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notgoru · 4 months

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Title: Her Call

Description: She receives a call from her dad. He’s in trouble. Guess who has to protect her?

Author’s note: ENJOY READING! this is inspired by the character; Ghost from COD/MW2. I really love the concept of a mask! this is going to have multiple parts just idk how many

Sometimes I wondered where the money came from.

Yes, I could confirm that it was frowned upon to ask too many questions about it. Yes, I knew that I was blessed in multiple ways because of it. And of course, I was grateful and thankful for the opportunities and wishes that were granted through the money—but sometimes, I wondered where it all came from.

My wondering was always short lived though. Once my stilettos stepped foot into this building—a building that had my name printed in big letters—all those thoughts went to the left. I took a note from Beyoncé’s book and threw my baggage so far from the right because I accomplished my dream. I owned my own business and I was blessed.

Blessed that I had a father who could grant all my wishes. Blessed that I had a parent who will always provide for me. Blessed that I was surrounded by people who wanted the best for me.

I felt bad that I was unconsciously ignoring the second most important person in my life—Ryan. My best friend and personal assistant had spoke again,

“Hello, Senna? You there?”

“Sorry, I was in my thoughts again.” I told her while refocusing my gaze on her face. “And no, that’s all I need. Thank you.” I had previously called her in my office to request for her to schedule a meeting with an important future client of mine. She followed my request, as always.

“Great. I’ll send those emails out and I'll see you. . .want to get dinner together later?” Ryan asked, her eyes ridiculously pleading for me to say yes.

I paused and thought about my schedule for the rest of the day—I think I should be free for dinner. “Yes, that sounds great! I’ll see you later.”

She smiled and nodded at my response. I watched as she happy-danced out of my office. I watched her with a big smile on my face. I was equally excited about this dinner. Recently, work has been stressful. I had deadlines to make and the holiday season was right around the corner, so this was always a busy time at my marking company.

Right when I was about to dive myself back into my work, I got a call.

I looked at my personal phone, where the call was coming from, and spotted my father’s name on the caller ID—which was very weird to see. My father never called me when he knew I was at work. Hell, my father barely called me period. If some thought I was a workaholic, he was the face you saw when you looked up the definition of the word on google. I had to force myself into his house at least once a month or I wouldn’t see him at all. That man stayed in his house and specifically, his ass stayed glued to his office chair.

I answered the phone on the second ring, “Hey dad?” It came out as a question. Why was he calling me?

He took a big sigh of release. “Senna? Fuck. Thank fuck.”

“Dad? Hello?” Why did he sound so relieved?

I heard a lot of shuffling going on in the background then he spoke, breathlessly, “Look sweetie—look, I don’t have a lot of time.”

My office chair spun on its wheels and I ended up facing the window behind me. This conversation was going to need my full attention and my laptop pinging with emails was definitely going to distract me.

“Don’t have a lot of time?” I repeated back. My heart was beating ten times faster after I heard that sentence. “What are you talking ab—“

“Senna, I fucked up. I fucked up.”

“Dad, what are you talking about?”

“Listen sweetie—I love you. Never forget that.” Why was he being cryptic? Was why he talking like that? “I need you to get the envelope, Senna. Please find it and get it for me. Please sweetie. That’s the only thing that can help me.”

“Huh? What envelope? Dad explain what is happening!” I pleaded, the phone slightly shaking in my hands.

But it was spoken to death ears. He only said, “Pin and Cent are two names you need to remember. Pin and Cent. Please find them—they are the only two people that I trust to look after you and get me out of this. Find them, talk to them, and them only.”

My voice wobbled. Was he in trouble? What the fuck was going on? “Dad, I—I don’t understand what you’re asking. Where are you going?”

More movement in the background occurred. My dad started to whisper. “They’re coming. I don’t have a lot of time. I will call you when I get a new phone, sweetie. First thing. Please sweetie, get the envelope.”

“Dad, dad.“ I shouted at my phone. “What is happening? Please please tell me everything.”

“I will, sweetie. I promise. But I have to go now, okay? Go to a place called Plaza Walls and there you will meet Pin and Cent. I love you, Senna.”

“Dad I love you too, but wh—“

I didn’t get to finish my sentence. The call ended.

#ghost mw2 #ghost cod #inspiredbyghost #wattpad #original writing #mature #ghost #more to come

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notgoru · 5 months

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Title: What’s his name?

Description: A mother is sending her disobedient eleven year old son to military school. This is her first encounter with the Lieutenant. More words…Blah. Read to find out what happens next.

Author’s Note: ENJOY! i’m writing more but it’s only little pieces like this! i figured that it’s better than nothing *shrug*

The room I was standing in looked expensive.

The trash cans I passed by to get inside said room were definitely more expensive than whatever I was wearing. I didn’t even want to be here. I didn’t want it to ever come to this, but at last, I followed the yellow brick road all the way to military school. No, not for me, but for my wonderful child.

Not the sarcasm. If my child was wonderful, I wouldn’t have to call off from work, wake up very early to get here at the crack of dawn, and sweat out my silk press to finally place my feet in the principal’s office. But since this was a military school, what was the correct wording? General’s building? Commanding officer’s? President’s?

He would tell me. The he who has not turned around from facing the window since we arrived not long ago. All my wonderful child and I have had the pleasure of looking at and talking to was the furniture surrounding us. The desks, the chairs, and the goddamn wallpaper were screaming one word: broke, broke, broke. I didn’t know how long I could take the insults. Although it was very dull inside the room—a clown would cry in this room and it seemed like the decorator had a fear of bright colors—I wanted out. I was uncomfortable. I’ve been standing here for at least two minutes and hadn’t been regarded for. I knew that he knew we had come in. The huge hardwood door opening and closing was a big factor in my discovery.

I was losing my patience. I looked to my right and saw my child—I had to pause—standing still?

Who was this child to the right of me and where did my crazy baby boy go?

I promise you this eleven year old boy had less patience than an infant. One time we had been standing outside Ralphs Supermarket and we spotted a girl outside selling Girl Scout cookies. I picked up a box and paid for mine and since he had an allowance, I made him pay for the things he wanted. He wanted cookies, so he gave the young girl his money. There was trouble opening the cash register, so a minute had passed by, but a minute was too long for this child. He made a noise then threw the box of cookies right at her father’s pudgy stomach.

Of course I had to buy ten boxes of cookies because of the occurrence—I didn’t want any legal trouble. I yelled, I cursed, and I took his iPad away, but things like that still occurred. He didn’t take me seriously and everytime I did yell or curse, I felt bad about it later—he was my only baby. I didn’t like to see him upset. I didn’t like being upset at him.

Yes, it was a tough situation. And even tougher situations came out of it because of my style of parenting—which was why I was here. Here being ignored. I had to speak, so I spoke,

“Um excuse me sir—“

Finally, he turned around and. . .and. . and what are we talking about again? Oh, his eyes? Well they were more sparkly than a disco ball. My eyes were definitely dancing all over him. His face, his arms, his uniform—

Stop. This was my son’s principal. No, Officer. No, General?

“Please sit down.” He said. His voice was just as I imagined. Deep and captivating.

Strangely it felt like that please was forced out.

My son and I moved around from standing next to the door and sat down in the chairs that were placed in front of the desk. Well actually—I was the only one who sat down. My son—my wonderful son—said,

“Mom, I don’t want to be here.”

I gave him a small encouraging smile. “I know baby, but you’ve been kicked out of three schools and I don’t have the ability to persuade you into another school again. This school will be perfect for you.”

“I’m not a baby.” Was the only thing he said to me in response, still standing.

“Sit down, son.” Mr. Curtain Watcher spoke up from behind the desk, sat in his chair.

And to my surprise, my son listened.

Mr. Military man wasn’t done with speaking though. He continued, “Your mother believes that this school is a perfect fit for you, so that means that I believe that this school is the perfect fit for you. Do you want me to become a liar?”

“No.” My little boy replied back in a small breath. It seemed that my little baby was nervous around this man and I knew this because his knee was bopping uncontrollably and he kept gulping.

I didn’t know whether to laugh or comfort him.

Scary man who made my son nervous turned his attention back to me. Weirdly, it caused me to sit up in my seat straighter. I didn’t know why I was slightly scared of the man. I wasn’t attending the school. “Ms. Rontol, it seems to me that you already filled out all the required documents online, you paid your fees and have turned in his suitcases to the front desk. Great. That makes my job easier.” Suddenly, he stopped gawking at me and switched it to my son. His eyes moving up and down. “I noticed that we have your address on file, were you not able to receive a package of the uniform?”

“Oh, we received it.” I said. His eyes moved back to me and I had to take a gulp. Why did it seem like I was in the hot seat? “I just didn’t think it was required for the first day.”

“It’s required. Every time he steps foot on campus, he’s required to wear a uniform.”

My back went straight. Is it really that big of a deal? He wasn’t officially a student until I left the premises. “Okay well I was going to take him out to lunch after this meeting, for our final goodbye, and I didn’t want him to be fitted up at Taco Bell.”

That was a joke. Like I would ever take my child to rotten Taco Bell… McDonald’s is more my forte.

It was silent for a second after my response. Then he said, “We have a dress code for everyone who steps on campus; including parents. It’s only fair that everyone applies by the same rules.”

I wanted to laugh. “What? I have to wear a uniform too?”

“No, but we have guidelines.”

“Excuse me? Are you trying to say something?” I didn’t think he even saw my outfit. The whole time we’ve been here, his eyes have either been connected directly with mine or on my son. Trust me, I would’ve felt if his gaze had wandered down a bit. Not because it's him, but I knew when anyone’s gaze wandered down a little too far for my liking.

I wasn’t even wearing anything scandalous. This outfit was produced from the modest side of my closet. My shirt did have a drop down v neck and because I was blessed in the chest area, some cleavage was showing, but you have to be kidding me? It was an ounce of cleavage and my skirt was past my knees. I was basically a nun.

“All I’m trying to do is inform you of the rules.” The man behind the desk said. “Your child watches everything you do and say.” He rudely reminded me.

But he was right. To my right, Knight—my son—was staring at me with wide eyes and an open wide. He couldn’t believe that I just talked back to the teacher.

“Yes, of course. I will look at the dress code right when I get back in the car.” I faked a smile and agreed.

“Great.” He said.

“Great. I said.”

#first time meeting #writing #wattpad author #romance #romantic #singlemom #cold man #sharingbcwhynot #drafts #original writing #not fanfic #original content

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