#ghost caregiver

[softpawpup]

ghost caregiver things !!

very quiet but always there

tends to give you nonverbal cues and instructions

loves making you activity sheets

prefers setting up library and museum play dates

cant keep you warm so always has blankets on hand

doesnt mind doing all the driving when youre little

leaves you little notes and reminders of how proud they are of you around the house

likes watching you play more than engaging in the play

tries to make you giggle all the time

makes silly faces at you when youre little

loves coming up with new nicknames to call you all the time

likes showing you educational cartoons

teaches you how to do cursive writing (is very patient)

[johnpriceslamb]

Hiii, i love your writing so much!! I just saw your requests were open and wanted to ask for a Ghost x fem!reader. Maybe she is sick and little and Simon has to take care of her. Of course only if you want to, no pressure. All your work is so adorable i just wanted to babble about it really (ˊᗜˋ) ♡

𝓢𝓘𝓒𝓚 𝓓𝓐𝓨𝓢 ,

˚₊‧꒰ you’re sick. And off in fairy-land. Simon takes care of you. ꒱ ‧₊˚

BEFORE YOU PROCEED ! ‧₊˚ ┊ littlespace ! reader . fem ! reader. afab ! reader. caregiver ! Simon Riley . sickiesickie reader :c . da snifliez . reader is mentioned 2 be physically smaller den simon . not proof-read . OOC !!! simon . 1.3k words

˚₊‧꒰ 🍼 ꒱ ‧₊˚ A sniffle and a sneeze.

That is what Simon had woken up to.

There you lay, sniffly and hiccupy at the far side of the bed. You sneeze again into a tissue. A teddy bear placed on your dainty lap as you whimper meekly.

You want to be held, but you don’t want to either. Hot and icky from the fever you have just caught.

You want papa.

You turn your head around- and only then does he capture you into his strong, warm, papa-bear arms. You’re not sure if you’re grateful about the heat he radiates and produce, but you’re clearly happy to be in his arms.

He squishes you as if you were just a little teddy bear. Your cherub cheek lies on his chest as you sniffle again. “Papa..”

“I know, I know luv.” He grunts softly, murmuring soft praises of affections in your ear- so much alike of sweet serenades being hummed. He presses a firm kiss on your forehead, “You stay ‘ere, yeah? I’ll make you some-

Clearly, you did NOT want him to go. As he stood up whilst mumbling, your hand clings onto his sleeves with a soft sniffle. This elicits a soft hum. Big beady eyes stare up at him, lashes dew-dropped with tears from the discomfort you were feeling as of now.

His heart pangs. He hates seeing you like this.

“Wan’ papa.” You simply state, shaking your head stubbornly. Clingy girl.

“Luv, I have to..” He trails on when he sees that sad look on your face. Much alike of a baby puppy seeing her owner at the door, closing it in front of her face. He clears his throat, calloused fingers coming to rub off the dew-drops that stain your chubby cheeks. For your sake and his, he has to be firm.

You begin to tear up again. Argh. He can’t do it.

Then- without a word, he grabs your fluffy burberry blanket and throws it over his shoulder. And he picks you up with the utmost care in the world- as if you yourself was just a porcelain puppy. Your little legs wrap around his waist, face in his chest, with arms around his broad shoulders.

“Papa.” You babble sweetly, nuzzling your cheek on his chest.

“Mhm. That’s me, bug.” A faint smile on his cracked lips is evident.

He plops you on the sofa, before wrapping you up in the soft blanket like a bunny nestled into its burrow.

“Y’want chicken soup with yoghurt or bananas, luv?” He calls from the kitchen.

You sneeze, peaking your head from the blanket to watch papa, “Mmm.. Yoghurt.” You hear a can being easily opened, and a slow pour to the ceramic bowls. The ones with the floral print. Your favourite bowl.

“Strawberry or.. Vanilla?” He asks with a gentle grunt.

You blink the sleepiness out of your eye. “Wan’.. Strawberry.”

You hear a low hum, indicating that he heard your little voice from afar.

You feel dizzy from the fever that had come to bite you. You feel miserable without papa. You let out a weak whimper from the sofa, “Paaapaaaa..”

“I hear ya, luv. I’m comin’ soon.” With a small plastic spoon and a bowl of chicken soup warmed up from the microwave, he comes to you with a stride brooding yet loving. He beckons for you to sit up, and you do so with a bit of trouble. You weakly crawl to him.

“‘Aaah,’ baby.” He cheekily coos. A spoonful of yummy chicken soup near your mouth. It oozes with a scent so homey and comfy, you eagerly open your mouth and allow him to put the spoon in.

But.. You droop.

You can’t taste it. At all.

You try to stiffen the tears that almost drip from your waterlines. It coats your wispy lashes as you blink multiple times to get rid of the dewdrops.

He looks at you with a sad frown, “What’s wrong, bug?”

With your frustration and sadness from just taking one spoonful- he notices, “Ah.”

“Can’t taste?” He places the spoon in the bowl to rub your head affectionately.

“Nuh-uh,” You shake your head sadly.

“‘m sorry luv,” He grabs the spoon and gently places it in your mouth again- and again, again. Until the bowl was empty, “At least you know it’s warm, yeah?”

You brighten up just a bit, “..Uhuh.”

“Warm just like your blanket,” A soft squish to your cheek. This elicits a hoarse giggle from your throat- and a soft sneeze.

“Still want the yoghurt?”

You look down at your fuzzy socks, tiny tots wiggling from inside out of pure boredom. “Uhm.. mhm.”

“Good girl.” He brings the yoghurt to your mouth. You can’t taste it, but at least it makes your throat feel just a bit better.

“Tummy full now..” You babble sweetly.

“Mhm? That right, bug?” Standing up to go put the dishes in the sink to wash up quickly, he does. He throws the empty yoghurt tub in the bin with a quick step on the pedestal of the trash-can.

“Luv?” He calls out for you from the kitchen-area.

“?” You peak your head from the blanket again, staring at him with those sleepy baby eyes of yours.

“Y’know I love you..”

Suspicious arises in your tummy. “..Uhuh.”

You squint your beady eyes, a tiny cough escaping your throat.

“And I want what’s best f’ you..”

“…Oki.”

“And.. you want what’s best f’ yourself, don’t you?”

Smart little girl you were. “Nuh-uh.” You don’t want to drink pills.

“Bug..” He frowns, “Just one.”

“It’ll make you feel much better baby, I promise you.” He grunts, filling up a cup of water. He feels bad for doing this- but for your sake.

You can’t help the whine escaping your lips. It’s hard enough to swallow things whilst sick!!!

“No no noooo,” You shake your head as he strides closer with the medicine. You try to back away, even holding the blanket closer to you, but you could not get out of this. Not one bit.

“..Yes, yes, yes,” He plops the medicine in your mouth and- dunks the water as soon as he could.

You sniffle and force yourself to drink it up. You shake your head vigorously, low pigtails bobbling about.

“Bad papa, bad bad..” You rub the sleep in your eye yet again.

He squints his eyes at you, “Oi.”

You meekly look at him, “Sorry..”

He softens up a bit, before pulling your burrito-wrapped self near his frame.

“You’ll be okay soon, luv.” And he presses a soft kiss on your forehead. A squeeze from his arms made you feel much better, as you rest your little head on him yet again.

“My good girl, so strong.” He grumbles out. The praise makes your cheeks bloom like a flower. Your papa-bear. With his warmth, you can’t help but shyly cuddle into his toned-self. You feel just a bit better since you were in his arms, and you were fed a yummy meal. But alas, the everlasting feeling of sickness always comes at you from behind, and catches you off-guard. It makes you broody and crabby.

“Daddy?”

“Mmhm?” He hums gently, watching you play with his much larger fingers.

“My tummy feels dizzy,” You hiccup.

“Dizzy?” He questions, amused.

“Uhuh..” A tiny ‘achu’ escapes your lips. A chuckle rumbles out of his chest at your little sneeze, which causes a glare sent his way.

“Not funny, papa.”

“Mm.. Just a bit, bug.”

[sabrinacookiez]

eep!! wlly wanna gost cg!!!!!!!!!!!!

Ghost caregiver! headcannons (This one might be a little spooky for some kiddos, be mindful friends!)

- strange things have been happening recently, sure there's the common bumps in the night but even stranger it almost feels like someone tries to tuck in when you go to sleep

- your pacifiers end up seemingly washed and put away for you, bottles/sippy cups appear in the fridge full of your favorite drink, and even your stuffies get sat gently back in their spots if accidently knocked over without you lifting a finger

- you see, there's a friend hidden away in the dark corners of your home. Ghosts can be quite shy if you'd believe it, and they'd hate to scare such a precious little one! So your ghost friend helps around when they can't be seen, quiet as a mouse while you go about your day

- sometimes they do hum softly, gentle melodies they don't really remember the words to but soothing regardless. When you have nightmares they'll hum and fix your blanket better around you, no scary things can get you here darling

- they're easily spooked by you getting hurt, even stubbing a toe causes a little panic. If you're icing something you'll find you never have to replace the ice pack and if you have a scrape brand new bandaids happen to be just where you can spot them when it's time to change them

- notebooks and scrap pieces of paper have messages you don't recall writing on them, things like "you're doing amazing!" and "remember to brush your teeth :)" with small doodles surrounding the text

- the ghost knows they make things a little chilly, but they hope you don't mind as they brush your hair out of your face and kiss your forehead goodnight (though it feels more like a tickle) humming a long lost lullaby

[gothghostiie]

In the spirit of all the awesome agere stuffs, how bout Simon with a little who gets vvvv sleepy when they regress??? They just an eepy lil thang

absolutely!!

cw: age regression

hmmm. simon adores his little any way they are, but a sleepy little thing like you? has his heart melting. he loves having you conked out on his lap, head sacked against his chest while you snore quietly, it makes him feel like he's doing a good job of making you feel little and safe. he can always tell when it happens, smirking at every little yawn you give.

"someone's a little sleepy, hm?" he murmurs softly, already pulling you close, no matter where or when, kissing the top of your head. "don't worry, I'm here." is all he whispers while rocking you a little bit, wrapping you in a blanket; or his jacket if no blanket is available. keeps humming or talking softly until you fall asleep. has loads of pics of you sleeping.

[muttreg]

My fictional cg list grows ever longer as I consume new media, with each new thing consumed comes at least one character that I would like to hold me tight and care for me.

[python333]

soft spot — python333

— — — —

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

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

characters ghost.

word count 6.7k.

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

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

“Having fun there?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You know it’s not just stress. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“‘Course I do.” 

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

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

“Could I please have some melatonin?” 

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

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

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

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

Oh God. 

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

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

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

Ghost doesn’t look convinced. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s looking at you expectantly. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ghost blinks. He didn’t expect that answer. 

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

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

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

Oh my God. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

— 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No b’dtime,” You shortly elaborate. 

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

“Mhm. Way too big.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

— 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re quick to fall asleep after that.

[aew-kun-age-regression]

How you cope..

Pairings: Caregiver!Captain John Price + Caregiver!Simon 'Ghost' Riley + Caregiver!John 'Soap' McTavish + Caregiver!Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick.

Summary: The team finds out you're a Regressor. Heck. You find out you're a Regressor. You had never known there was a name for it...

Warnings: Subtle hint that Ghost regresses (Soap as a CG), Regressor!Gaz mentioned, they're in a helicopter for this one so honoury Nikolai mention :D, Not really knowing what regression is, slipping after a mission, nicknames (Soldier, little one, kiddo, sweetheart), Ghost calls Soap Johnny.

(Gender Neutral Reader)

A/N - I do fully intend to write a part 2 to this!!!

‼️THIS IS NOT NSFW‼️

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NOT Proofread

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The military was an interesting place, with this came different coping mechanisms be it working out till you drop or something else it was easy to dismiss what you'd see as long as the individual was coping.

As the Captain of the taskforce Price was acutely aware of how his team coped. (Mainly so he could help if needed and in some other cases so he knew that his family team were actually coping and not just ignoring their issues. Simon trained. He trained until he couldn't anymore which was when Soap would step in and comfort him. A lot of Soaps coping came from being able to comfort Simon, he thrived at being able to help his friends. And Gaz, well Gaz regressed and Price looked after him as his Caregiver.

That was probably why after a particularly hard mission on the helicopter ride back Price instantly noticed something was wrong. You had been awufully reserved, normally you'd be chatting with the team but that wasn't the case today. Originally everyone brushed it off as you just being tired, it wasn't unbelievable. The mission had been difficult, exhausting.

After a while of your had clumsily lolling to the side, bumping the wall of the hellicopter Price decides to speak up.

"Are you feeling okay Soldier..?"

"Fine Cap'tin..." You mumbled.

That had got everyone's attention. Even when tired you never slurred your words like that. It's then that it hits Price. You were regressing. Well actually more like you were regressed. He was used to this in his team, it was a coping mechanism that he had learnt briefly about before joining the military however upon Gaz struggling Price had learnt more so he would be able to help.

Price's tone turned fatherly (as though he didn't permanently sound like a dad)

"Are you feeling small..?"

You normally always shut down when you felt like this, it was easier to just sleep it off. Although you were well aware that it didn't really work.. You shrug wordlessly.

The others had been watching this interaction take place. Soap moved from where he had been sitting with Ghost, kneeling down infront of you. There was a gentle smile plastered on his face.

"Well what do we 'ave here? Jus' a wee little one?"

"Think that might be the case Johnny" Ghost replies, his voice somewhat softer than usual, although if you had been an outsider watching you'd never have noticed the slight change in tone.

Price got up and headed to the front of the helicopter, quickly conversing with Nikolai. When he came back he addressed everyone letting them know that it wouldn't be too much longer before you'd all be back at base.

It was now Gaz's turn to speak.

"Has this happened to you before kiddo?"

You nod but don't speak.

"Okayyy, do you have any items back at base?"

You give a confused head tilt, confused on what he meant by items"

"..things like plushies, paci's, colouring books.. things like that?"

This time you gently shake your head. Ghost sighs, he understands that...

Price then speaks up again.

"Well then we'll just have to change that, now won't we Sweetheart?"

[shymeow]

𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐨𝐤𝐚𝐲, 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐞 . . .

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x fem ! lil ! reader

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 (?): Mentions of military missions and soldiers but not really specific, female pronouns used, nicknames used (dada, daddy, sweetie, baby), baby talk, babying (?). I think it's just pure sweetness, if I missed anything warn me !

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Simon helped you, his beloved sweetheart, to regress safely after a hard mission in Russia that you faced alone.

Obs. English is not my first language, so I apologize for the grammatical errors!

After the hard mission you faced alone in Russia, you were finally back to the base reporting your mission to Captain Price, him listening to every single detail that you said, listening to how you defeated every soldier that tried to attack you and that you had found the object and the victim inside of a cave in the middle of a mountain away from everyone and everything. After your reporting, Price said that you could now go to your room and rest, and you immediately felt so... Tiny. You ran to Simon's room messily, almost spanking the door when it finally made it's way close to your hands. Simon angrily opened the door, thinking it was one of the new recruits or even Soap trying to annoy him, but it was you, his precious little princess that he loves so much.

"Sweetie... You're trembling. C'mere baby, daddy's got you." Simon lifted you in his arms, wrapping your legs around his waist so you could snuggle against him. He closed the door, walking to his closet and getting your favorite pacifier and onesie (or another clothe you're comfy with!) so you could change clothes and get comfortable in the bed as soon as possible. "Let's change your clothes, okay sweetie? Then you can hug Daddy in bed as much as you want."

You didn't dare to say a word. You couldn't. Even if you wanted, the words just didn't made sense in your little head... So you just let Simon change you into your onesie, getting rid of the military clothes that felt so uncomfortable in your tiny soft body. "All nice and fresh now sweetie, now we can have your bottle, would you like that?" You happily clapped your tiny hands, giving him a soft smile that melted his heart.

Simon wrapped your legs in his waist again, walking to the microwave in the corner of the room that he bought just for you, since you stay more in his room than in your own (Price almost doesn't know that you have your own room), he got the milk in the fri go bar, putting it inside the bottle with a spoon of chocolate, mixing it and putting in the microwave. 30 seconds after, your bottle was ready, nice and warm just for you, as Simon leaded both of you to the bed, he had already put the bottle in your mouth, letting you suck the nipple softly while he rocked you in his arms softly.

"You're okay sweetie, dada's here. Shh, shh..." He continued rocking you softly, until your bottle was finished and you were very sleepy, rubbing your eyes softly. "Oh no baby, don't rub your little eyes. It can hurt remember? We don't want your little eyes hurt, do we?" You shaked your head. "That's it, we don't want these soft eyes hurt." Simon kissed your forehead, laying down in the bed with you, caressing your soft hair so you could sleep better. "It's okay, sweetie..."

[midnighmoonligh]

Can you maybe write Ghost + Child Regressor Reader who had an accident and got scared that Ghost would get angry or be disgusted? :3 You're one of the only people who write COD with a regressor reader and I love it!! 🩷

A/N

Ironically I had just been finishing up a oneshot book I made with this concept! This is just a chapter of it 🫶. If you want to read more I have the entire store post on wattpad here! Hope you enjoy overall and thank you for your request!

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Fandom

Call of Duty

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Characters

Y/N ; 17 ; Gender Neutral ;; They/Them ; little

Simon " Ghost " Riley ; 31 ; He/Him ; CG

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⚠Content Warnings⚠

Violence, War stuff, COD yk. Potty accident & internally shaming of self!

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A sudden anxious urge washed over you. You tossed and turned over the covers you had not put on yourself. You were trying to go back to sleep, but instead found yourself awake anyway. With a huff, your eyes finally peeled open. You looked out the window to your left, enjoying how pretty the moon looked tonight with the way the snowy clouds dropped layer after layer. The window seal was covered in snow, making it pile up on the sides to reach higher. You found it pretty, peaceful.

Until you felt it.

You felt a strange wetness, almost coldness too. Well, it was warm in some spots cold in others. When you shifted, the jeans you had fallen asleep in stuck to you. You froze in place at it.

The seconds ticked by as you began to process what happened. The anxiety you had felt when you were refusing to wake before hit you like a train when it had clicked. It was suffocating, quickly becoming hard to breathe as you process how embarrassing it was.

You had wet the bed.

You've never done that before, genuinely. You didn't understand what had happened and god you rather shrivel up and die than really acknowledge what had happened. You suddenly sat up in the bed, eyes darting across the room. First, they focused onto the alarm clock placed on the suspiciously chewed up night stand. The clock read 3:48 am. It was really early, or late depending on your standards.

Then your eyes fell onto Johnny and Simon. Both were now settled into the air mattress on the floor. You've never actually seen them sleeping together, so it was a bit of a shock to find Simon without his mask and laying on his side toward the door. John was also on his side, but pressed against his larger partners back with an arm tossed over his side in a loose hold. They had about four or five blankets tossed on then, most leaning toward the larger man in the bed.

You shook that shock from your mind since you confirmed that they were asleep still. With a shaking body, you began to rip off the sheets from the bed, tossing the blankets onto the floor at the foot of the bed since that was the only space free. You grabbed a spare pair of pants and underwear before scrambling out of the room. You'd worry about searching for new sheets later. For now, you went around as quiet as physically possible searching for the laundry room. You found it on the main floor, in the hallway under the upstairs. It was a small space, had a door too.

When entering, you closed it and turned the lights on. The sudden brightness made you flinched, but with the tears quickly filling your eyes you needed it to see better. You tossed the bedding onto the floor, the clean clothes on the surface of the dryer. Then you opened up the washer, happy to see it empty. With that being confirmed, you began to stuff the bedding into it. You were clumsy, feeling that fuzzy headspace wash over you as you berated yourself in your mind. Insult after insult, you didn't hold back on yourself. You couldn't believe you had done this. It was definitely a new one for the books, one you hoped to take the secret of it to your grave.

Suddenly, the laundry room door opened.

" What are you doing? " Simon's exhausted voice rumbled out from deep within in chest.

It scared you, making you visibly jump. He had caught you mid struggling to shove the thick sheets into the machine. You were quickly loosing your usual motor skills as you fell further into that, normally, comforting headspace.

" Um- I, uh, spilled somethin, " you told Simon awkwardly while trying to shove the bedding harder into the washer.

Ghost's expression was a mix of exhaustion and irritation as he observed the mess in front of him. It was evident that Ghost was already in a bad mood, and your little accident likely added to that.

" What the hell did you spill? " He sighed, moving closer to you and reaching out to take the sheets from your trembling hands.

You flinched as the bedding was taken from your shaking hands. You sniffled as quietly as you could manage while stepping back. Now you knew it was a matter of time before Simon smelled it. You stared at the floor in shame. The anxiety of the fact of what had happened hammering through you harshly. You've never done it before, it scared you.

" Don't remember, " you mumbled.

Simon's frustration was palpable, and as he picked up the damp bedding, his expression darkened. The smell of the accident clung to the sheets, and while not the most pleasant, he has endured far worse on the battlefield.

" Bloody hell, " he muttered as he looked down at the sheets in his hand before giving them a rough twist and shoving them into the washer. " I hope this was a one-off, " he said gruffly as he reached over and turned the washing machine on.

You continued to stare at the floor of the laundry room. You still wore soiled pants, tears spilling over uncontrollably while you wished you could just sink into the ground and completely disappear from shame. You didn't reply to Simon, deciding it was likely better not to.

Simon made sure the washer door closed properly before turning it on. Then he turned around and saw the tear stains on your face. His annoyance softened slightly, replaced by a mixture of surprise and concern. He crouched down to be more on your level, knowing it tended to comfort you when agere-related things happened.

" Hey," he placed a hand on your shoulder, "look at me, " he requested as gently as he could manage. It helped you realize his frustration was more at being awake, not directed toward you. Although it ate at you, you did lift your head for him. You blinked heavily at him so you could see him clearly. This caused your tears to practically pour.

" You know this is not your fault, right? Even the big boys have accidents sometimes, it's part of life. I'm not mad about the sheets, just... just be careful in the future, okay? "

Shock quickly washed over you. He was comforting you, not scolding you? It was gross what you had done, yet he was being so patient and sweet. You didn't deserve this, at least that's what you had convinced yourself. Despite what you told yourself, you did deserve this. You deserved every ounce of his love and affection.

" 'm sorry, " you mumbled up, raising your arms up to wipe your face even if it wasn't worth the effort. The words seemed to make you crumble. " Don know what happened, " you hiccuped as you began to cry freely at last.

Seeing you break down, Simon sighed and pulled you in for a hug. He held you tightly. It didn't feel right or fair, especially when you were still wearing gross clothes. It made you feel more guilty as much as you wanted the comfort.

" Don't apologize, it's okay, " he mumbled against your shoulder and slowly rubbed your back in soothing circles. " Sometimes these accidents happen and no one's to blame, " he said with a softer tone as he tried to soothe you. " Let's get you cleaned up and into some fresh clothes, yeah? "

" 'm gross, " you whined quietly, squirming in Simon's hold to get away from the hug. " 'm sorry, " you added, soon hiccuping out a sob.

Simon sighed, his annoyance returning as he tightened his hold. He wasn't as patient as John, unfortunately for you both.

" You're not gross. You just had an accident, it happens to everyone," he said firmly, hoping it would get through to you this time. "Now let's get you cleaned up, silly bug. "

With that said, he picked you up in a strong but gentle grip. Being picked up us 100% you're weakness, something you had found our several months ago. Mostly because Johnny absolutely loved carrying you around. In his arms, you slumped against him and calmed your crying faster than you'd care to admit. You buried your face into a mixture of his shoulder and chest, your favorite spot. Simon had turned off the laundry room light before leaving. He was quiet as he walked through the hallway, only a few steps before pushing obathroom downstairs bathroom door. He continued to hold you as he pulled the shower curtain closed and turned on the water. While standing there, he tested the water to make sure it didn't get too hot or cold.

It made you nervous, hoping that no one would be woken by the sound. The last thing you wanted to explain was your regression to John's family, let alone the fact you had an accident in the bed as a, now, 17-year-old. You didn't even want to tell Johnny.

Simon seemed to pick up on your nerves and spoke up, " Don't worry, Johnny's a deep sleeper and the others usually mind their own business. The shower won't disturb them," he said as he gently set you onto your feet. " Do you want help? "

You nodded without missing a beat. Both pair always made sure to ask, which helped in general. Even if sometimes the asking for permission to do something got a little out of hand. Without missing a beat, Simon began to help you out of your pants. He's become a pro at helping you with closed eyes too. You held onto his forearms for support while doing your part to get them off.

He knew how vulnerable you were feeling, so he spoke softly to soothe your nerves. " You're okay, " he repeated as he helped you step into the shower, clothes now disguarded safely. " Let's get you cleaned up, alright? You'll feel much better once you're clean. "

You hiccuped quietly and sniffled as you pulled the curtain of the shower closed. Simon waited patiently outside the shower, likely standing half leaning against the bathroom sink like he usually did at home. You did your best to bathe yourself, but you kept dropping the soap bottles and just about everything you tried to hold. The sound of it hitting the tile floor kept making your flinch. You felt so little, making it hard to control this bigger body of yours.

" It's okay, take your time, " Simon spoke up from the other side of the curtain, " You're doing great. "

The praise helped you. You sniffled and did your best. Somehow, you managed to not drop stuff as much. It did still happen, just not as frequently. When you finally finished, you turned off the water and peeked out from the curtain.

" Towel? " you mumbled quietly.

Simon's expression softened as he saw your clean face peeking out from behind the shower curtain. " Yeah, " he said gently, stepping closer to the shower and handing you a soft white towel. " All clean, eh? Good job. "

He remained nearby as you dried off, making sure you were comfortable and giving you a small smile of reassurance.

You to on the towel when it was offered, soon disappearing back behind the curtain to dry off. When you felt you were finished, you wrapped the fluffy towel around yourself then carefully got out of the shower. It wasn't an easy task, barely trusting yourself to not slip right now. However, with Simon keeping an eye on you, you didn't feel as anxious about it. You stood in the bathroom, shivering now from how cold you were without the warm water.

Simon looked around before spotting a robe hanging on the back of the bathroom door. It had one of John's sister's names on it, so he just grabbed it and plopped it onto you.

" Here, use this for now. "

" is okay? " you whispered as you wiggled around a bit to tie it in place and free yourself of the towel. It was big on you, not that you minded. Though you quickly noticed the ducks on it in a few spots. It made you giggle, so you showed him too.

" Oh that's cute, " Simon told you with a nod. He may not have agreed, but you didn't really care that much. " And yes it's okay, we're just borrowing it. "

You nodded slowly at that information. Taking his offered hand, he lead you all the way upstairs and back to John's childhood room. Much to your surprise, he was awake and laying on the air mattress, just on his phone. He blinked a few times when he noticed you two come in. First you, then Simon. He made sure to shut the door behind you two.

" Everything okay? " Johnny asked, quietly and gently.

You only nodded, looking to Simon who did the same. He didn't say a word. That much made you feel relieved and genuinely cared for.

" I noticed the sheets on the bed were gone, so I put a fresh pair on, " John told them while turning his attention back to his phone.

Nothing was added nor asked. It relieved you. Simon shuffled with you to the foot of both the beds, where there was a lot more space to comfortably stand.

" Anything you want to wear in particular? " he asked as he tugged open a drawer of the dresser in the closet. You quickly noticed the same, probably bite marks, all over the wooden furniture.

" 'm dunno, " you mumbled as you lifted your hand, soon chewing on your fingers. You just felt the need to have something to chew on.

" Hmmm, " Simon hummed as he shuffled through the clothes. " How about some sweatpants? I'll let you wear one of my shirts if you want. "

You paused your chewing to blink at you, even catching John look up from his phone in the corner of your eye. It had surprised you both. Simon was not a big clothes sharer, well willingly.

" Really? " you asked, sounding a tad more excited than you had meant to.

" Sure, why not, " he shrugged.

" kay! " you agreed, nodding your head and even bouncing a little.

It made him smile. In return you found yourself smiling too.

After getting dressed, with some help too, you ended up snuggling into the air mattress with Simon and Johnny. You were squished between them, though comfortably. John was still on his phone, smiling contently while he did whatever it was he was doing.

" Comfortable? " Simon has asked, getting you to look at him. You nodded after, moving to your side to face him then cuddling into his chest. He pulled one of the blankets to be around you better. " Good, " he sighed contently.

" Just relax now, we've got you, " he whispered before yawning and settling down himself.

You gently tugged on his shirt, making him look down at you. He looked barely awake, yet he still wanted to make sure you had everything yih needed.

" 'm wan 'm paci, " you mumbled you him, moving to chew on your thumb to emphasize what you wanted. He frowned.

" Not sure we packed it kiddo, sorry, " he told you sadly, hand rubbing your back.

You shook your head, shifting a little to your back to point to your backpack still settled in front of the nightstand.

" You packed it? " Simon questioned with surprise peeking on his tone.

" Mhm, " you admitted shyly. Yet, he was clearly proud of you with the way he squeezed you into a hug. Then he pulled out a spare pillow and smacked John with it.

" What on EARTH-" John yelped louder than he really should've.

" Y/N's pacifier is in their bag right next to your head. "

" Oh. "

John turned over to face where the bag was, tugging it over then shuffling through it. Soon, he turned over to face you both, showing off the prized pacifier he had fished out. You rolled to your back, opening your mouth for him to nicely place it in. Happily, you chewed on it. You didn't really move from there, clearly soothing yourself into such a sleepy state it was hard to move.

" So sweet, " the scot cooed as he shuffled over. He brushed some of your hair from your face, then snuggled up to you and Simon.

Judging by how quiet the older of you three are being, you figure he fell asleep at last.

" Better not kick in your sleep, " the younger man teased you. You huffed at him playfully, making him smile wider. " Okay okay, try to get a bit more sleep. Sure we'll all be up in a few more hours if you can't, " he told you, soon yawning too.

You caught the yawn, making him absolutely beam. He laid his arm over you, just above where Simon's was. Soon after, you were both falling back asleep together.

[gogodollie]

okay we’re talking about nihil’s penis today

[buttercupagere]

simon "ghost" riley as a caregiver <3

requested by @vampire-bat-baby!

[johnpriceslamb]

GHOST CAREGIVER???

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 Strawberry shortcake and snowflake cookie scented candles swirled in the air. Burberry fluffy blankets wrapped around his sweet baby, with stuffies plastered here and there.

your big beady eyes look up at his, nestled in the fluffy blankie. A soft giggle escaping your throat as your hand comes to curiously touch his mask. He squints his eyes.

“Silly,” you giggle.

“Mm, yeah?” Ghosts voice rumbles from underneath the balaclava and mask, “I look a bit dumb, don’t I sweetheart?”

“Not dumb, papa!” you babble happily, “My silly daddy.” He lets out a soft hum, caressing your cheek with his rough thumb. Being a man that was short on words, he made up for his acts of services and gentle affection.

“Y’know what’s even more silly, bug?” He croaked.

“What?” You curiously squeaked.

“You.” A squeal and a giggle escapes your lips as his fingers come to poke at your sensitive sides.

[revllz]

I never see these images on this website so here you go, enjoy images of my beautiful amazing wife

^ this wasn’t clicked in originally but it did show up the post so have a fun thing to just idk use as a reaction image

okay now bad to hibernation bye

[gothghostiie]

age regression w simon?!? 👀

- 🔬

always<3

cw: age regression

Simon is definitely the King of preparation. no matter when or where, he always has just what you need. a paci? got it. fidget toy? got it. juice pack? take a wild guess. he wants to make sure he's ready for anything.

you just woke up from a nap in the car while you're on a trip with him, all fussy and little - you didn't even think you'd be regressing, so you didn't pack anything you may want or need. but si? he looks at you, seeing the slight pout on your face and he knows. "mornin' sleepyhead. did you have a good nap, hm?" he asks gently, testing the waters. when he's met with a whine he chuckles softly and reaches into the back, grabbing a backpack and handing it to you. your sleepy eyes light up when you see just what you wanted. he chuckles, ruffling your hair gently as you sort yourself out. "there ya go. dada always thinks ahead, doesn't he?"

[caregiverlad]

little moodboard(?) of things i like!

[farter-imperator]

Thinking about Dew with asthma. Specifically, little Dew with asthma.

Dew playing quietly on the playmat in the common room, content to line up all his toy cars while his plush dragon, Dio, watches on. Swiss is also watching.

Every so often, Dew coughs or clears his throat. Swiss can't figure out if he's just got a tickly cough, or if it's something more. Either something viral, or an asthma attack.

He asks softly "Dew, buddy? Are you okay?"

Dew gives him a toddler cough in return.

"Alrighty, then. You tell me if you start to feel worse."

It's a few more minutes, Dew rearranging his cars by height, occasionally watching the TV. Swiss put on Bluey for him, but Swiss is watching it more than he is.

And then Swiss hears the wheeze.

Just a little crackle in Dew's throat at first. But Swiss' head snaps up nonetheless.

"Dewy? How are we feeling?"

"U-Uhm... 'Eezy..."

"Wheezy, bud?"

"Yeah."

"Do you need your inhaler?"

Swiss already knows the answer. Little Dew does not like his inhaler. But his choices right now are, 1) use the inhaler, or 2) don't use the inhaler and end up in the infirmary.

Swiss reaches under the coffee table and grabs Dew's spacer kit. It's never far from reach when Dew's little. He won't take his inhaler without a spacer when he's little.

He moves onto his knees on the floor, kneeling by Dew. Dew whines at the sight of Swiss setting up his inhaler, but his wheezes are becoming more frequent and his chest is burning a little.

The spacer is clear, with teddy bears printed over it, and a mask on one end.

Swiss wraps his arm around Dew and brings him into his lap. Thankfully, Dew doesn't protest, apart from a little wheezy huff.

"Gonna be a brave little guy for me, huh?" Swiss asks as he clicks the inhaler into place. Dew shakes his head, burying his face against Swiss' chest. "Yeah, I know. You don't like it. But we've gotta do it, buddy. You'll feel super yucky if we don't give you your puffs now."

Dew turns his head from one way to the other, like a baby refusing a bottle as Swiss holds the mask up. Eventually, however, the tight feeling in his chest wins and he lets Swiss hold the mask over his mouth and gives him the first puff.

"Nice slow breaths, bubby. Yeah, that's it, you're doing great. In and out. In and out. Good job..."

Dew looks up at him with big eyes, taking shaky breaths. After a little while, Swiss gives him another puff of his inhaler, his thumb gently rubbing Dew's cheek.

Dew's breathing slows eventually, and then he cuddles into Swiss, tired out after his little eezy episode.