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python333 · 1 year ago

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soft spot — python333

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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.

#cod #cod hcs #hcs #task force 141 #simon ghost riley #ghost #age regression #caregiver ghost #ghost x reader #platonic ghost x reader #platonic ghost #i find him so lovely #hes my dad guys trust #i was literally meant to be his kid #trust that if i ever get any cod games with him in it i will spend the whole time admiring him #dad pls come back home #i miss u #python333

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fujii-draws · 4 months ago

Text

‘And Never Let Go’

Summary: In which Dusknoir senses a seasonal shift and change in himself towards his youngest comrades. Having no clue how to deal with these newfound, Gripper instincts.

Old, emotionally repressed ghost conceals his feelings of fatherly instinct from his kids until it blows up in his face.

[Word count: 5130]

————————

Dusknoir didn’t know what was wrong.

He couldn’t put a finger on it— but these past few days, the phantom felt a… change. In himself. Or rather, how he acted—

“Ribbons..! C’mon you’re going to make us waste precious daylight…!”

“I’m coming Aimilios! Jeez..!”

—Around them.

The large wraith watched as the fairy and fighting-type ran up to the crossing near the entrance of Wigglytuff’s guild. The other two had invited Dusknoir over to do some job requests. Not that they needed the help— rather, to spend time with the large ghost-type. Something the revenant had always secretly appreciated.

…He didn’t know what it was… but anytime he’d been around the Lucario and Sylveon…

“Alright..! Now that Ribbons is finally here, we can— W-Woah..!—“

“AH—!!” Ribbons and Aimilios yelped startledly as a pair of large hands scooped them from off the ground so suddenly. “At least give us a w-warning—!“ Aimilios yipped, surprised.

“A-ah.. My apologies…” He gently sets Aimilios back down on solid ground. Ribbons opts to climb onto his shoulder ruff. They both momentarily give the Gripper Pokémon puzzling looks— ones of which the wraith narrowly evades.

——

He felt… an urgency. To protect the two, to shield them from any harm. Which— was a regular occurrence thanks to the heaps of shenanigans and life-or-death situations the two always seemed to get wrapped in. But… it was… different. It wasn’t only when they’d get themselves injured anymore— rather—

Dusknoir found himself becoming overprotective over the two over the mildest of things. From a Pokémon looking at them the wrong way, to a minor cut or bruise.

Anything seemed to set the wraith off completely. And that’s without mentioning the numerous times he’s picked and floated them around to areas the two could’ve easily gone to themselves. Or how he’d been constantly hovering around them like a Corviknight— glaring at the Pokémon they’d been conversing with.

That wasn’t the only odd thing the cloaked specter had noticed. Sometimes… it felt as if he’d been in a sort of… trance. Dusknoir’s yellow markings, bell, and eye would glow faintly. Staring at the two small Pokémon for extended periods of time.

And when the two had been away for just a couple of hours— The same yellow glow would return, only much harsher. Giving the ghost a migraine that would force Dusknoir to clutch his head. Wondering where his little ones had been. If they were safe.

His stomach maw slightly unhinged during these breakdowns… something Dusknoir assumed he had complete control over. But what terrified the ghost most… was when his stomach jaw would open around Ribbons and Aimilios.

He was able to shut it relatively fast. Enough so that the two had no idea what had been going on… but Dusknoir found it harder and harder to keep hidden by the day. At one point, reaching his hands out towards the Lucario.

——

“Hm..? Oh! Dusknoir!” Aimilios beamed. “Did you need something?”

“N-no… no need… no need.” He cups the Lucario’s face. Eye lidding as his maw slowly opened.

“Oh! Well… o-okay..!” The aura pup confusedly looked towards Dusknoir’s hands… too focused on him to see his stomach mouth unhinging. Holding the ghost’s grippers with his own, blue-black paws. “…I’m always here if you need anything!” He softly assured the large specter.

Dusknoir snaps out of the trance, detaching his hands from the Lucario. “Right…”

——

This behavior… it was slowly becoming a danger. Dusknoir had no idea what he’d been doing during these moments, thanks to the fog in his mind. But Ribbons and Aimilios would remind him of his strange behavior… something he thought he could keep unawares and hidden from the two.

These last couple of days had been the worst for the ghost’s instincts. Doing everything he’d done beforehand— except ten times more intensely.

He’d pick up the two and hold them, presumably for hours. Chase and hunt down Outlaw Pokémon that’d give them so much as a scratch. Maiming them before returning to tend to the injured Sylveon and Lucario. Whom of which looked up at him in horror and fear as they watched the blood of whatever poor outlaw dripped from his knuckles…

…Dusknoir decided that enough is enough.

———

He quietly asked the two to speak with him in private in the Sharpedo Bluff, where he finally clues them in on some of the details of his… trances. Shedding light on why he’s been acting the way he had. The Sylveon and Lucario sit and kneel accordly as they listen to Dusknoir intently… and worriedly.

“S-so that’s why..?” Aimilios stuttered, bewildered by the information. “You’ve been…?—“

“Yes.” Dusknoir looks towards the ground, unable to maintain eye contact with the Lucario. “That is correct.”

“That would explain… a lot of things actually.” Ribbons piped up, rubbing a feeler under her chin quizzically. She looks back up at Dusknoir, tilting her head and offering a soft smile after seeing his tensed expression. “Thanks for being honest with us. We appreciate it.” She beams, complimenting Dusknoir on how far he’s come since his deceitful days.

“Of course, but— that isn’t all I came here to tell you.” Dusknoir squeezes his eye shut.

Aimilios scoots closer to Dusknoir, putting a tiny paw on his large hand. “So… then..?”

Dusknoir clenches his fists tighter at the Lucario’s touch, guilt swallowing the ghost-type as he braced himself to say his next words. “I need you two to stay as far away from me as possible.”

“WHAT?!”

Ribbons and Aimilios shout in unison. The sylveon gets closer to the ghost-type as Aimilios had— wrapping a feeler around his other clenched fist.

“What’s with the outburst…?” Dusknoir quizzically raised his hands in shock— “It will only be temporary. I’ll return once I’ve found some way to remedy this.”

There was surely a book on ghostly instinct the wraith could skim through. It was only to ensure their safeties— why couldn’t they see that? Why were they so upset?

…Ah. Perhaps he should’ve worded his earlier plans of departure better. Sableye never truly questioned or worried about wherever he went during his escapades in the future. It’d take from a single hour to days until he returned… He really had to get used to this world and it’s ‘communication.’

“Who knows how long that will take—!” Ribbons shouts. “You might’ve gotten weirder these past few weeks, but you haven’t done anything to hurt us, dummy!”

“R-Ribbons is right..!” Aimilios concurred, his voice quivering. “W-we know you wouldn’t hurt us..! You promised!”

Dusknoir’s eye shoots wide open— staring at the two small Pokémon holding onto each of his fists.

He slowly unravels them back into hands… before cupping the side of each of Ribbons and Aimilios’s faces.

“…Truly?” His yellow markings begin glowing.

“Dusknoir…!” Aimilios laughs “Haven’t we told you this already…?”

“About a million times.” Dusknoir tilts his head, smiling back towards the aura pup.

“Yeah!” Ribbons puffed out her cheeks. “You’re not just gonna spend that many years gaining our trust back, only to go Arcues-knows off later!” She puts her paw on the hand holding her face. “You’re stuck with us, whether you like it or not!”

“At least…” She slightly leans into his hand, ears drooping slightly. “I hope you are…”

“…It was only going to be a temporary retreat…” Dusknoir felt himself becoming overwhelmed by the Lucario and Sylveon’s words and their protests towards his departure. He stares at the intertwining and aura Pokemon fondly, wondering how he managed to get such wonderful Pokémon to call his little ones. Even after all his faults.

Even after what he’d done.

“…You still wouldn’t mind being around me…?” The large ghost-type growled gently, the lights on his markings glowing furthermore as his eye lidded.

“Even when I’m like this…?”

The two shake their heads in unison, both of their eyes glistening with firm determination as Aimilios smiled up towards the ghost… while Ribbon’s frowned— hating to see the specter self-deprecate and beat himself up so often…

“We’re not going anywhere.” Aimilios closed his eyes. “W-we can even help you scour books in the library!” The Lucario added, with the Sylveon nodding rapidly at her partner’s words.

“We’re family now— and we’re not leaving you!”Ribbons gleefully added. “Or letting you leave! You’re stuck with us for all eternity, remembeeer?”

Hmph… of course she’d be the one to remember that promise he made to them. To be their sworn protector after weeks of haunting and harming them.

“Alright.” Dusknoir fought the urge to suppress his own emotions, which threatened to blur his vision of the Lucario and Sylveon. He still needed to do this. To take every precaution necessary.

But… not without a heartfelt, temporary goodbye.

…He goes to close the gap between the two. Planning to pull them into an embrace— one Ribbons and Aimilios had been anticipating. Dusknoir’s eye lidded with a red glow, his maw opening once more, dragging the two closer as they closed their eyes— trusting the ghost-type. Who’d hummed softly towards his children.

…Children…? Th-that was certainly a new thought…

…Dusknoir slowly regains control as his eye widens back to normal—

Before seeing what he’d almost done.

Dusknoir’s cyclopean eye shrunk in horror— detaching far away from the Sylveon and Lucario immediately. Grabbing his wrist as he stared at his hand. Was he…?

Oh.

Oh gods—

It was worse than he feared. So much worse.

“D-dusknoir..?!” Ribbon’s whimpered out worriedly—

“Stay BACK!” The Gripper Pokémon roars out, lashing towards the sylveon.

He was a danger to them. He had to protect them.

“…This is for your own good.” Dusknoir brokenly uttered. Before Shadow Sneaking into the ground.

“Please. Forgive me.”

“DUSKNOIR—!” Aimilios ran towards the ghost-type, trying to hug him before he disappeared… but it’d been far too late. The Lucario only managing to grab hold of the black smoke the wraith disappeared into… before fully slipping into the cracks of the Sharpedo bluff’s floor. Aimilios and Ribbons can only stare at the ground the ghost-type escaped from.

“H-he’s gone…” Aimilios dejectedly spoke.

_______

…

A full month had passed since they'd seen the cloaked phantom. Ribbons and Aimilios scoured aimlessly towards areas they knew Dusknoir commonly went to. But every single time, they came up short. The only thing they’d been able to consistently find being disappointment.

“Wh-where is he…” the Lucario fretted endlessly. Ribbon’s sat on Aimilios’s shoulder as she peered at the map in the Aura Pokémon’s quivering hands.

“I don’t know…” the Sylveon responded, “But we’ll keep trying…” a cat-like yawn escapes her. “Preferably tomorrow.”

The troubled specter avoided those two like the plague. It seemed that everybody in Treasure town had seen the ghost-type at one point or another. It frustrated Ribbons in particular. But she’d been upset aswell… probably as much as Aimilios— who blamed himself for the whole ordeal.

…Which was probably why her initial answer hurt the Lucario, who purposely ignored his fairy-type partner's somewhat uncaring comment. She sighs wearily, leaning in to repeat herself in a more respectful way. One that didn’t upset her Aura Pokémon partner.

“That marks off Kecleon’s shop…” Ribbons yawned once more. “Aimilios… We should call it a night.”

“B-but..!” Aimilios cried out. “We’re so close..!”

“Sweetie… I know you want to find him…” Ribbon’s cups his face with her feelers. “But you’ll only destroy yourself in the process if you keep taking these all-nighters..”

“Don’t you care..?!” Aimilios shouts, his emotions getting the better of him.

Ribbons only kisses the top of his head, recognizing this and taking the role of the voice of reason between the two. “Of course I do... But now we need to rest.”

“So… then…” Aimilios looks around. “Where do we sleep for the night…?”

“Hm. Good point.” She looks at the map, pointing to it with one of her feelers. “Grovyle and Celebi’s house is just up ahead..! I don't think they’d mind us crashing for the night!”

“A-Alright.” Aimilios rolled up the map, neatly tucking it away into his treasure bag as the two made their way to the grass-type’s shared home… unaware that the Gripper Pokémon they’ve been trying to find had already been there… waiting for them.

—————

It was relatively easy to move their way around the Future trio’s home despite night falling. Moonlight did well to offer illumination for the Lucario and Sylveon. Aimilios sighs forlorningly— still upset with not continuing his search for the ghost-type. He just wishes that Dusknoir would come back to them already…

“He’s fine.” The fairy-type spoke out of nowhere— almost reading her partner’s mind. “He’s stronger than all four of us, he’s safe.”

“How do you know that?”

Ribbons smiles, “I just do.”

…Aimilios couldn’t help but smile at himself despite not wanting to. Gah… Ribbons always did have a way of cheering him up.

Carefully, the two continue their way through the abandoned-like home. The only sounds that can be heard being their own footsteps and breaths. Which were visible thanks to the frigid air surrounding the Future trio’s abode.

“Spooky, huh?” The Lucario jested nervously, but unnaturally hearing no instant, witty retort back from his partner. Only silence.

Aimilios turned towards the intertwining Pokémon, giving her a smile of reassurance now that she was the one to begin stressing. Which seemingly did the trick— receiving a small smile back—

*CLATTER*

The two Pokémon’s attention is promptly stolen by the sound of a pot hitting the floor. A bone rush and Moonblast are already equipped once the aura Pokémon senses the complicated emotions emanating from this Pokémon. With Ribbons following suit, trusting her partner’s judgment.

Aimilios took the lead as he and Ribbons slowly made their way to the kitchen. Bone and Orb attacks still at hand as a precautionary measure.

They’re met with a large, black silhouette. With…

Glowing… yellow rings…

The two proceeded closer, light filling both their eyes as they smiled in unison. Upon getting closer— they hear him. Calling out their names. Almost painfully.

“DUSKNOIR..!”

The two small Pokémon wasted no time unequipping their Bone Rush and Moonblast respectively. Instead— Rushing over immediately to the familiar ghost-type.

“Ribbons? Aimilios…?” The wraith’s entire body straightened as he heard the two familiar voices. Turning around to face the young fairy and fighting types.

He caught them in his arms. Purring thunderously as he held the two close. Sharing a hug with them for minutes as they stayed in comfortable silence, before Dusknoir promptly broke it— speaking for the first time since they last saw the seven foot phantom. “Oh… you two…”

“…” The sylveon perked up from her initial face-nuzzling. Staring at Dusknoir. Was his voice… ever that deep? Taking a closer look now as the wraith held them— she gazed at him. Beginning to notice his more monstrous-like form.

“Dusknoir…” Ribbons began cautiously. “What happened? Is everything okay…?”

Dusknoir’s half-lidded eye landed on her, tilting his head uncannily.

“Does it matter?”

Wrong answer. Ribbons instantly began to squirm out of Dusknoir’s hold— squeezing herself out as she wrapped an immediate feeler onto Aimilios’s arm. Discreetly begging him to do the same. Something was wrong— very, very wrong with the elder ghost.

…

“…”

Ribbons felt something wrong with the way the gargantuan wraith was clutching his head on the kitchen counter table. Groaning out in agonizing growls and pained hisses. Not only that— but growling possessively. Causing the sylveon to second-guess herself. Shirking away as Aimilios stayed close.

“A-Aimilios—!“ the fairy-type whisper-shouted.

The way the ghost’s expression shifted into manic ecstasy is what really made Ribbons begin to back up a little. Her quiet yet desperate whispers towards the Lucario growing louder and louder.

“…Ribbons..?” Dusknoir bellowed— his voice being a few octaves lower than his regular voice. His pupil shrinking as one of his little one’s strayed further away from him. “Where are you going—?“

“D-Dusknoir..! Ohh..!” The aura pup wasted no time hugging the large specter. Whom of which— scooped up the Lucario in a tight bear hug. Almost too tight.

Aimilios didn’t understand why the Sylveon wasn’t as ecstatic as he was anymore. Or why she was cowering with her ears pinned. Too focused on reuniting with the Gripper to see what she was seeing.

Dusknoir, thankfully, broke out of his worsening trance as the Sylveon separated from him. Focusing on just Aimilios.

“We’ve been looking for you all over..! Where were you?!” Aimilios pouted, still clearly upset from the Irish-like goodbye the ghost gave them.

“Forgive me… I never wished to make you so unhappy…” His arms snake around the small aura Pokemon more, growling protectively.

“…”

“Come now….” Dusknoir’s embrace tightens. “Don’t be upset with me…” The giant specter coaxed.

Aimilios huffed out after a few seconds past— unable to hold onto his anger towards the ghost. “Alright…” the Aura Pokémon softly responded, hiding his face in the crook of Dusknoir’s ruffs.

“Thank you…” The wraith’s ginormous hands grab hold of the Lucario’s tiny waist; picking up Aimilios and craning his head thoughtfully left and right. Almost as if he were… inspecting the pup?

“A-ah… Dusknoir?” Right… Dusknoir was still in one of his… ‘trances.’ Now Aimilios understood why Ribbons was being so wary. The Aura Pokémon should’ve been as well… but he missed the ghost too much to care about logic. Logic that was telling him to run right now.

Perhaps that’s why when the wraith unhinged his large maw— the Lucario froze. Completely.

“D-dusknoir…?” Aimilios looked at the wraith worriedly, he turns his head back at Ribbons—

All he sees is her backing away— the white pupils in her cyan eyes dilating, slitting like a cat.

Ha…haha…! The Lucario nervously laughed in the back of his mind. He thought he was already past this..! He- h-he shouldn’t be having a freeze response…! Not with Dusknoir— not anymore…! So why… w-why was he so…?

Aimilios stared into the abyss that was the ghost-type’s innards. Purple flesh churned softly as a large, purple tongue unraveled onto the ground— beckoning the aura pup inside.

He… he wasn’t going to do what Aimilios thinks he’s… no. No.

Dusknoir wouldn’t.

…the Lucario’s eyes slowly meet the large specters.

“…”

Oh.

Dusknoir’s glowing, blood red eye only trained on the small Pokémon’s body.

Oh.

Aimilios’s ruby pupils shrink.

He’s serious.

“D-dusknoir..! W-WAIT—!”

“AIMILIOS—!”

The Lucario’s eyes shut as the wraith connected his head with the small pup’s. Purring softly.

“You were always much more prone to fear, weren't you?” Dusknoir detaches his temple from the Aura Pokémon— before gently pulling him towards the confines of his belly.

“Don’t worry. I’ll guide you every step of the way.” Dusknoir bellowed out— unable to hear the Lucario’s frightened cries.

The aura pup’s body squished into the surface of the revenant’s pliant body. Aimilios couldn’t even cry for help—a small, terrified whine only escapes him as he eased further into the depths of the Gripper Pokémon’s stomach. Tucking the small fighting-type away.

———

“There we are…” the gargantuan wraith purred—

Aimilios was the first one he placed inside. Thankfully— he didn’t put up much of a fight against the large revenant. Which pleased Dusknoir. He was always a good pup. One he was proud to call his own. “Be not afraid…” the ghost rumbled out gently hunched over, placing protective hands over his stomach. Almost cradling his larger belly… and the small Pokémon within... “Rest now. I have you.”

“Dusknoir please—!” Purple flesh only surrounded the Lucario— who squeezed his eyes shut in fear.

“Shh…” Dusknoir‘s glowing eye illuminated further, hushing the Lucario. “You need not worry about losing me anymore.” Dusknoir smiled. “…Not while I have you.”

“…” Aimilios curled up into himself— unable to speak without feeling the lump in his throat threatening him to start silently whimpering. He feels the imprint of a large hand pressing on him. Making the Lucario huddle even more as the large ghost doted over him.

…

His glowing eye trained on the Sylveon, who was only still there because of the paralysis she felt from watching her partner be devoured. Right before her very eyes.He gently floats over to the whimpering fairy-type— kneeling in front of her.

Ribbons immediately begins hissing, backing away from the terrifying ghost-type. This— t-this wasn’t their dad. Dusknoir wouldn’t— he’d never—

“Stay AWAY!” The irate eeveelution hissed— feeling her fight-response take over her as Aimilios did his freeze. Re-readying the Moonblast in her mouth. Dusknoir only seemed to look at her. Somewhat disappointed. He floats closer— testing the Sylveon’s resolve. His eye still lidded.

“I’M WARNING YOU…! I’LL DO IT—!”

Another advance towards her. Completely disregarding her threats.

Ribbons closed her eyes as the pink orb of energy blasted towards Dusknoir way.

…

Only for a large hand to catch it. Gently dissolving it as he crushed it in the palm of his hand.

He called her bluff.

He didn’t even flinch.

Dusknoir’s rings glowed brighter as he sighed, smiling down at the intertwining Pokémon. “Oh, Ribbons.” Of course she wouldn’t harm him. Aimilios barely tried to escape, so why would she?

Ribbons backed further and further away from the wraith— until backing herself into a wall. A dead end. Her cyan, beady eye’s looked up at the gargantuan ghost in what would be fear. Fear she hadn’t felt in years. She closes her eyes shut, expecting the worst—

Only for large, firm hands to cup her body.

“Ribbons, dear. Your partner is safe…” Large hands reach the petrified Sylveon, scooping her up. He gently placed her against his stomach— making her listen to the Aura Pokémon inside. “See..?”

Ribbons could barely squeak out of her raspy throat. Feeling Aimilios from within the barrier that was the ghost’s girth.

“Just let me take care of you…both of you.” Dusknoir bellowed, parting his teeth once more. The Sylveon and Lucario share a look of fear—before the gargantuan revenant squished the two inside his belly. Closing his yellow jaws slowly as whatever moonlight hit the inside of his stomach was snuffed. Swallowing both Pokémon into darkness.

Ribbons squeezed her eyes shut as he delicately placed her inside—sealing her away with the Lucario.

Without any time to shout— the Aura and Intertwining Pokémon had been pulled into the dark abyss that was the Gripper Pokémon’s belly. Dusknoir ignored their quiet, frightened mewls. For him to stop— drowning them out with his loud, rumbling purrs instead. Completely driven by the instinctual haze taking over his rational mind.

Being away from them for so long… it only made his instincts flare. Day by day. He clutched his stomach tighter. His yellow outlines grew brighter. He didn’t know what was wrong with him. But he didn’t care anymore. They were here now.

And they were all he needed.

“Oh… you two must be so exhausted…” Dusknoir growled in penitence. Still feeling guilt upon leaving the two small Pokémon on such short notice… they spent all that time just trying to track him. What sweet, caring children they were…

“Let me handle the rest.” Dusknoir cooed. Purring trilled growls as he examined his slightly larger belly— pressing large fingertips on the soft roof of his belly. Earning him startled whimpers from the inside.

———

“Shhh…. Shhhhhhh….”

“A-Aimilios…” The sylveon whined out, hugging her partner in fear.

“I-I know Ribbons… I know.” The Lucario had squeezed his eyes shut, alongside his smaller, fairy-type partner.

They’d been trapped inside the large ghost-type’s belly. He’d devoured them without a second thought— the last thing that could be seen was his glazed, half-lidded expression. As if he’d been running on auto-pilot. Mind controlled.

Dusknoir had floated onto the ground after finally securing the two in his stomach, an overwhelming sense of paternal instinct coursing through him. He’d hunched over, curling both of his arms around his stomach as he breathed heavily. It’d been a dark night, so that also might’ve been why he looked more terrifying to the two small Pokémon inside. The only features that could be visible were his yellow outlines… and glowing, crimson eye.

“I have you…” He growled protectively. Hugging his stomach as his possessive, ghost-side took over. Never having a reason to act on said instincts, until they arrived into his life. Until he was free serving an undead Time god.

The two Pokémon inside had been constricted further into each other as a result from the outside bear hug. Whimpering out in unison. The dark, closed space barely had enough room for the Lucario alone. So when Dusknoir had devoured the fighting-type alongside his equally helpless partner— frightened noises escaped both of their mouths.

“It’s g-going to be okay…! He… he probably had a reason…” Aimilios whispered.

“A reason for what— eating us ALIVE?!” Ribbons rebutted. Whispering back angrily in tears. “Aimilios if we don’t find a way out, he’ll..!”

…The Sylveon hesitated to finish her sentence out of fear and denial. They… really were done for if Dusknoir had chosen to do away with them right then and there… Their explorer badges had clattered to the ground when he shoved them inside his maw. So calling Grovyle or Celebi for help was already hopeless. Everyone else in the township had already fallen dead asleep, their cries for help going unheard by any ears… and the large ghost-type keeping them.

“H-he’ll…” The fairy-type buried her face into her partner’s chest. Gods— why was he doing this…?! He wouldn’t make some elaborate plan to regain their trust to harm them years down the line. Not again— Not when there were other, more opportune moments when they were alone. Still unevolved.

So why.

Why were they still so scared?

…

…The fear of being hunted in the future by him. It never truly left them, did it? Ribbons looks up at her partner. One look into his equally fearful, ruby eyes told her everything she needed to know.

“……” the Lucario couldn't formulate a response fast enough to ease Ribbon’s worries. Only holding her.

…The dumbest, most naive part of both of them still trusted Dusknoir. Trusted the Gripper Pokémon enough to let him devour them. Not fighting back in the slightest, even when they had every reason to. Even when he reminded them many a time to put him in the ground if they ever felt unsafe around him.

“H-he wouldn’t… He promised us..! The Lucario hugged her tightly. “He… he wouldn’t do that to us again…”

Aimilios was confident in that, and he knew Ribbon’s was too despite her fears. He wouldn’t have spent all this time trying to regain their trust… only to hurt them all over again.

There had to be a reason…

——

…

The Lucario and Sylveon had been at Duskull bank, putting in their extra earnings so as to not lose anything. But for some reason, the tiny ghost seemed… apprehensive. Constantly looking at the large Dusknoir accompanying the two. Once he’d been distracted talking to another treasure town citizen— he whispered something to the two Pokémon.

“H-hey..” Duskull began. “I should probably give you two a heads up…”

“A…heads up?” The Lucario tilted his head in confusion. “About what exactly..?”

“…Him.” He gestures to Dusknoir. “You kids may not know this but… it’s around this time of year ghost type’s tend to get… protective over their family… especially children.

That certainly got a reaction from the two. The Lucario becoming flustered at the thought of Dusknoir seeing them as his own… Ribbons went silent herself. Not even smiling anymore as an equally flushed expression was present on the fairy-type’s face.

But… It also made sense. The past few days Dusknoir had been acting…strange. He’d been extra protective of the Lucario and Sylveon. He’d growl and glare at Pokémon that dared to look at them wrong. Not to mention the constant hovering and picking them up. His eye glowed during these moments aswell…and it only seemed to become more frequent.

“S-so where are you going with th-this exactly?” The Lucario stuttered, trying to move on from that piece of information.

“It’s just, dusknoir’s’ have a way with ‘protecting’ their kids… it’s—“

Just at that moment, the large ghost-type had returned. Staring at Duskull.

“Forgive me for asking Duskull, but we’re quite ready to leave now.” Dusknoir smiled. Although he seemed to be glaring daggers at the much smaller pre-evolution. He didn’t seem to hear the initial conversation, thankfully.

“R-Right…” The much smaller ghost-type shirks away in fear, not finishing his sentence.

Dusknoir picks up the two, floating them to their next destination as they were left to wonder what exactly the ghost-banker was about to tell them…?

_____

“…O-oh my gods…” The Lucario put a paw on his mouth in disbelief.

“Wh-what??” Ribbons whisper-shouted. “What is it..?!”

“H-He’s protecting us….” Aimilios spoke, his eyes widening as his mind returned to the present.

“W-what…?” The sylveon looked up at her partner’s ruby eyes. “From what?!”

“Remember what Duskull said?”

“Yes? But what does this have to do with-“

“No, Ribbons. Think harder.”

And she does, closing her eyes to correctly recall the conversation that took place that day.

“He said that dusknoirs’ as a species had a way of protecting their…k-kids.” She hesitates near the end, still flustered by that fact.

“R-right…” The equally embarrassed Lucario responded. Briefly breaking eye contact with the sylveon.

“So h-he’s doing all of this…?” Ribbons looked up at the roof of the ghost’s stomach. Purple flesh churned from above, as well as below as it closed in further around the two small Pokémon.

“Because he thinks we’re his..?”

She feels herself getting a little choked up near the end. Not realizing just how much Dusknoir had truly loved the two up until this very moment.

“Mhm…” the misty-eyed Lucario replied, hugging Ribbons even tighter. “H-he does…”

The revelation was staggering… This once, world renowned ghost-type. Famous in nearly all of the Grass-continents, the ‘Great Dusknoir’ himself…

…Saw them as his little ones. The same unknown, naive kids that once approached him that fateful day. He’d been treating them as if they were his very own children.

It nearly made the Lucario and Sylveon cry.

…

They listened to Dusknoir’s movements as he floated down onto a hay bed. He looked down at his slightly larger belly lovingly. Knowing the two had been safe and secure. Low, satisfied growls erupt from within the ghost’s echo chamber. Rubbing his stomach soothingly for the two little ones residing inside it.

“Rest now, my children…” Dusknoir bellowed out in a protective rumble.

His half lidded eyes slowly close as he lays on his side. Preparing the other two for bed… he purrs as to lull the two into a slumber. Knowing that they’ll soon follow his example.

____

“So we’re not getting out until morning, are we?” Ribbons jokes, although a hint of a choked sob had been present in her voice.

“Mhm… for now, let’s get some sleep…”

“Okay…” Ribbon’s sighs, smiling softly at her partner. “Goodnight…”

“Goodnight…” He kisses the top of his partner’s head. Before both of them look at the roof of the ghost-type’s stomach… the same one that had claimed them as his own… Tears prick the corner of the two’s eyes. Knowing now how Dusknoir truly felt towards them. Hearing him call them his ‘children’…

They close their damped eyes, making mental notes in their heads to hug Dusknoir once he’d let them free.

#pmd writing tag #dadnoir #Sylveon/Ribbons #Lucario/Aimilios #pmd Dusknoir #Dusknoir #:3 hope u guys enjoy teehee #also please no ‘heehoo vore’ jokes im really not looking for those rn #ILL MAKE AN EPILOGUE IF I EVER FIND THE ENERGY. it would be fun #<<< titling it Team Hope working on their communication skills challenge /J #(And also. indirectly acknowledging what Dusknoir meant by. what he did.)

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