#fatherly Ghost

[harveywritings92]

{Ghost is trying to ground his niece, But of course he’s new to the whole parenting thing so no clue what he’s doing.]

Lux: How long do you think I'll be here for?

Ghost: I don't know, three or four.

Lux: Three or four what? Hours? Minutes??

Ghost:...

Ghost: Yeah, maybe five.

Lux: Five what?! Days? Weeks? Months? Hello? *Ghost leaves her room* Dude!

[maskerat]

head empty. just dad tiso thoughts.

[anxiouslowercase]

SAS ROGUE HEROES + text posts i find on pinterest

[sincerely-sofie]

Continuing from this post:

Bud doesn’t handle seeing Dusknoir very well at first.

Don’t worry, she warms up to him eventually.

[gunnrblze]

Gym bros is all I see

Gym hoes bros 😇

[sh1-n0bu]

Phantom Trio incorrect quotes #2 and #3

Geshu Yue; *on a date*

Jiyan; "Mama and Papa." *As a joke*

Geshu Yue; *actually treats him like their child*

~

Someone; "Aww, Dr. Jiyan and you look like a family, General."

Geshu Lin, fully sober and tired; "Well of course we look like a family, he's my son. There's no adoption process, my wife birthed him."

Xing Yue, listening in; *tries not to laugh as she tends to a wounded soldier.*

geshu lin being fatherly, real, we not delusional

[georgethequeerpuppet-blog]

So I thought about it, and I have decided that I'm going to post my COD au here as well!

I really would love it if you guys interacted with it over on AO3, but if you wanna read it here, by all means!

Oasis ~ GhostxSoap

(Blurb)

Moving to a new town should have been easy compared to everything Johnny has gone through in his life.

And yet, life continues to throw challenges at him like he's a fucking dart board.

He didn't mean to lay his bike down in the middle of an empty street, at 3-something in the morning.

He didn't mean to come across 141.

And yet, that neon oasis might be the best thing that has ever happened to him.

Or

Post-Military AU where Soap was never a part of the TF.

The 141 is a garage that happens to be open 24/7.

Hurt and comfort ensues.

Onto the fic!

Chapter 1 - Neon

(Soap's POV)

Like an oasis in a barren desert.

A lighthouse across stormy waters.

A beacon of hope in the vast pitch black of night.

The neon 'Mechanic Open' sign was a beautiful sight.

Against the dark backdrop of 3am suburbia, Johnny couldn't help but feel like this whole situation was a bit surreal. A new town, unfamiliar roads. Odd sounds. Hell, even the air was different. It was like the world was against him, and the nightmares had been keeping him up until odd hours.

His bike was the only familiar thing, now. So of course... he had to go and lay it down in the middle of a dew-slick street.

Thankfully, he had been the only one around to witness his own embarrassment. He and his bike had hit the ground hard.

Unfamiliar streets, and all that.

They were both scraped up, and Johnny found himself limping as he wheeled his girl closer to the town centre. His phone, miraculously, had stayed attached to its mount during the crash. Hell, Maps was still running!

He was scared to start her back up, though. There was something dripping from her engine, but Johnny wasn't about to stop in the middle of the street to investigate.

That's why when - after what felt like at least ten hours of walking - he spotted the mechanic and relief flooded his battered body.

His hobbling slowed the closer he got. Once he reached the driveway, Johnny could see that the shop was actually pretty big for the neighbourhood he was in. A large building with three open roller doors. Warm white light illuminated the space. There was a smaller building attached to the left side, another 'Open' sign flashing on the glass door.

Johnny wheeled his girl up the brick driveway. There was a vintage Cadillac in the bay closest to what he assumed was the office. Its hood was up, but the garage was empty.

The Scotsman stopped just before the entrance of the middle bay, nudging the kickstand down with his bad leg.

A clatter came from his left, and Johnny's head snapped up. The fly screen door that must have lead into the office had been propped open, and a man with an impressive pair of mutton chops was looking at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Bike troubles?"

Johnny shrugged, his shoulder aching from where he'd landed on it. "Had a wee accident."

The man latched the door open before walking over to where Johnny was standing. Analytical eyes ran over the bike. Over the scuffs along her side. Over the broken foot peg and the missing side mirror.

"Mostly cosmetic, but I'd be happy to look it over. Run some diagnostics and such. When'd it happen?"

Johnny checked his watch, only to find the screen smashed to shit. He plucked his phone off the mount and went back through his route history. "About... forty five minutes ago?"

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(Price's POV)

The man in front of him was a tough bastard if he was standing outside the garage only 45 minutes post-accident.

John's eyes roved over his figure. In the dim light outside the garage, the only wear and tear he could see was a scuff on his right glove. But given the damage on the left side of the bike, John suspected that a majority of the issues were currently bathed in the darkness of their driveway.

"My name's John, but most just call me ‘Cap’."

The man nodded his helmeted head, sticking out his right hand. John shook it with a significantly more gentle touch than he normally would. The last thing he wanted to do was make the man’s injuries worse.

"Soap- that's what- people call me Soap."

John wasn't about to judge him, given that his business partner seemed to think 'Ghost' was a suitable way to introduce himself.  "Why don't we put her in one of the indoor bays?"

John opened the smaller roller door behind Bay 3 and took the bike from Soap's hands once he had put the kickstand back up. The three bays around the back were mostly reserved for bikes, given the smaller entrance points. Though, Bay 4 was permanently taken up by Gaz's poker table and Simon's Harley.

He set Soap's bike up in Bay 5, before turning his attention back to their new client. John had been correct to assume the damage was primarily on his left side.

There was a large graze down the side of his thigh. Denim torn and spotted with blood. Scuffs ran up the length of his left arm, with a deep gouge out of the leather on his shoulder. But what he was most concerned about was the scratch on the side of his helmet.

"You need to get checked out by a doctor, son."

Soap jolted, as if he hadn't expected John to speak. Even with the dark visor hiding his features, John could see his hesitation.

"Ahm not a... huge fan o' hospitals."

John walked around the bike to stand in front of the other man. A hand made its way onto Soap's right shoulder.

"One of my boys is a retired army medic. Wha'd you say to lettin’ ‘im check you out?"

Soap was quiet for a long moment. But then he reached up and unclipped his chin-strap, before pulling the helmet off his head.

The first thing John's eyes were drawn to was the dark, overgrown mohawk. But his attention soon shifted to Soap's eyes. A beautiful ocean blue. Too blue. It was unusual to see on someone real. Most people with eyes like Soap's were confined to TV screens.

The third thing he noticed was the bloody cut slicing through his eyebrow. And the fourth? The fact that he was exactly Simon's type. Almost ridiculously so.

"Ah guess that'd be okay. Mah leg is a wee bit sore."

"I can imagine," John snorted, taking Soap's helmet from him and guiding him towards the door to their staff room.

He set the helmet on the break table and waved for Soap to sit on the couch. "Back in a moment."

John quickly made his way back into the office. It was nearly 4 in the morning, but Gaz always got up early. He was usually in by 6. So John had no issue calling him.

The phone only rang twice before Gaz's familiar voice answered.

"Yeah?"

"Can you come in early?"

"Why?"

Despite the question, John knew Gaz was already getting up and ready to make his way over. And it wasn't just because he could hear the man moving around.

"Had a client come in. Crashed 'is bike. Need you to check 'im out."

Gaz hummed. "Ghost is the bike expert, Cap."

"No. I need you to check the client out, not the bike. He doesn't want to go to the hospital. Stands like a vet."

"Oh, shit. Okay. I'll be over in ten."

Gaz hung up before John could say 'thank you'.

Pre-emptively, he grabbed the first aid kit Gaz kept under the front desk and made his way back to the staff room.

Soap was sitting where he'd left him. Though, he'd taken the chance to peel his jacket off and drape it over the back of the couch - torn shoulder side up.

John dropped the kit onto the table before moving to grab a bottle of water from the fridge. Soap took it with a grateful smile and a wince.

There wasn't much John was comfortable doing without Gaz present. But he could at least give Soap some gauze and direct his own hand to the cut on his eyebrow.

"Any ideas on how you got that one?"

Soap glanced over at his helmet. "Ah think mah intercom came loose. Ah don't know. Ah just remember somethin' cracking an' then hittin' me. It might still be in there."

John grabbed the helmet from where he had placed it. Inspecting the inside he saw that, sure enough, the bracket for the internal mic had snapped and was hanging by its wire. There was a sharp shard of plastic jutting out of the end of it.

John unplugged the jack and held up the offending piece equipment for Soap to see. "Yer right."

Soap merely nodded, taking a swig of his water with his free hand. "Ah'm just glad that mah eye's still in mah fookin’ skull."

John laughed. The kid had a good sense of humour. Unfortunately.

He was definitely Simon's type.

[0elexa0]

Now all I can see is him hugging Gaz and Soap with no problem and then the team-building exercise of hunting down Ghost and hugging him as well. Big guy threatens to kill them all as Gaz and Soap hold him in place while Price goes in for the kill hug.

Sketch C. Price

[a-living-cartoon]

Immediately what happened when Nelly died and learned that she was forever stuck with that chain

[somnoir]

How to pull a Batman by J. Constantine

John Constantine wouldn't say he was quite fond of children. He's not fatherly by any means so he knows that he's not suitable for raising children. It's just that he somehow ends up with a young girl at his front door (how she found the house of mystery, he's not sure). The little girl looked normal but she felt off. Too drenched in death to be a run-of-the-mill child. Her red hair seemed to turn into flames at the tips, and her eyes were eerily teal and glowed. Everything about her seemed wrong.

"Hello." She murmured, "Clockwork told me to come find you."

And she was just blinking, looking utterly uncanny as John reluctantly welcomed her into the house. "Master of Time?" He hesitated, knowing that amongst the many powerful beings he'd met the ancient of time had been one of them. A mirthful entity who seemed amused by the chaos and order of the multiverse. 

"He told me to give you this!" The girl fished out a glowing green paper from... y'know, he's not sure. 

And in mocking calligraphy the words:

"You owe me :). p.s. there's more."

was directed at John like a fucking signal. 

Great... Being indebted to the cosmic entity of time has made him a father.

He thought it'd happen one time. Just once. Little Jasmine was adept at the occult and got along well with ghosts, often playing peacemaker when one of them tried bothering Constantine. She was concerningly liminal for a twelve-year-old child, but she brushed it of for the fact that her siblings were either halfas or very liminal. Was he concerned, admittedly yes. 

It wasn't until there was a pounding at the door again did he start praying to any god willing to listen. But no. The sentient house practically dragged him through the halls and led him to where Jazz was eagerly waiting, a grin on her face. 

"My baby brothers are here!" She excitedly says, eyes practically sparkling as she grabs him by the hand. 

"Slow down, darlin'. They won't bloody leave if we slow down." He sighed in exasperation, before pulling the door open. Two pairs of eyes stared into his very soul, making his breath hitch.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. What the hell was Clockwork sending him?!

"Danny! Dan" Jazz squealed, dragging the two halfas into the house. One with green eyes and another with red. 

"Clockie wasn't kidding when he said he's a sad guy in a trench coat." The one with green eyes muttered, still floating and staying close to Jazz and his twin. 

"Clockwork slept with that?" The red-eyed one unabashedly judged. "Another fruitloop..." The boy snarled.

John Constantine could already predict the future at this point.

Daniel and Dante take to the house immediately, haunting it to their hearts content.

In the course of four years, the hellblazer drowns in the depths of fatherhood, making sure that no one could find out about his children. No. Not even Batman.

He'd be damned (even more) than let anyone involve the best parts of his life in contingency plans and whatnot. 

His kids grow up to be a rowdy and peculiar bunch.

His eldest, Jazz, was turning out to be one hell of a magician. Especially in necromantic arts that he's tried not to touch many times.

The twins, Danny and Dante were little hellions that made him want to tear his hair out. Its later on when Clockwork comes to visit their children (because its joint custody now) that he's informed that one is the crown prince of the realms and to be king upon the expiration of his mortality, and the other was an alternate version of him and was dubbed the world destroyer. 

His fourth child and second daughter had come in the form of Sam, who had popped up in the house and was decorating it with plants he from different dimensions. Also, she was apparently a green witch that now had the powers of the spirit known as undergrowth. The house was green.

His fifth child came in the form of a boy with a red hat and a laptop clutched against his chest. Tucker had seemed so harmless and sweet compared to his older siblings... until John found him performing ancient egyptian rituals and casually hacking into the Pentagon for fun. 

His last (Thank god) daughter was a zoomie toddler. Little Elle had arrived three years after Jazz did. A five year old with such intense wanderlust that he was tempted to buy one of those harness leash thingies parents had their children wear. Also, like the twins in which she was the clone of, she was one hell of a child being directly connected to the speed force.

So in conclusion, John Constantine was the father of three children on the verge of becoming Ancients, a highly intelligent girl with a very deep connection to death, the successor of fucking Undergrowth, and a boy who could effortlessly hack into government systems whilst being a pharao-in-training. 

Batman must never know.

In the far future, John Constantine battles it out with Bruce Wayne, who's children thought it was a good idea to start flirting with his hellions.

Constantine: TO HELL WITH YOU IF YOU THINK IM LETTING MY PERFECT JAZZY PANTS DATE YOUR FLIPPY SON!

Bruce: SHE'S GOOD FOR HIM!

Constantine: YEAH WILL IS HE GOOD FOR HER?!

And then it gets worse once John catches the Red Hood displaying some ghostly courting behaviour towards Dan. And he's just.

Constantine: Tell your children to back off.

Bruce: You think I haven't tried???

Then comes Danny and Tim with their unhinged behavior. Constantine isn't even mad about the fact that his son is dating one of the Bats. He's just concerned about the chaos with these two.

Bruce: okay, that one is not allowed. How do we get them to break up?

Constantine who's already witnessed Danny making plans to brutally murder Ra's for some spleen: Yeah, no. Good luck with that one.

By the time it's just Sam, Tucked, and Elle, he's praying it's not one of the Bats.

He really is.

Tucked is emmersed in his work but that didn't stop him from befriending Bart Allen and the current Kid Flash. Time travel is the one they usually discuss. (Dante and Constantine were very much on the same page when it came to keeping them just friends.)

And then Sam somehow ends up catching the attention of a daughter of Zeus. By this point, Constantine was preparing to fight god again and would have to ask his ex for a favor.

He's just so happy his precious princess Elle was being a sweet fifteen years old and wasn't daring crazy people.

(Damian was being rather suspicious...)

[bunnis-monsters]

The urge to do more platonic monster stories with families because I have a strong mothering instinct…

Finding a cute lil bunny hybrid and becoming a mother in a world where they view hybrids as pets, not people. Trying to get him into school and telling him he’s your son and it doesn’t matter if he’s blood or not.

Brother and sister puppy hybrids who scam the system and use their cuteness to do what they want. They’re fiercely loyal to each other and have no interest in being apart.

Tentacle monster that has a fatherly affection for you, makes you lunches, protects you through sewage drains if someone makes you uncomfortable, makes sure you get to school/work safely.

Siren that adopts a human baby, struggling to take care of it and having to learn how to feed and comfort a warm blooded creature.

Adopting a village of elven children after the adults have been killed during war. Even as you grow older they stay young, always viewing you as their mother. When you die they bring you back, helping you reincarnate as an elf so you can stay with them forever.

Becoming a ghost’s best friend and reuniting them with their alive lover so they can finally move on to the after life.

Creating a monster and loving it like your own child, giving it all the care and attention a normal baby would get.

An alien family adopting you, an older teen, for experimentation and giving you the childhood you never had. They slowly grow to really love you as they watch your mood and behavior shift from all the attention and care you’re given.

Finding out you’re part monster and your family lovingly guiding you through this new and scary phase of you life as you learn about yourself and why you’re different.

Just cute fluffy stories. Love doesn’t always have to be romantic or sexual.

[sistertotheknowitall]

Some guy gets arrested

Inspired by @medium-sized-ghost addition to the Original Post.

Masterpost

“So sorry about this, Mr. Wayne.”

“No, I understand. I’m just glad to see the law doing their job so well.” Bruce continues pleasantly through the police station with Commissioner Gordon leading the way.

“We’ll get this sorted out as soon as possible, but in the meantime you will need to unfortunately be placed in holding.”

“Of course. It’s really no problem, it was my mistake missing my court date like that. Time just gets away from me sometimes, you know?” Nevermind the fact that Bruce hadn’t even known about said court date or the speeding ticket it was for. He couldn’t prove which child had taken his car for a joy ride, but his prime suspects were Jason or Dick. (He would later find out that it was Stephanie upon a dare from Duke. He already attempted to banned them from playing Truth or Dare after Tim convinced Dick to do a handstand on Jason’s bike going 95 down the freeway. Not that Dick really needed any convincing.)

“Well you’re in luck, one cell is mostly empty.” It was a small cell closer to the front. Bruce could see a teenager laying on the bench to the right. Gordon opened the door and stood to the side so Bruce could enter and locked the door behind him. “Would you like anything to drink? Water? Coffee?”

Bruce smiled, “No, thank you.” Gordon nodded and looked past Bruce at the only other occupant in the cell, “What about you kid? Anything?”

Bruce watched as the kid, one he unfortunately recognized, lifted his arm from where it was thrown over his eyes and waved it in the air at the commissioner, “I’m good.” The arm went back down. Gordon grunted, “alright Officer Mitchell is keeping watch, call out if either of you need anything.”

With that Bruce was left alone with the boy who had befuddled and befriended his many children. He sat on the opposite bench and thought about how best to approach the young man. Danny had never responded well to Batman and there was no telling how he would respond to Bruce. According to Tim, Danny actually had some respect for Bruce and the money he dumped into bettering Gotham. (When it was announced that the public library was being renovated Danny had interrogated Tim about it and then offered his own opinions on how to involve more of the general population.)

Bruce didn’t think the time called for his “Brucie” persona and he couldn’t be Batman at the moment. He could approach the boy in a “fatherly” manner but that approach rarely worked on his own kids, he didn’t think it would work on this one.

“Have you called anyone?”

Danny looked out from under his arm and stared at Bruce suspiciously. In hindsight it was a creepy question.

Bruce brought his hands up and breathed a laugh, “I’m sorry, I meant have you been given your one phone call?” Danny didn’t move. “Why? You a lawyer?” He eyed Bruce in his nice suit and watch.

Bruce smiled at the boy, “goodness no, I don’t have the attention span for law school. I actually did pre-med before dropping out.”

Danny seemed too curl a little more into himself. It was the most cautious Bruce had ever seen him. He was locked in a Gotham police cell with a man in an expensive suit who seemed completely unconcerned about being arrested, it was wise on Danny’s part to be wary.

Bruce stuck out his hand, “Bruce Wayne.” Slowly, Danny sat up and crossed his arm scoffing, “why would Bruce Wayne be in a holding cell?” Bruce continued to smile at the kid and shrugged, his hand still in the air, “speeding ticket I’m afraid, missed my court date. I do have to say, though, the updated traffic cameras are a good investment by the police department.” “Wayne Enterprises payed for them.” “We did?” Bruce asked, knowing full well it was to give Oracle better camera footage. “You were at the press release.” “Huh.” Bruce looked thoughtful for a minute, “mm no, not ringing any bells. I go to so many of those press conferences, they just bleed together after a while.” “Mhm.” Danny still didn’t take the offered hand. Bruce sighed and let it drop back to his lap, “I’d offer to show you my ID but I don’t exactly have it on me.”

They sat and watched each other for a minute. Danny shifted and seemed to make a decision, “I work at a coffee shop and one of your sons is a regular.” Bruce slapped his thigh as if a light bulb suddenly went off, “You’re Danny! Tim’s mentioned you! You know he’s the only one with a weakness for caffeine, the others like to tease him but I don’t think he has an addiction. However, he does seem to spend a lot of time at that shop.” Bruce leaned forward as if confiding a secret, “to be honest, I think he has a bit of a crush on you.”

Dropping his own arms, Danny sighed. “Yeah, he’s not really that subtle.”

“No, I’m afraid he’s never been good at that. At least not when he’s interested in someone.” Tim was great at subtlety when it came to the mission but never in his personal life. The funny part was he didn’t even draw that distinction on purpose.

“I called a family friend. To answer your question. He should be here soon.” Bruce nodded, “so you do have people you can rely on in town?” “I could have a whole family I can rely on in this city.” Danny said, catching the older man's slip. He shifts further in his seat and stared hard at Bruce.

Bruce knew Danny had no one in town. He did the background check, Danny's whole family lived in Ohio with the exception of his older sister who was in one of the top psychology programs in the country. They seemed to visit each other often but rarely their parents.

The older man dawned an apologetic expression. “I’m sorry, I assumed when you said ‘a family friend’.” Bruce leaned back against the wall behind him, “are you from Gotham?”

“No,” Danny shifted further back in his seat and didn’t take his eyes off Bruce.

It was different from how the boy interacted with Batman. To the billionaires alter ego Danny was defiant and outspoken. He always seemed to say what was on his mind, completely uncaring of the audience he had.

——-

“Mr. Fenton, your god-father is here for you.”

Danny never thought he’d feel this relieved to know Vlad was picking him up. While Mr. Wayne had been nothing but polite, something about the man felt off. Danny also didn’t appreciate the questions. What was it to this man if Danny had family near by or not?

One of the cops opens the door with Vlad in his nice suit and overly polished shoes right behind him.

“Daniel, let’s not make this a habit.”

“I was just feeding the homeless dogs!”

“Strays.” Vlad corrected, “while trespassing?”

Danny rolled his eyes and continued pass his “uncle”.

“How am I supposed to know an abandoned building is considered ‘private property’?”

Vlad just sighed.

——

Bonus:

Stephanie would continue to stick to her story, thank you very much. She had every right to punch the creep and she wasn’t backing down. Not even if “the creep” was apparently the son of a very influential prosecutor. A corrupt one, but he was influential nonetheless. Such is the justice system in Gotham.

Even if it landed her in a police station, handcuffed to a desk while said creep cried about the bloody nose she gave him.

Letting out a frustrated sigh, she crossed her legs and continued to glare at the door way that led to the holding cells. It was her night off and she still had to deal with this godforsaken city’s degenerate citizens. God forbid she have a day off.

It was while glaring at said door that Steph noticed a familiar boy walking out with a gentleman she wasn’t familiar with. He was a little behind Danny but reached out and grabbed his shoulder, stopping him just before leaving the hallway. Steph slid her gaze away but kept her ears open, grateful she was close enough to hear.

“You need to be more careful, Daniel.”

Danny didn’t respond and Steph looked over to see him pull his shoulder away and start walking again.

“You didn’t have to come all this way to bail me out. I could have called Jazz or Sam.”

“Nonsense, it’s good to get out of Wisconsin.”

Steph wrinkled her nose, Wisconsin? The pair continued out of ear shot and shortly out of the station.

When Bruce was released a few minutes later, Stephanie smiled and took great joy in his obvious (to any member of his family) despair and exasperation at seeing her.

Part 8

[loveindefinitely]

01 — 𝘎𝘖 𝘈𝘏𝘌𝘈𝘋 𝘈𝘕𝘋 𝘊𝘙𝘠, 𝘓𝘐𝘛𝘛𝘓𝘌 𝘎𝘐𝘙𝘓

༊*·˚ LUST FOR LIFE — task force 141 x reader

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price

warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, fmmmm, legal age-gaps, inexperienced reader, virgin reader, corruption kink, slight power imbalance, praise, degradation, light dom/sub, slight daddy kink, oral, vaginal sex, your father's a dick, very minor soapghost, aftercare

series masterlist. read on ao3. fanfic playlist.

// NSFW CONTENT UNDER THE CUT //

Stay in your room, your father had said. Don't bother us tonight, your father had said. They are dangerous men that do dangerous things, your father had said.

Yet, here you were, standing at the bottom step of the stairwell, hiding behind the wall adjoined to the living room, listening in to the men on the other side.

You were bored out of your brains. It was a Friday night, and like hell was your over-protective father going to let you go out or party. And the fact that he wouldn't even introduce you to his only friends? Or let you leave your fucking room?

It had left you pissed off to no end, so.

Here you were.

"Bloody close," you hear a voice grunt, deep and gravelly. It sends heat to your stomach immediately, and it's almost embarrassing.

You hear the sound of a hand slapping a shoulder, and the bark of a laugh. "Aye, still got the cash you're gonna owe me?" This voice has a -- Irish? Scottish, maybe? -- lilt to it, humour and kindness embedded into its layers.

"He'll find a way outta paying," a third voice chimes, laughter in its tone.

Someone else clears their throat. "You're all gonna get yourselves indebted to each other at this rate," a fourth voice says, sounding almost resigned.

"You all need to shut the fuck up before she sticks her nose down 'ere."

Your spine straightens, and fury simmers in your blood. Did he have to be such an asshole? Why was your father so... so anti your existence? Why was he so ashamed of you, yet so overbeating?

"She's not a kid anymore, you really oughtta to lay off," the man with the scottish accent says, slightly stern in his delivery.

"If you met her, you'd understand how fuckin' annoying she is. Always wants me to deal with her emotions, as if they're my fuckin' problem," your father replies venomously. Your stomach has dropped to your feet, you're sure of it.

There's a low whistle in response, and a silence settles behind the wall. An unsettling one, full of animosity. The fact that you can tell that from behind the wall says a lot.

"I'm gonna go out and get some drinks. Maybe some dinner. Needa get out of this fuckin' house for a bit," your father says with a grunt, sounding like he's gotten up from the couch. "Call if you lot need anythin' while I'm out."

A few grunts of agreement, and after a few seconds, the front door opens and slams shut.

You let out a small breath of tense relief, eyes fluttering shut as you deeply exhale. The immediate relief of having your father out of the house is immense.

"I feel bad for her," you hear the third man speak, voice quiet and low. "You hear how he speaks about her -- what's he like with her?"

"Gaz, whatever you're thinkin', drop it," the first speaker grits out, impatient and tight.

"He's right," the scottish one says with a huff, "Poor kid. She's legal and he isn't letting her out on a Friday night? 'Nd he fuckin' wonders why she's upset."

"He must have his... reasons," the fatherly voice of the fourth speaker says, although his tone says otherwise.

You swallow, slowly creeping off of the bottom step and onto the wooden floors. Front pressed to the wall, you move just the slightest bit, to allow yourself a small peak into the loungeroom.

There are four men, like you'd expected, and they're...

They're big. There's no other word that comes to mind, except for big. Tall, broad, packed with muscle. Military-grade men.

Your mouth is suddenly parched of any moisture, and your brain turns to putty.

Selfishly, stupidly, you spend another dangerous moment to admire the four. The couch curves, the four of them seated on it, facing the TV hung on the wall. They're backs are to you.

Or.

One second, they're all blissfully turned the other way, and in the next, one's head turns, and deep brown eyes meet yours.

Your eyes go wide, and you immediately dart for the stairs, heart in your throat.

Rushing up, trying to stay quiet but still hurrying, you make it to your room in record time. You shut the door behind you, chest tight and breaths harried as your back presses to the wood.

Stupid, stupid girl, you think.

They are dangerous men who do dangerous things.

That's what your father had said, wasn't it? So what were you thinking, risking a look? For what purpose?

Then, there's a knock on your door.

Your eyes go impossibly wide, and your lips purse together as you slowly move away from the door. With one breath, you train your face into a pleasant, kind smile as you slowly open the door, only allowing a bit of your room to be shown.

"You're his daughter, ain't ya?"

You have to crane your neck, eyes going up, and up, and up, until you meet the man's eyes.

The skull balaclava shouldn't cause your face to heat, or your breaths to quicken, but they do.

"I -- um, yes, I'm really sorry for eavesdropping," you mumble, eyes flitting to the floor and hand squeezing the door in an anxious gesture.

A hand grabs your chin, forcing your gaze to meet the man's chocolate eyes once more. They're imploring, impossibly so, and your thighs squeeze together against your better judgement.

"Come watch the game with us," he says, and although the sentence isn't a demand, it feels like one.

So, like the good girl you are, you nod, his grip loosening as you do.

You forget that you're in your tiniest sleep shorts and your thinnest tank top as you follow him down the stairs, his large hand resting on your lower back.

This was the most touch you'd ever felt from a man that wasn't in a familial way, and your nerve-endings feel like they've been electrocuted.

Whatever conversation that was happening silences as soon as the two of you walk into the lounge room, your hands squeezing each other painfully tight.

Your anxiety was warranted in this situation, wasn't it? Surely, it was okay to be scared of four men whom you'd never met.

Four sets of eyes are trained to your body, and there's a slight tremble in your hands as you sit in the spot balaclava had gestured towards.

It seats you in the middle of the four of them, and your heart beats impossibly faster as you settle into the leather, feeling so small in comparison to the men surrounding you.

It's a new, albeit not entirely terrible, feeling.

"What's your name, sweetheart?" The man furthest to your left asks, and when you meet his eyes, they're warm and kind. His lower face is mostly covered in a beard, and he's wearing a light brown hat.

You bite at your inner cheek, gaze flicking back to your thighs as you weakly say your name.

Their gazes burn your skin, like a living force, and your hands form nervous fists in your lap. The warm yellow light of the living room lamp creates a warm, safe ambience that doesn't exactly fit the emotions swirling inside of you.

You flinch only slightly when a warm hand moves to rest on your knee, the thumb rubbing comforting circles on it that ease your tight muscles slightly.

When you look to the owner of the hand, it's to see a warm grin and a faux mohawk.

"You're so tense, lass," he says, his mouth quirking into a knowing smirk. "We don't bite."

"Don't speak for all of us, Soap," the man sitting on your close left says with a charming grin, his eyes meeting yours when you turn to him. "I'll ask nicely, love, don't worry."

You nod, slowly, in some sort of trance. This entire situation doesn't feel entirely real, more like a figment of your deepest desires.

Ones you've never let yourself think about, except for the darkest of nights and the dirtiest of feelings.

"Don't scare the girl," the man with the balaclava says, eyes narrowing on the two men beside you.

"Says the one with the fuckin' mask, ya weirdo," the scottish one says with a scoff of a chuckle. Your mouth pulls into a soft grin without you realising, and the hand on your knee tightens ever so slightly.

"I'm Price," the man who you've deemed the most sensible of the group says with a warm smile. His head gestures to each of the other three men respectively. "That's Gaz, Soap, and Ghost."

You can't say that you're all too familiar with the names, nor how...different they are, but you nod nonetheless, reserving the names in your memory.

"Father dearest never talked about us?" Gaz asks, eyebrows softly furrowing in question.

You shake your head, almost apologetic in the movement. "He doesn't like to tell me much, he's, ah... private."

There's a few returning grunts of understanding, and they settle your nerves just a little bit more. For men of their size, they were surprisingly good at keeping you feeling safe and comfortable.

"What're you doin' all alone on a Friday night? Pretty young thing like you, 'nd you're not at a club? A date?" Soap asks, and if you notice that he's moved just the slightest bit closer to you, you don't say a word.

You feel your face heat, and you murmur out your reply. "Never been to either," you admit, pulling at a thread in your sleep shorts with nervous jerks.

Ghost settles further into his chair, legs spread in an almost dominant way. "Surely you've at least had your first kiss?"

If you could get anymore embarrassed, you're sure you'll combust on the spot.

You softly shake your head.

"Aw, love, you're adorable," Gaz says, a hint of a smirk on his features. His dark eyes glimmer in the light, and you lick your bottom lip to wet it.

Price's arms rest on his knees, and his eyes seem trained on you, debating some sort of inner conflict, before they firm with some kind of resolution. "Y'know, we've been training rookies lately," he states, but with a knowing undertone that everyone in the room seems to pick up on except for you.

"That we have," Ghost says, his voice sending shivers down your spine as he nods in agreement with Price.

"How about we train you, bonnie?" Soap asks, his hand moving just the slightest bit higher on your thigh.

You swallow, mouth dry.

"Um. Like, train me... how?" You ask, although there's some part of your brain that knows all too well what area they're thinking of.

Gaz's hand moves to sit at the nape of your neck, stroking in soothing movements that leave your eyes half-closed and glassy. "How about I show you how to kiss, love?"

Your stomach hollows, and your chest rises and falls in heavy beats. Nervously looking around the room, you squeeze your eyes shut as you nod shortly.

Soap's hand tightens around your thigh, a barely hidden warning. "Words, baby, or you're goin' back to your room."

The threat instantly has words flying out of your mouth. "Yes. Please. Just... be gentle?"

All four men seem to huff a laugh at that, but Gaz nods, dimples showing as his smirk deepens. "I can do that."

He pulls you in, and your eyes flutter shut as his lips meet yours.

The feeling leaves you entirely dazed, your nervous system alighting with signals as your thoughts seem to pause, if only for a second. It's nothing like you'd expected, and butterflies erupt in your lower stomach.

He pulls away, not having breached your mouth, and you must look as out of it as you feel because he laughs.

"That good, love?" He asks, teasing and entirely prideful.

You nod, a bit too fast and enthusiastic, before his hand pulls away from your nape. The loss is mourned, briefly, before your attention pulls away from Gaz and instead to Soap.

"Gotta learn from all of us," is all he says, before his lips crush against your own. Where Gaz was tentative and soft, Soap is all energy and desperation.

His hand squeezes your thigh, and when it had moved from your knee to pushing against your tiny shorts, you haven't an idea.

You can't find it in yourself to care, with his relentless attack on your mouth, your lips, your mind.

When he pulls away, you realise it's because Ghost's moved to stand, and his hand is in a tight fist in Soap's hair, pulling his face away from yours.

"Actin' like a fuckin' mutt," Ghost mutters, tone laced with vitriol. It's degrading, and yet Soap doesn't seem phased in the slightest.

You're about to inquire about that when your attention's caught by Price, his knees spread and patting his thigh. "C'mere, sweetheart," he says, and like a dog on a leash, you do.

His unbelievably large hands grab your hips as he seats you in his lap, and with how he's got his legs spread, it forces you to sit over his groin.

It's a compromising position, and the heat that rushes to your core is an entirely unknown feeling.

He doesn't move his hands from your body as his eyes devour it, before they meet your gaze with a warmth to them that has you shivering.

"Show me what the boys have taught you, hm?" He says, and with shut eyes and a stiff movement, you press your lips to his.

He groans, pleased, his thumbs rubbing circles where your skin's been revealed by your tank top. No one's ever touched you there, not in this way, and it has your pussy wet.

When he pulls away, he licks at his lips, as if he's devouring your taste.

"You're so pretty, sweetheart, mm? No wonder your father's got you all locked up," he says, and the reminder of the source of your anger has you wanting to do entirely too reckless things.

Like kissing the four men he warned you about.

Like doing more, maybe.

...Maybe.

His hands force your hips down, and you let out a small whimper when your clit presses against his belt buckle, the action sending pleasure shooting up your spine.

He raises a brow, catching the change in expression and your small sound. "What's wrong, pretty?"

And then, he pulls you down again, deeper this time, and the movement has your breath hitching, core burning with need.

"Oh, you naughty little girl," he says, and the words have your mind turning into some sort of mouldable clay, entirely able to be controlled by whatever these men wanted to make of it. "So needy, ain't ya?"

Someone presses against you from behind, and a belt buckle presses against your lower back.

"My turn to feel those lips, innit?" Ghost says from behind, leaning down to whisper his next words next to your ear. "See what all the fuss 's about."

The idea that you're being passed around, like you're some kind of... of whore has you entirely speechless in the most positive of ways.

You feel filthy, and you love it.

Leaning your head back, you manage to make eye contact with the large man, before his lips press to yours, upside down.

He devours, all encompassing, his tongue slipping into yours without any hesitance. You're clumsy, unsure, but he makes up for it with experience and dominance. The entire act has you woozy, needy for more of them, more of their touch.

You don't expect for Price to start forcibly rotating your hips, forcing you to grind against his lap, but it forces a moan from your mouth, the sound getting devoured by Ghost's overpowering tongue.

"Who knew she'd be such a desperate slut?" Gaz asks, as if you're not there, as if you're just something to be observed. It causes another moan to leave your mouth, and Ghost detaches himself from you with a grunt of his own.

"Think she liked that," Soap says, amused and proud, in a strange sort of way. "Wanna be used, baby? Taken by men nearly twice your age?"

"Yes," you say, on a groan as Price's motions speed up, the pleasure so new and different and good.

Then, he stops, and a whine comes out of you before you can stop it.

Price makes a condescending noise in response. "Poor babygirl needs all the attention, hey? Needs her little pussy played with?"

"She looks like a goddamn mess, cap," Gaz says, his hand coming up to rest on your head. He gives comforting pats, not unlike one would with an obedient puppy.

Ghost's hands come around your waist, and before you even process what he's doing, he rips your sleep shorts in half, leaving you completely bare.

"Didn't think to wear panties, dumb girl?" Ghost asks with an appreciative groan, his large hand cupping your now exposed pussy.

With a whimper, you shake your head, your eyes squeezed shut at the embarrassment and nudity. No one had ever seen it before, and now, four of your father's friends were getting an eyeful.

"Lemme see if she's nice 'n wet for us," Soap murmurs, picking you up from Price's lap in a princess carry.

It doesn't even last two seconds before he's splaying you over the now empty couch, your hands pathetically covering your most private of areas.

"None of that, sweetheart," Price says with a 'tsk', grabbing both of your wrists in one hand and pinning them to the couch above your head, leaving you effectively defenceless to the men.

Soap's hand moves down your stomach, before he pauses for just a moment. "This okay, baby?"

You nod, because yes, this is most definitely okay.

Gaz gives you a stern look, so you quickly fix your mistake. "I -- yes, sir, it's okay."

There's a surrounding sound of approval, and Soap smirks from where he stands beside your hips. "Sir, aye? Like the sound of that."

With that, his finger slides down your pussy, and your eyes shut with a soft moan. His hands are rough, scarred, calloused from years of work on the field, and they're so much larger than your own.

"Think she likes it, sir," Ghost says, taunting Soap, whose eyes are completely transfixed on your glistening pussy.

"Not the only one," Price says with an approving murmur, his hand tightening around your wrists. The sense of powerlessness has you aching with desire.

Soap's finger continues to rub against your slit, not breaching your entrance, instead continuing to tease and amplify his touch. Your eyes are shut, too embarrassed to look at the mess you're likely causing on the fabric, and too nervous to see the expression on the men's faces.

"Do you play with your lil cunt often, princess?" Ghost says, voice darkened with lust.

Your face feels like it's burning, but you nod. "Sometimes. I -- ah," you break off with a moan as Soap's thumb presses against your swollen clit.

"Be a good girl and answer when spoken to, love," Gaz says with a sound of disappointment that has you aching to amend your mistake.

"I'm sorry, sir, I, yes. Sometimes 'm just needing to, um, y'know..." You trail off, trying to preserve any amounts of dignity you had left. You were aware that masturbation was normal, but you'd never discussed it with a single soul, and talking about it felt like laying your soul bare.

Price's other hand moves to gently brush your hair from your face, the gesture so at odds with Soap's sensual movements.

You're about to say something, what, you aren't exactly sure, when Soap's finger roughly enters your soaked pussy. A loud whimper escapes your lips at the sudden intrusion, and the sheer size difference of his finger compared to your own.

"Aww, baby, it's alright," Soap coos, and it's so fucking condescending. It's cruel, almost, as if you're so dumb that you can't even form your own thoughts.

Which is, honestly, more true than you're willing to admit.

"'Atta girl," Ghost groans when your whimpers only increase with every thrust of Soap's finger.

Gaz's hand moves down to replace Soap's thumb on your clit, using the pads of his fingers to roughly circle around it. That sensation, mixed with Soap's intrusion, has your back arching slightly from the couch.

"Think she's close, Cap," Gaz says, conversationally, again treating you like you're not entirely capable of voicing your own feelings or thoughts.

"Mm, that right, sweetheart? Close already?" Price echoes, the hand not around your wrists going to squish your cheeks together, causing your lips to pucker. "What a pathetic girl, hm?"

Those words, those demeaning, humiliating words, only stoke the fire in your stomach, and your eyes burn with unshed tears as you shakily nod.

As soon as you do, however, Gaz pulls away, and Soap's finger leaves your pussy entirely. You groan, eyes opening slightly to see what could've possibly caused them to stop.

"You look so upset, baby," Soap laughs, and his smile is no longer the jovial one it had been mere minutes before -- no, it's been replaced with something much more predatory, something much more dangerous.

Dangerous men.

Ghost moves, then, moving your legs with much more care than you'd expected from the large man, before moving to kneel at the end of the couch where your legs had been. Hooking your knees over his shoulder, he effectively folds you in half.

"W-what are you doing?" You ask, almost frantic, utterly confused at your current state.

He leans down, hooking his balaclava over the tip of his nose, before there's searing wet heat at your core, causing you to throw your head back with a loud moan.

Gaz chuckles, "So dirty, love. Like having the big bad Ghost with his head between your legs, huh? Like having the attention of men with blood on their hands?"

Oh, and the confirmation -- the proper, hard proof, that they killed, that they truly were as dangerous as your father had said --

"Yes, fuck, please, oh my god," you ramble, almost incoherent with your words as you body trembles with the feeling of a mouth at your pussy. "Jesus, don't stop."

You can hear laughter around you, some words being passed between the men, but your focus is entirely on the tongue dipping into your folds, licking at your essence like a man starved. Like you're his only salvation.

Soap's hand is in Ghost's hair, a complete parallel to the kiss the two of you had shared, and he's pushing Ghost further against you, manhandling him like a toy for you to grind against, for you to take advantage of.

"I'm gonna, oh, please, I'm close," you cry out, eyes squeezed shut yet again as Ghost's ministrations only double in enthusiasm.

"Yeah, sweetheart? Gonna cum all over his face? Go on, ride it, there we go," Price eggs you on, his hand patting down your hair, massaging at your scalp as you lose yourself to the pleasure of it all.

You cum with a desperate keen, tears finally spilling down your cheeks as you ride out the high, embracing this moment for the beauty it is.

It doesn't hit you, not at first, the full extent of your actions.

Ghost pulls away after your whimpers turn into ones of overstimulation, pressing a soft kiss to your inner thigh, your twitching pussy, and then your inner knee as he carefully sets your legs back down on the couch.

"Such a good girl, aye?" Soap asks, rubbing at your tense calves with expert strokes and pressure. "Did so well for us, darlin'."

Your head feels like it's been filled with cotton, and your mouth is in a similar state as you nod dazedly.

You're not sure when, but at some point, Price gently moves you to lay your back against the cushion of the couch. "Need you to drink something for us, sweetheart, okay?"

Gods, this part? Them treating you like a princess, like you're something worthy of taking care of, it's almost as good as the orgasm they'd given you.

Gaz comes into view with a glass of water, and when he gently moves your chin to open your mouth, you let him pour it down your throat.

It feels almost like you're entirely too weak to do anything by yourself, like your ability to function has been completely removed by these men. It's intoxicating, the kind of feeling that could be as addictive as the most threatening of drugs.

The water slides down your throat, and it's as if it cools you from the inside out, your heartbeat slowly coming down from the quickened pace it was previously at.

Price picks you up, cradling your head to his chest as he sits down, the other three settling down on the couch as well. Gaz, sitting beside Price, moves your legs to sit over his lap, your feet in Soap's. Ghost sits to Soap's left, his eyes focused on you as you get comfortable, burrowing your head closer to Price.

If you could stay in this moment forever, you think that you'll be a very happy woman.

Closing your eyes, you drift into a space between sleep and awareness, and when they flutter open again, you realise that your previously exposed pussy and legs are now hidden by your sweatpants that had been laid on your bed, ready to be put away.

Price's hand is in your hair, softly playing with the strands. His hand encompasses your entire scalp, almost, and if you weren't completely exhausted, that fact alone would have you ready to get on your knees.

"What're we gonna do?" Gaz whispers, and you realise with a start that they must all think you're still dozing. "I mean, we seriously fucked this up."

"Not yet we haven't," Ghost interrupts, voice still gravelly and low, but with a hint of warmth. "This doesn't change anything."

"This changes everything!" Soap hisses back, incredulous, his hands stilling from where they were rubbing into your feet with practiced movements. Were they all trained masseuses, or something?

No. Trained killers, your mind unhelpfully supplies, and a chill runs down your spine.

Oh god. Oh god. What had you done? Seriously, what the actual fuck had you done? You just.

You just lost your virginity to four of your father's very lethal, very dangerous friends. Friends who are nearly twice your age, at that.

Oh. God.

"Laswell will be expecting correspondence by three," Price mutters in a voice akin to a whisper. "You boys know what we have to do."

What? What were they talking about? Who was Laswell? What did they have to do by three?

Your mind whirrs, like a hamster in a wheel, before the sound of keys jingling on the other side of your front door has your entire body freezing.

Oh god.

Oh. God.

"Shit," Gaz grumbles, and between one thought and the next, you've been bundled up into a warm chest, the movement fluid and shockingly quick. A hand at the base of skull softly pushes your head against a warm neck, and your legs hang over a muscled arm. "I'll take her upstairs. Be quiet and quick."

There's murmurs too quiet between the other three as you're taken up the stairs, two steps at a time, by the man whose fingers had been on your pussy, at most, only an hour ago.

You're aware that you've been taken to your room when the door clicks behind you, the familiar path to it engrained in your memory, even with your eyes closed and in someone else's arms.

The smell of vanilla and caramel is a comforting and familiar one, and you realise that you'd left your candle burning all night.

It's really the least of your worries, but that thought manages to snag at your conscious like an annoying fly.

"I'm so sorry, kid," Gaz whispers, gently laying you down underneath your bedsheets, before pulling them up and over your lazed form. "I'll try my best to talk some sense into 'em."

You're not sure what he could possible mean -- what the fuck was even happening, what your life was even becoming, but his words are nothing if not sincere.

His tone is almost... apologetic, in a way, and you reserve that thought for later. When you're not pretending to be awake, when you're still not slightly out of it from your first orgasm caused by someone else, when you're not in the middle of the worst moral conflict of your life.

Your window's slightly open, allowing a soft breeze to brush over your still slightly heated skin as Gaz presses a soft kiss to your forehead, brushing your hair back.

"Get off me!"

Your father. That's your father's voice, and it sounds panicked, angry -- not unusual, but still, the cause of it was nearly always you.

And those specific words, what --

"Y'know, Laswell found out somethin' pretty interestin' the other day," a voice that you recognise as Ghost's says, tone mocking interest.

Gaz moves away from you, before going to the window and looking out at whatever scene is happening down there. Somehow, he hasn't realised you're not asleep -- you'd kept your breathing pattern the same as it usually was when you're asleep, some youtube video you'd watched months ago finally coming in handy.

You can hear them all clear as day through the small opening of the window, and Gaz can too.

"Aye. Somethin' 'bout some info bein' leaked," Soap continues Ghost's train of thought, and you're so lost it's almost pathetic.

But, you continue to listen, desperate for any source of understanding for whatever the fuck was happening down there.

"You can't possibly think it was me!" Your father yells, his voice full of venom and rage. To have it not be directed at you is a rare moment, and you allow yourself a small breath of reprieve.

"We know it was you," Price says, before sighing loud enough for it to be heard from your room. "The way you spoke about that kid of yours was enough to cement the idea."

"She's a fuckin' waste of space, and where do you get off on caring how I treat my kid? Has nothin' to do with the job!"

Those words hurt. Like an actual, physical wound, almost.

Gaz swears under his breath, and you can feel the tension ooze out of him like a wave. It's... oddly comforting.

There's the sound of a fist hitting a jaw, and it takes everything in you not to race to the window and look at what's going on yourself.

"Jesus fucking christ!" Your father hisses, and you put two and two together. One of the three men down there had punched him -- if you had to take a guess, it was Ghost.

"You've never been one of us, and you'll never be one of us. You sellin' us out was the last straw, mate," Soap snarls. You can hear him spit on the ground, before another sound of fists flying makes your heart race.

There's a moment of silence, until two things happen in the span of five seconds.

First, your father screams, "Please! Don't --"

And then...

A bullet.

The sound of a trigger being pulled.

The sound of a bullet ringing through the air.

The sound of a final breath.

Your eyes fly wide, and you immediately stumble out of bed.

Gaz's gaze meets yours, and there's nothing but apology in them. No guilt, just apology.

He doesn't stop you from looking out the window, where your father's body lays in the grass, blood leaking from the wound now sitting between his eyes.

And when you turn to him, he doesn't stop you as you land a punch to his jaw.

a/n. CROSS-POSTED TO AO3 ummm so did i PLAN for this to become an actual fic? no. not in the slightest. but i was writing the fingering bit and was like. what if her dad died? and there's an actual plot? so uhhh here we are! anyways hope yall enjoyedddd if u guys know me u know polyamory is my SHIT so there will very likely be more poly!tf141 x reader to come. ty for reading mwah mwah mwah

[lxvvie]

Call of Duty, Father's Day edition:

Just fatherly things, or how you honor the men in your life on this special day.

Capt. John Price - Price never asks for much, just your safety and happiness, but the kids wanted to give him presents for Father's Day, so you do. A new hat that looks like all the others but more expensive, a new mug for his tea, and kisses galore on his chonky cheeks. What more could the Cap'n ask for?

Gaz - Kyle just wants to hold his family in his arms, so he does. He didn't think he'd make it back in time to be here with you guys but he did and he's so damn happy. Now he and the little ones can get caught up on the latest gossip.

Alex Keller - It's not too often that he gets to do this. You all enjoyed his favorite breakfast with him: a bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch. It's worth the sugar rush you know Keller and the kids will experience afterward.

Soap - Soap's been meaning to help his girls with their cheer practice so you honor him by... letting him be the bottom of the pyramid. With his cheer uniform on. And Whiskey keeps licking his face. You took a photo and he'll never live it down. The wee ones laugh every time.

Ghost - The Missus™ achieves his dream of sleeping in today with his girls right beside him. There's Simon, his big arm wrapped around his kids who're cuddled up against him, and Pup by his feet sleeping peacefully. He'll wake up to a wonderful gift courtesy of his girls: a pink shirt that says Princess Daddy in glittery letters across the chest, and it's adorned with a tiara, too? Missus Princess Daddy™ is life, Simon. You cannot escape it lmao.

Alejandro - Alejandro wakes up to his kids tackle-hugging him in bed. There's breakfast and a card with heartfelt messages on it. They're very proud of their papa for everything he does and continues to do for them. Oh, and he's about to be a papa again. Best Father's Day gift ever, amirite? Congrats, Alejo!

Rudy - Oh, you let the mother hen rest today. Rudy loves to pamper and cater to his family but now it's his turn to be pampered and catered to. The house? Clean. Dinner? Cooking. Kids? Loving on Rudy. All is as it should be.

König - The kiddo's Father's Day gift has been pranking König something fierce all day and all you can do is shake your head in faux exasperation and revel in the gremlin laughter (from both of them) echoing throughout the house. You'll have his favorite meal for dinner.

Horangi - Today, Horangi is being honored by his kid beating him in card games. Repeatedly. And Horangi trying to figure out how and why this is happening lmao.

Graves - Graves is also pretty content with his lot in life. You and Boss Baby Graves give him a gift card to a spa he's been wanting to try. And then you get his ass by having some of the men from Shadow Company call and wish him a Happy Father's Day and call him Dad. Real cute, darlin'.

[startheskelaton]

Back at it with another idea for development.

We all remember this right?

So I have an idea.

Right after killing Tarn, the rest of the DJD is just staring at Sparkplug. Kaon walks over, grabs the spark out of Tarn’s dead body, looks and Sparkplug and just says “Eat it”.

Spark has a choice to make: eat the spark and become just like the monsters around her, but insure the safety of Rumble, Frenzy and Soundblaster. Or! Reject it, be seen as weak to the DJD and be killed along with her friend and brothers. She makes the selfless decision and eats the spark.

Cut to Tarn’s spirit in a black void, confused on where he is but happy knowing he fulfilled his purpose. But he’s not alone… Optimus Prime is here… we’re basically in Sparkplug’s subconscious.

He grabs Tarn and before the Bot can even react… he looking down at a newborn Sparkplug, crying in her crib, but being calmed by Tarn’s hand… and then it clicks. Optimus is forcing Tarn to experience all his memories of watching Sparkplug grow up.

Optimus explains that he tried his best to be there for his daughter… but he could only do so much as a ghost, his spark was dying so he couldn’t speak to her, and would slowly fade away as she got older. But Tarn’s Spark was fresh. He’ll be able to see and talk to Spark in small ways like this. This could have truly forced Sparkplug to become Tarns perfect murder, but Prime wasn’t going to let that happen.

Tarn sees Sparkplug as a baby struggling to get stronger, as a toddler learning about the world around her, training to make it onto a mission team, getting her heart broken for the first time, sneaking out to play at concerts, being lied to, and even meeting the DJD for the first time… he sees all of it…

And with the last of his strength….Optimus forces Tarn to take on his empathy and feel fatherly love for Sparkplug. Emotions he hasn’t felt in millennia are hitting him like a meteor and he can’t do anything to stop it. And then Prime’s gone…he’s finally one with the all spark . And Tarn is back in his ship…and he’s looking down at the new Megatron he created… and she’s curled up in a ball on the floor sobbing…. He puts a hand on her shoulder softly.. and just like when she was a baby.,, she calms down just a little….

Tarn realizes his new hell… to feel the crushing weight of empathy and guilt.., as he is forced to care for his new daughter.

Hope people read this, I wanna make this a little comic.

[willowed-wisp]

ghost as a dad ( part three ) [ simon riley ]

part one | part two |

- You were surprised when Simon said he wanted to try for another baby when he was hesitant to be a dad before your eldest was born. That was eight year ago…

- he just wants one more, he adores how cute your babies are. And how attracted he gets seeing you pregnant.

- It wasn’t much of a surprise to you when you didn’t feel too great. Exhausted, a bit nauseous but not vomiting and so turned on. Not that Simon was complaining… but he was away, and would be longer than his usual one or two months.

- It would be your little surprise to him- ultrasounds in hand for when he came home.

- Turns out you were about eight weeks gone at the first ultrasound and when the technician started taking a closer look, you started to get unnerved. “Is everything okay with the baby?”

- “The babies are growing nicely…”

- “Did you just say… babies?” Then she faced the screen to you. Two shadows in your belly… “Twins?”

- Too early to tell the genders, but they would be when your Lieutenant returned back.

- You didn’t want to tell anybody before Simon, so you wore baggy clothes- hoping nobody would notice the unusually large belly as you entered your second trimester.

- No birth defects were spotted on your 12 week scan. And you were told a loose guess on what the gender was. But they couldn’t be sure until your 19th week.

- Simon returns back home to his favourite meal. “Where are the kids?” He seemed concerned. You were sat down, no kids in sight and a brown envelope in front of you.

- “They’re over at Tommy and Beth’s, they thought we could do with a night alone,” His face relaxed, though disappointed. He needed his tattoo coloured in again. “I got you something…”

- You took advantage of him opening the envelope to rear your way around the table. In the envelope, was a picture of the ultrasound and the test.

- Let’s just say, he spent a good 20 minutes on his knees hugging your stomach.

- He didn’t care what gender they were just that they were healthy.

- He made sure he was there for the birth. “Mr and Mrs Riley, a boy and a girl…”

- Like what’s been said before… he’s so girl dad coded.

- He had the boys from 141 help decorate the nursery.

- Johnny suggested pink and blue camo wallpaper and Simon nearly hung him from the baby mobile.

- Simon didn’t wish for any of his kids to join the military.

- The amount of medication he takes to get by in the day, he can’t sleep unless he’s at home…

- Simon is perfect for twin duty- holding both on his wings. In his grey fitted T-shirt, a bottle in each hand. Feeding the twins, in that light his eyes were russet undercoated with mauve circles. From the bed, you could feel that heat. The smouldering hearth of fatherly love.

- Simon was born to be a father, he just hadn’t known it.

- Can’t tell them apart and constantly mixes them around when they are younger. Practically identical- peering up to him with his own eyes.

- Simon marvels when the pair just stare at each other. “Are they sizing each other up, or what?” Makes you burst out laughing

- “When I stare at you I’m not planning how to murder you?”

- “Sure about that, love?”

- Simon taught your son to protect his sisters, “you’ve gotta watch our for everyone when I’m here and when I’m not,” and your son definitely listened, because whenever Simon was away- your son would make sure you ate, had put everyone else to bed and would comfort his younger siblings and even your eldest daughter when she started getting bullied and you just knew Simon put him up to it.

- Simon took care of the rest when he was back.

- When your eldest was being bullied and you had to have a parental meeting… Christ on Earth, your husband nearly had the bully’s dad in tears, “Your son ever picks on my li’l girl again… put ‘im in check or I will…”

- You’d never been so attracted to him before. And he gave your daughter a fist bump leaving school grounds, “Get ‘im by the ear next time and drag the bastard to a teacher…”

- Not surprised that the school phoned you the next day.

- You gave Simon an earful, but he wound you down with sweet neck kisses from neck to chest… and ended up riding him on the backseat on the Land Rover waiting for your daughter to finish school.

- That’s how he gets out of most disputes- you’re lucky you aren’t knocked up straight after births

- Your son’s caring and strong attitude stretched into his teenhood- until your son himself started dwelling on joining the SAS. The twins didn’t understand what the SAS were- being 8 at the time your son asked and enquired with his father.

- Simon has never wished for one of your kids to join his career because good men die. He knew that more than anyone.

- But he would train your son to be the best survivor and best trainee he could be

- He turned into a Simon junior, only having a sprinkle of your genetics. Only an inch shorter than his dad but Simon would give him a run for his money

- Simon definitely adapts to different ages very well, he goes all cutesy when they’re kiddos but when they start growing up- he’s more protective and nurtures them.

- He teaches them to look out for each other- like he had with his brother and mum.

- Tells them that if he didn’t come home, to take care of their mumma… but luckily he always comes back.

- He had to, he wanted to see the twins look miles apart from each other growing up.

- Tomboy girl and computer nerd boy.

- Simon loved his family, even when being used as a makeup mannequin and a nail polish model from your youngest daughter when playing dress up with the eldest

- It was different to the war paint he used around his eyes.

- He’d even let her put a bow in his hair.

- BRIGHT PINK BOWs, you’ve never laughed so hard and your military-bound son shakes his head.

- Every birthday that goes around he always whispers to you, “This is what I come home for…”

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