured, lost a lot of blood. She won’t make it if we don’t get an evac team here soon.” You cringe at Ghost’s bluntness about your death, but you knew he couldn’t sugarcoat anything. This was a legit life or death situation. “Shepard’s off the grid, we only have one chopper available. Men and supplies are insanely limited, everything has gone to shit. Getting an evac chopper and team to you guys is easier said than done. We don’t-“

“I’m not asking, Price.” Ghost cuts off Price, and silence lingers in the air, along with his anger. “I am your Captain and superior, Lieutenant. You will treat me as such or we’ll have problems.” Ghost scoffs and paces through the room, your eyes following his every movement as you listen to their conversation. “No. We’ll have problems if Y/n doesn’t get a blood transfusion within the next seventy-two hours. If she dies Captain, it’s on you.”

“Ghost, I understand the safety and well-being on your fellow soldiers is important to you, but understand when I say that it can’t be done.” Ghost shakes his head, though Price can’t see it. “Ghost maybe you should-“ You start, but he shoots you a glare that shuts you up instantly. There was no changing his mind on this. He was very persistent and wasn’t going to stop until he got you back to safety. “Can’t be done or won’t be done, Captain?”

“Can’t. We only have one chopper throughout the entire force right now. One.”

“And where is that chopper now?” Price was silent, which confused you and Ghost. So, he repeated his question. “On the ground at our base.”

“So why the fuck can’t you use that chopper to come to us?”

“If Graves’ or Shepard’s location is confirmed, we need it to go after them. We are prioritizing.”

“This is horseshit!” Ghost yells, slamming his fist on the desk, making you jump. “You’re willing to sacrifice Y/n’s life in order to get back at Graves and Shepard?! You’re a piss poor of a Captain. I thought we leave no man behind, under no circumstances.” Price is silent, as if he was thinking about Ghost’s words and what to do. You understand where both Price and Ghost were coming from. The circumstances were unlike no other, everyone was confused.

“I’ll see what I can do. I’ll radio back in an hour to let you know about an evac team. Just.. just keep her alive Ghost, okay?” You smile as Ghost turns to you and gives you a thumbs up. “Affirmative, sir. Over and out.” You try to sit back up with some struggle, and Ghost rushes over to you to help you. “Easy there,” he mumbles, but you manage to do it. You were breathing a little heavy from the lingering pain in your torso and the blood still seeping out of you. The bleeding had slowed down greatly but Ghost was right. With no help soon, your chances of making it would be slim to none.

“Why’d you do that?” You ask Ghost. He stays silent for a moment. He wasn’t even sure himself why we was so persistent and angry with Price. He would never challenge a superior like that.

“You asked if I would do the same for you. This isn’t quite the same, but Price might have my head on a stick for speaking to him in such a way. I risked my life for you.” You try not to laugh so hard at his words in fear of the injury pain. “I’m glad you’re laughing,” he says, making you tilt your head in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“You got betrayed by Graves, stayed back in a town where your chances of getting killed are high, proceeded to get shot, lost a shit ton of blood, and if help isn’t here within three days, you won’t make it. All within a span of fifteen hours. And yet.. you’re smiling and laughing. I don’t get it.” You hum, looking down at your hands and picking at your fingernails. “I don’t know, I guess I just..” You look up at Ghost and smile sadly.

“You make me happy, I guess. I don’t know. I mean, even when you were fixing me up before, I was making stupid flirty comments with you. And even before that, I called you a good boy for liking bourbon. I guess you just being with me and by my side makes me feel a little better about being in a fucking war against not only the bad guys, but the Shadows too. Everything has gone to shit. Since Graves betrayed us, I’ve been scared about who to trust, questioning everyone. But you? I’ve never doubted you once. You helping me survive, fighting Price just to get me to safety, reassuring me with kind words even though a couple minutes before you were threatening your Captain. It makes me feel good. You make me feel good. So yeah, if these are my last days, it’ll be filled with pain and agony but at least you’ll be there with me, Simon.”

Ghost just looks at you, but his eyes give away nothing. He was silent, which caused you to become a little anxious and regretful for your words. “Y/n-“

“Price to Ghost, do you copy?” Startled, Ghost scrambled to grab the radio and respond. Great fucking timing. “This is Ghost, go ahead sir,” he says, clearing his throat and shaking his head slightly. “Good news. An evac chopper will be at your location in the next ten hours. Looks like Phoenix won’t be six feet under any time soon after all.”

“Don’t jinx me, Captain,” you yell from the bed. Price chuckles quietly. “Ghost,” he starts. “I’m glad I got the confirmation from Laswell to come and pick you guys up. But if you ever dispute with me again, I will fight you myself.”

“You’ll lose, Captain.”

“What was that?”

“…I said yes sir. I understand.”

“Oh and one more thing Ghost. Though I didn’t like how you spoke to me one bit, we’re a team. Phoenix is injured, and death is a pretty permanent thing. If you didn’t speak to me the way you did, this most likely wouldn’t be going your way. You did good, Lieutenant. I can tell you care about her. See you soon, over and out.”

Simon didn’t like the feeling he felt when Price admitted he noticed the care for you. Ghost didn’t like to be vulnerable. So the fact that you’ve been able to tear down his brick walls without him even noticing made him cringe with uncomfortable feelings. “He’s right, you know,” you say, pulling him away from his thoughts. “What?”

“About it all. Well, I don’t know how much you care for me,” you chuckle. “It’s kind of ethically wrong if you’re in the army and let me die. But otherwise, he’s right. You did good, stood your ground.” Ghost scoffs and walks over to the window, pulling down the blinds with his two fingers to look outside. He chooses to stay silent, mainly because he genuinely doesn’t know what to say.

The words you said before Price interrupted flood into his mind. The fact that you could care about and trust him without ever even seeing his face was beyond his comprehension. He may be one of the smartest and logical people out there, but you will always confuse him more than he’d like to admit. He just can’t seem to figure you out.

The room is filled with a silence. Comfortable, but still quiet. All that is heard is the muffled gunfire outside, flooding the town with each passing minute. That is, until your mattress creaks as you try to swing your feet over the left side of the bed in order to make an attempt to stand.

The sound catches Ghost’s attention and in less than a second, he’s by your side. “What do you think you’re doing?” You grunt, still trying your best to move without any pain. “Bathroom,” is all you say before Ghost sighs, yet again, and holds your shoulders to keep you in place. “Can you walk?” He asks, and you exhale. “Yeah,” you lie. “You’re a shitty liar,” he remarks, making you smile slightly. “I can do this myself. I’m a soldier, a gunshot wound won’t kill me.” He shakes his head, mainly due to annoyance. “Without me, you would’ve died.” You chuckle dryly, holding your side with a cough. “You give yourself too much credit.”

“What happened to you saying I helped you survive?”

“Oh, so you did listen to that whole speech I gave before.”

“Didn’t really have a choice, L/n.”

“You could’ve walked out of the room, Riley.” You pause briefly and after realizing he isn’t responding, you speak up. “I have a theory that you liked what I said.” Now, it was his turn to chuckle. “What makes you so sure?” He asks in a low voice. “When Price interrupted our wonderful moment,” he rolls his eyes, “you cleared your throat and shook your head. I think I made you flustered.”

“I don’t get flustered.”

“You’re a shitty liar.” You repeat his words from before. “What happened to you needing to use the bathroom?” He tries to change the subject, mainly because you were spot on. He was flustered with what you said about him. No one’s ever been so nice to him. Saying that they trust him, that they care about him. It was riveting, to say the least.

“Oh yeah,” you giggle, and use his arm for stability to stand. When you do, however, your knees buckle and you almost fall down if it wasn’t for Ghost. “Fuck,” you whisper. “I hate feeling like this,” you sigh, but all Ghost does is look at you and help you up. He wraps his arm around your waist, careful not to make contact with your wound. You wrap your left arm around his back and limp to the bathroom on the floor. “I’m glad you spoke up to Price,” you admit, making your way to the bathroom. “Me too,” Ghost says. “I’m glad we’re getting you the help you need.” You could hear the smile in his voice. You were glad he was around and though you were stuck in a sticky situation, at least you were with him.

After making it to the bathroom with Ghost’s help, you both decided to rest some more and wait for help to arrive. You deserved to rest with the long day you had. After sleeping and resting for what seemed like days, you felt someone shake you. Startled, your eyes shoot open with a gasp. “Hey, it’s just me,” you hear Ghost whisper. “Price is here with the evac team. Let’s get the fuck outta here, yeah?” You smile up at him and grab his hand that was on your shoulder. “Thank fucking god.”

“Good to see you alive and well,” Price yells because of the loud sounds from the chopper. “Alive, yes. Well, not so much. Let’s just get out of here,” you yell back, leaning onto Ghost for support. Price helps you into the chopper by pulling you, while Ghost pushes you from behind. It hurt your wound but you pushed through it, finally making it onto the chopper and into a seat with a sigh of relief. Looking around waiting for Ghost to get on the chopper, you see Gaz and Soap. They salute you and wave, and you smile at them. “Nice to see you again, lass,” Soap says with a smile. “Glad you’re not dead,” he adds. “It feels like I am,” you say. He smiles and leans over to grab your shoulder. “Let’s get you home and fixed, yeah?”

“Sounds like a dream, Johnny.”

～～

Hours later, you all finally make it back to base. You’re instantly brought into the med bay with Ghost and Soap’s help. They slowly drop you down onto a bed and you groan in pain. “You alright, lass?” Soap asks you, and you just smile with your eyes closed and an exhale. “I’ve been better. But this big guy over here helped keep me alive. Ain’t that right, Simon?” You ask, opening your eyes and see that he’s already looking down at you. He puts his hand on your head and pats you lightly. “Get some rest, and please get fixed up for fucks sake. You’ve lost too much blood. I’m gonna go talk to Price.” He then turns to Soap, making eye contact with him as he removes his hand from your head. “If anything changes with her, and I mean anything, you call me. Got it?” Soap nods at his lieutenant, and watches him leave the med bay, leaving you two alone. Soap looks down at you and smiles softly. “You know,” he starts, sitting down next to you as you both wait for the doctor. “You’re the only one he allows to call his first name.” You look at Soap quietly, not really knowing what to say. You chuckle softly and shake your head. “I-I’m sure that’s not true,” you say, but all Soap does is laugh. “It is, lass. Think about it. Have you ever heard anyone else call him his first name?”

You think about it for a brief moment and realize he’s right. And the fact that he never corrected you when you called him Simon? Maybe he didn’t mind you calling him that. Or then again, maybe it was pity. You’re injured, after all. You scoff and shove him lightly. “Shut up,” you chuckle. Before he could respond, the doctor walks in and Soap gets up almost immediately. “I’ll let you get the help you need, a’ight? I’m glad you’re okay.” He pats your head like Ghost did moments before, making you smile. Thanking him, he leaves the room, and you’re able to get the medical help you’ve been longing for.

～～

About ten hours later, you wake up after feeling as if you were hit by a truck. Your eyes flutter open and you look to the side of your bed, eyes falling on a familiar figure. “Morning, solider,” Ghost says, grabbing your hand with his. “Morning,” you repeat with a soft voice, smiling at him. “How’re you feeling?” You blink slowly, not wanting him to let go of your hand anytime soon. “I think I’ll live, thanks to you.” Ghost shakes his head with a scoff. “Nah, it was all you. You’re brave, I’ll give you that.”

“Brave?” You chuckle. “I was scared as shit.” Ghost sighs and let’s go of your hand, making you a bit disappointed. “I.. get that,” he says hesitantly. “I guess I was a little scared too. That you were gonna die.” You gasp and your smile widens. “The Ghost was scared? That I was gonna die? Oh how amazing is this.”

He stays silent, just looking down. You follow his gaze to his arm, IV tape and a bunch of wires connected. He donated his blood for you.

"Oh.." You whisper. "Thank you."

He looks up at you through the mask, but still doesn't say a word.

"You really were scared?" You ask. You weren't necessarily unsure, just in disbelief that Ghost could be scared. Nervous, maybe. But scared just seemed out of the blue.

"Yeah," he says, matter-of-factly. "How could I have not been? You were bleeding all over the place. Didn't know if you were going to.." He closes his eyes for a moment, seemingly remembering what had happened just days before. "I'm sorry I scared you sir," you apologize. But he just shakes his head, not breaking eye contact. "At ease soldier. It's Simon to you." You chuckle. "Right. Well, I'm sorry Simon."

"Apology accepted Y/n."

Maybe eventually he'll tell you exactly why he was so afraid. Maybe someday he'll admit to you that losing you would mean losing himself. Maybe one day he'll confess his feelings for you.

Maybe some day, you'll do the same.

But not today. Not yet, anyways.