Heya! Sorry for the silence everyone! Haven’t had time to write in a while. December was a really busy month for me with the holidays and multiple birthdays, and the i quickly started classes back up at college this month. as a full time student I don’t have a whole lot of free time to be writing shit that isn’t for my classes, nor the motivation too.
But i haven’t abandoned this blog nor my writing, and definitely not the bomb-dog reader blurbs/series. It just might be awhile until ya’ll get some new posts. Sorry!
Description: The youngest sergeant the guys have ever met joins the team as a second sniper, their head strong and overconfident, thinking they’re all that. Quickly, the team is sick of it, especially ghost. The damn kid keeps stealing his shots on the field, and only just at that. he’s gonna fix your attitude.
MINORS DNI you will be blocked
Cw/tags: Brat reader, unprofessional behavior, inappropriate workplace conduct, Ghost is sick of your shit, ftm reader, trans reader, “cunt” is used once, agegap, daddy kink, Ghost calls reader “kid”, p in v, not safe or sane, handcuffs (its a belt actually), cremepie, multiple orgams, overstim, manhandling, unsafe sex, fingering, clothed sex (on Ghosts part), reader has top surgery and was or is on T, reader has a “t-dick”, little bit of pupplay (ghost calls reader a dog), slightly dubious consent, unprotected sex.
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w/c: 3,800+
"Kate, what the bloody hell do you think the 141 is? A Behavioral program?"
Price stares at the file placed in front of him by Laswell, a laundry list of insubordination and calls for disciplinary action decorate it. Failure to follow orders, disobeying procedures, disregarding protocol.
"No, but I think some time with the 141 would help—" Kate tries to explain.
"Help? This kid is on the edge of a dishonorable discharge, Laswell." Price stresses, scanning over the file once more, the kids a sergeant at 20, one of youngest he's seen.
Kate's lips press into a thin line, turning her hand away from him and tapping her finger against the wooden desk between them.
"He's good John, really good. Some of best scores on any test we've thrown at him."
"I can see that, but if he can't follow commands, if he can't listen—"
"He just needs some guidance, a leading voice and firm hand, he could be one of our best." She speaks like she has some kind of connection to this kid.
Price leans back in his chair heavily, stroking a hand over his beard. He sighs.
"He's really that good? Blown scores off the charts?" Laswell nods, flipping to the page and pointing them out to him again.
"Bloody hell."
He locks eyes with her, staring her down.
"And you're fuckin' sure about this kid?"
"Yes."
He needs a smoke. And a drink.
"… Fine." He huffs, thick arms crossing over his chest, "Whats the deal with this kid anyway?"
You've been on the 141 for two months now, and Ghost is done. You arrived on base cocky and arrogant, with a smirk big enough to match your ego, he'd thought that'd be gone within the first week under Price, the man doesn't let attitude like yours go unchecked and unchallenged, but no, eight weeks in and you're as snarky and bratty as you were when you first got here.
Price has made you run suicide sprints at least five separate times, yet you only take it as a chance to push and prove yourself.
You seem to think you need to constantly prove your worth to the team, how you're just as good or better.
Ghost's watched you steal his shots for two months to long now. You disregard orders and act like a Maverick, a solo player and self important. You think you can do everything on your own and ten times better.
More then once has he heard you tell him to "Keep up old man, you're not going blind and deaf in that mask, are you?"
You need an attitude change and Ghost is this close to giving it to you. Your cocky and reckless, and it needs to be fixed. He'll turn you into a proper soldier.
One way or another.
Again Price has buddied you two up, he won't in his right mind put you with Soap or Gaz, not after last time, and he sure as shit isn't going to be dealing with you not listening to him on this op.
So he's sticks you with Ghost, outside and where you'll cause the least amount of harm to the operation even if you fail to follow orders from Ghost.
But Ghost is having none of it by the end of the op, it was successful but just barely, with no help from you. You shot to early and to readily. You didn't listen when Ghost said to wait. You almost dropped the target they needed alive.
To him its by sheer luck you didn't. Only just missing and hitting someone else.
You think its skill that you made such a tight shot between targets.
The exfill heli prepare to land on base and you jump off before the landing gear touches the ground, you're practically buzzing with adrenaline.
Ghost steps off hehind you, a firm set scowl under his skull balaclava.
A hand wraps around your bitch strap and your yanked sideways, stumbling in the direction you're pulled.
"We need to talk." He growls next to your ear.
"About what? The op went perfectly—" you're cut off as Ghost ignores you and starts walking, still holding your bitch strap.
"Hey! Hey, let go!—" you struggle against his hold, trying to reach behind your head and pry his fingers off. He only keeps walking, pulling you behind.
"I can walk my fucking self!" You continue to protest, trying to gain ground and footing to pull against his hold better, but you cant manage as he continues to haul you forward towards the base barracks.
He drags you through the halls and into his private quarters, unceremoniously tossing you through the door, you flail to catch yourself from falling as he closes the door behind both of you. You hear the lock click.
You stand in the middle of the room, arms crossed over your chest, Ghost stands with his head leaning against the wooden door, back to you. He takes a deep breath before turning to you.
"What. The. Bloody. Fuck. Was. That!?" He yells, his tone low and angry, its the angriest you've heard him thus far, you take a step back.
"What was what? That operation was successful! We got the guy and the intel." You defend, and you can see how his scowl deepens under his mask by his eyes.
"I'm not talkin' about how it ended, I'm talkin' bout' you're behavior and judgement during it!" He pokes a finger into your chest, "What was running through yer damn head? Are you stupid? Yer damn lucky that shot didn't hit the target we needed alive."
You bat his hand away, gaining a glare of your own.
"It was not "luck" it was fucking skill! I knew what I was doing!"
"You damn well didn't know! No sniper with any kind of brain would take a shot that risky next to a target." Ghost barks, stepping into your space.
"It was a calculated risk—"
"Calculated? It was bloody reckless is what it was. And it was unnecessary too." He grabs you face roughly, forcing you to lock eyes with him, something he's noticed about you is you avoid eye contact.
Your hand reaches up and wraps around his wrist where he holds your jaw.
"What is yer damn problem huh? What's yer damage that makes ya so hotheaded? Makes ya fucking stupid and reckless and insubordinate." He questions, like you'll actually give him an answer. He knows you won't, you've neglected to tell anyone on the team anything about yourself. Or maybe it's on purpose.
"I am not—"
"Oh ya are, ya really are. Do you know how close yer to a dishonorable discharge, Kid?"
You chew the inside of your cheek, scowling.
"It can't be that bad."
"It is. It bloody is. I've seen your damn file, anything that ain't blacked out is a citation or violation of some kind." Ghost gets closer to your face.
"The only reason yer here is 'cause Price owes Laswell a favor and she sent ya to us to break you." He whispers in you ear.
Your eye brows furrow, staring at him from the corner of your eye, his face besides yours.
"Bullshit." You mumble, and he shakes his head at you.
"Is not a lie, lovie." He squishes your cheeks inward, "And I'm getting damn tired of how long Captn' is taking to get you in line. Might just do it my bloody self."
Its hard to ignore the heat thats been raising to your face now, tipping your ears in red and turning your cheeks pink. Especially with the way he's whispering into your damn ear.
"Try it, I dare you." You narrow your eyes at him in challenge, your not sure what you expect to happen.
What you really dont expect is for Ghost to laugh breathily by your ear, which only makes you go redder.
He gets closer to your ear and you can hear his breathing, in fact its the only thing you can hear other than the way your heart has started to pound though you.
"Ya dare me to try? I'll do more than try." He murmurs.
You scoff, like you don't believe him.
But you're frozen in place as the hand holding you face lowers, warping around your neck just under your jaw line, his other hand grabs your hip and squeezes.
Your hand is still wrapped around the wrist of the hand that holds your neck, he doesn't tighten his grip, just holds.
He leans back from your face and you can tell he's smirking under his mask with the way his eyes change shape.
Ghost is pleasantly surprised with the way you've stilled in place and shut up just with a hand around your throat, its like your brain kicked down three gears.
"What, nothing to say now?" He snickers, rubbing his thumb against your neck.
The hand on your hips leaves and he reaches up to pull off his balaclava, revealing his scarred face and sandy blonde hair.
He throws the skull patterned mask onto the bed behind you, he uses the hand around your neck to push you backwards towards the bed till the back of your legs meet it and your forced to sit.
"Tell me to stop and I will." Ghost leans over you to talk into your ear again, but now you can feel his warm breath instead of just hearing it.
you shake your head and his smile grows. Its sharp and dangerous.
"Words kid, use your words." He teases, "C'mon, ya know how, can't seem to get ya to shut up the rest of the time."
"Stop and I'll turn this whole thing around on you." You huff a weak threat.
Ghost snickers again, bowing over you, one knee on the bed, one hand holding up his weight, his other still around your neck.
"Awh, is someone pent up? Yer hand not doing it anymore?" he coos meanly.
"You'll regret tha'." Ghost adds in a murmur.
He leans down and puts heated kisses along your jaw, he bites softly, smug at the way your breath keeps catching. All the while his hand holds you in place by your throat and his thumb rubs over the side of it.
Small whines slip from your mouth and Ghost takes some mercy on you, finally putting his lips to yours, he kisses you hungerily, biting your lower lip, causing you to open your mouth which he uses to his advantage to bully his tongue into your mouth.
By the time he pulls away you're breathlessly and panting, face a bright pink. Ghost only chuckles with a smug smile.
He shifts his weight back to his knee bent on the bed and his leg on the floor to free the hand holding him up over you, His other is still wrapped lightly around your neck. He can feel your rapid pulse under his fingertips.
His hand brushes over you hip before moving to undo the front of your pants, as soon as the button is undone and the zipper down he's shoving his hand into your pants and under your boxer briefs.
Ghosts not surprised about what he finds there, he's read your file over and over, looking for anything between the blacked out line that'd explain why you're the way you are, he's not put off by the coarse slick-damp hair or the long extended bundle of nerves he can feel. What a cute thing, a small dick.
You gasp when his hand rubs over you, sending sparks of pleasure up your spine.
"Sensitive aren't you?" He mocks, rubbing harder, your hand— the one not still holding the wrist of the hand around your neck —grabs his wrist to still his movements, breathing harder.
"Ah, none of that love, you asked for this, threatened me if i were to stop even." He scolds, pulling his hand from your grip and pants, it goes to his own, unbuckling his belt and pulling it from the belt-loops in one quick motion.
He lets go of your throat only to grab both your wrists in one hand.
"Hey—" you start to complain but are interrupted when with his other hand he wraps the worn leather around and through your wrists, cinching it tight, though he's kind enough to make sure he's not cutting off your circulation.
You can feel as he buckles it in place, locking your wrists together, you test the strength and he's smug as your wrists barely move and you cast a weak glare up at him.
Ghost hooks a thumb under the belt and wraps his hand and its leather, pulling you wrists up and pinning them above your head to the bed with it. His other hand goes to your hip.
The sound of velcrow echoes in the room as he undoes the pieces on both sides of your torse that hold your tac vest to you, he pulls it off over you head and pulls the back of it out from under you. Leaving just your shirt.
Uncaringly it is thrown somewhere on the floor. Not like it'll break.
"Be careful with that!" You still huff out, and he rolls his eyes.
His fingers return to you, running over your hip bone and then slipping under your shirt, the fabric of your shirt bunches as his hand travels up and up the planes of your torse, exploring.
Your breath stutters as the tips of his fingers brush over the horizontal scars adorning your chest, just under your pectorals. You can't actually feel them, but you know their there, you can see it and thats enough to imagine the feeling.
Ghost leaves your shirt pushed up to your collarbones while his hand makes its way back down your body, he brushes his fingers along the waist band of your boxer briefs, pleased with the way your breath stills, held in your lungs.
"Nervous? Excited?" He teases, dipping his fingers lower tauntingly.
"Would you hurry up—" your cut off as Ghost huffs and pushes down your pants and boxers to your thighs, exposing your core to the cool air of his qauters.
"Impatient. This isn't a reward, kid." He reminds, But he collects some of your slickness onto his fingers from your folds before he begins to rub the base of your t-dick.
Sparks run up your spine again, and you swallow a small whine, breathing carefully through your nose.
He hovers over you, watching your face as he continues to rub, going in agonizingly slow circles, just enough pressure to drive you crazy.
It's torture.
Ghost works his way up to a quicker pace, all to slowly for you, but everytime you try to tell him to speed up your stopped by keening sounds threatening to leave your throat in place of the words you mean too.
You feel the start of the telltale tingling feeling in your core, finally a whine breaks through the barrier you've been trying to build, Ghost smiles and surprisingly speeds up.
The coil tightens faster and within a minute your crashing over the edge, hole clenching around nothing and muscles tightening, causing your legs to shake.
"How cute." He coo's when your eyes flutter and you moan softly, all the tension leaving your body in the waves of euphoria.
He doesn't give you time to recover before he's sliding his fingers through your folds again and finding your hole, giving no warning other then a "Breath kid." When he slips two fingers into you. Your wet enough it's easy and unpainful, loosened up from the high.
Your breath stutters and you whine, hips wiggling in slight discomfort at the sudden intrusion but the feeling of being stretched is replaced with the feeling of his fingers moving inside you, brushing against your velvety walls, it's almost overwhelming right after your orgasm, but he goes slow enough it just bordering the line between pleasure and overstimulation.
Luckily you've always had a fast refractory period.
He thrusts his fingers inside and out slowly, running the tips along you, he knows he's found what he's looking for when your hips buck involuntarily.
"There it is." He says and focuses in on that point, bringing you right back up to the edge quickly, only to stop before he pushes you over, starting to scissor his fingers, stretching you out.
You whine, high and needy, slowly your turning to mush from the endorphins that flood your brain.
Ghost leans down to nip at your jaw again, smiling.
"Look at you, being a good boy, can't you be like this all the time? Pliant and obedient." He murmurs in your ear.
Your hips buck again and his smile grows.
"Oh? You like that? Being called a good boy?" He mocks in a sweet voice, "Just a dumb dog acting out? It that what you are?"
"N-no." You breathe and shake your head, but he can tell you're lying by the why you clench around his fingers at his words.
He laughs and kisses along you neck, sucking hickies into it as his fingers continue to work you open.
"You say that, but I know the truth." Ghost whispers.
When he deems you stretched enough he pulls his fingers from you, causing you to whine and try to chase them with you hips. He laughs meanly.
Ghost's hands both move to wrap around your waist, he lifts you and turns you over onto your stomach, your arms get trapped above your head even without his hand their to hold them done. The position he put you in does it for him.
He pulls you pants and boxers the rest of the way off, they join you tac vest on the floor.
Your knees get pushed under you hips, forcing your ass up, you back automatically arches, your chest pressed against the mattress.
By the time you can hear Ghost shoving his own pants down his hips enough to free his cock your dripping onto the sheets, wet and unbelievably needy.
"Please— please daddy—" the title slips from your lips without you even noticing until after, you bite your lip to keep more words from falling out of your mouth.
Ghost only chuckles, giving his dick a few pumps with his hand before he gets up onto the bed fully to kneel behind you.
He rubs his length through your folds meanly, spreading your arousal over it. He teases notching at your entrance only to again rub his dick between your wet thighs.
One of these time you try to rock back and put it in your self, which causes Ghost's hand to go to the back of your neck and press your face further into the sheets, causing you to still automatically.
"Eager insatiable little thing." He huffs, again laughing.
He gets the message and thrusts into you in one smooth motion, making you breath catch and a loud moan to leave you.
The strech isn't painful— thanks to Ghost's prep —but it's alot, he hasn't even moved and your panting.
When he does start to move he's immediately hitting the spot deep inside you, making you whine and drool, mouth hanging open with the now constant sounds leaving you.
He keeps an even pace to start, still holding you in place with the hand on the back if the neck making sure you cant squirm away when he starts to fuck you in earnest.
Ghost groans as your sex flutters around him, clenching tightly and pulling him back in every time he pulls back to thrust back in.
"Fuck— perfect for me pretty boy. Who'd guess a hotheaded brat like you would have such a sweet cunt." He murmurs, and hears your whiney moan.
"Please daddy—" you manage between sounds, not even sure what you're really begging for at this point.
He bows over you, kissing between your shoulders blades, his lips smiling against your skin.
"So good for daddy baby," he plays into the title, he actually finds he likes it, "just need a dick in you to behave hm?"
You whine and he speeds up, fucking into you deeper, his arm wraps around your waist to play with your t-dick.
"Such a brat, but the second i've got you under me your so sweet." He teases, stroking over your small dick, making you clench around him tighter, making him groan again.
He pistons his hips against you, focusing futher on that spot inside that makes you see stars when he can feel the way you muscles are tightening again and your breathe keeps catching in your throat.
"Gonna cum on daddy's cock kid? Make you feel that good?" Ghost coo's and his smile grows when you nod your head weakly.
"Go on then love, cum around me, soak daddy's dick. Milk it" He encourages, rubbing your t-dick faster.
"Daddy—" you cum with a whiny moan and your eyes flutter again, hole clenching around him and it really does feel like your trying to milk him.
Ghost fucks you through your orgasm and well past it, working you to the line of overstimulation and then over it, tears gather in your eyes and run down your cheeks.
He chuckles, kissing your shoulder.
"Is it to much for daddy's boy? Well thats to bad, cause dad isn't done yet." He says meanly, thrusting into you deeper to hear the breathless sounds you make.
Again he works you up to the edge, faster this time from the overstimulating pleasure and send you over, endorphins flood you further and you really are nothing more than a puddle, all pilant and sugary sweet for him.
His hips stutter this time, thrusts going uneven and sloppy.
"Dad's gonna fill you up baby boy, gonna make you leak my cum." He murmurs, panting himself.
Ghosts thrusts still and you feel as his warm spend flood your system, making you warmer then you already are.
He circles your t-dick with his fingers as he cums, making you clench around his dick, pulling every last drop from him.
Your spent and tired, but you don't feel his cock soften inside you at all, how is that even possible?
His is against your back as he take a moment to breath, after he pulls his thick length from you, a ring of your mixed arousal around the base, only to turn you over back to your back and shove back into you.
He laughs breathlessly at the way you whinper, he starts slow but even that is overwhelming in your current state.
"Don't worry kid, dad can go all night. And that exactly what hes gonna do." He leans down and whispers in your ear, "Maybe by the time I'm done you'll be a good boy all the time. And if your not? I'll just show how to be one again."
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a/n: new fic just dropped!! Hope ya’ll like it :) that all for now! See ya’ll on the next post.
back again (probably will become a regular in your inbox lol ^^) I LOVE THE NEW PUP READER FIC!!!!! I’m really interested to see where readers relationship with the 141 will go!!!
Sorry this took so long! I got really suddenly busy unfortunately, but here it is! The third blurb installment to this mini series(?)
The fight scene in here kicked my ass for a straight week
[blurb two here!] [blurb one here!]
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You don't trust the team. The 141.
Following Ghost through the halls of the base you try to pay attention to what he's saying you really do but your stuck thinking about him standing over you in boot camp years ago. You don’t know if he recognizes you.
Often you think of that day, the one that made the horrid rumors grow ten sizes. You still wonder why he bandaged your wound for you, why he followed you like a shadow. You should be nothing and no one to him, yet he took the time to disinfect your cuts.
While you still remember that small kindess, sitting on the sink in the barracks bathroom, you cant help but hold a small amount of resent for him for not stepping in sooner all that time ago, you place blame on him for the nasty rumors that now follow you. He could've stopped that fight when the other recruit was choking you, but he didn't, you don't think you'll ever understand why.
He introduces you to the rest of the team, one Captian John Price, one Sergeant John "Soap" Mctavish and one Sergeant Kyle "Gaz" Garrick.
It's a patchwork team of trauma, skill, and experience, you expect it to be like any other team you've worked with or on, your prepared for them to already have heard the rumors, your ready for the names that come with them and the whispers.
You get them, but from anyone but the team.
They greet you kindly but gruff, seemingly in the middle of a debrief, gathered in Captain Prices temporary office on this base.
It isn't completely uncommon for someone to treat you kindly, there've been a few people here and there who don't believe the rumors and don't listen to gossip, who treat you like a friend and person.
But a whole team? Unlikely, you'd never be that lucky.
At least not without a price.
Its sets you on edge and raises the hair on the back of your neck.
Soap seems to be the most— excited? eager? —to meet you, he shakes your hand with his bugger one and he has this smile on his face thats almost friendly. He's got a Scottish accent that you don't expect, though you didn't expect the English accents the rest of the team possess either.
"I was raised 'round hybreeds like ye. It'll be nice to be workin' with one." He says, your not sure if you believe him. You reply kindly, politely, you don't want to get on his bad side, lying or not.
You don't hang around long, excusing yourself to the barracks to "Settle in," tracing your steps back to where Ghost showed you they were.
Dropping your ruck sack on the cold concrete floor in front of whats been labeled your bunk and you sit on the edge heavily, you use your heel to kick your bag under the bunk, stashing it away.
the 141's been given their own bunk room, separate from the rest of the base, it's a nice change from the ones you've stayed in before, better then sharing a room with that one soldier who decided it'd be funny to take your bag and move it into the kennels on the base there.
for a week the 141 stays on the current base, you try to keep your distance from the rest of team, still weary, but its hard when their constantly dragging you to spar or sit with them for meals.
They squish you between Ghost and Soap at meals, they all make jokes you don't understand, stealing food off each others plates. You growl every time a hand comes close to your plate, they learn quickly to not reach towards yours. They don't mention it.
You don't join their conversations, you do your best to ignore them, remain at arms length. You're not friends, you're co-workers.
Could you be friends, a family? Isn't that what a team is supposed to be? Thats what you were promised.
During sparring you hold back, forcing growls—playful or not—down, you copy what you've seen and do as you've been taught. You try to fight like a human, with fists and feet, not claws and teeth.
When your not training your hiding out in the bunk room or a quiet corner, trying to avoid the whispers and prying eyes of the other soldiers on the base, but it's never long before one of team finds you and is dragging you along again. You don't know how they do it.
Week two starts with a relocation and a debriefing, the team is given their first op where you'll be coming along, one needing all hands on deck.
It's going well, or as well as it can be.
It Really was going fine—before your gun jammed up. you'd found and disarmed any bombs you could, you'd been paired off into a duo with Soap.
Who—against your best efforts—is growing on you, just a little, but then you lost track of him and found a few enemies you didn't mean to.
And then, as mentioned, your gun decided it was the goddamn perfect time to stall.
Now you're cornered, the hairs on the back of your neck are standing up, your instincts are going haywire and all kinds of warning bells are going off in your head.
Your surrounded and its not a feeling you like.
The enemy backs you into a corner, they've run out of ammo to your knowledge, spent it all making their way to you, but they out number your one to four. Somewhere in the back of your mind you're vaguely aware Ghost is supposed to be stationed close by with his sniper rifle as backup, watching. You also know you're in the way of any shot he could take, of him dropping bodies and he won't risk hitting his team, you, unless it’s necessary.
A growl rumbles loud and clear from your chest, loud enough the team can hear it over the comms, its like nothing they've heard from you before. Ghost watches through his scope as your ears pin back and your lips curl away from your teeth, flashing white in his vision.
Your center of gravity shifts and your knee's bend, hands to your sides and sharp nails on display, they look closer to claws after a week of not being filed down.
A guy in gear heavier then yours takes a step towards you and you lunge at him, people in the room falter as you crash into him, knocking him to the ground. Your claws find weak points in his gear, tearing through fabric and into skin.
He starts to struggle and you both wrestle for control, you can see the panic in his eyes as he fails to over power you, his team watches in horror as your head dips down and teeth meet throat. You bite down hard and you can hear him start to choke as blood fills his mouth.
Static fills your head as red stains everything in sight, the enemy team takesa step backwards as you look up, blood drips off of your chin from your mouth and paints your hands.
The one under you gargles and goes still.
One of them pushes another towards you, biting words leave what must be the teams leader's mouth but you don't care to decipher them through the static.
You use his hesitancy against him quickly, you lick the blood smeared around your mouth and growl threateningly before you jump at him.
He falters back and out of the way, just barely dodging your attempt at him, yout tail thrashes behinds you as now stand upright in front of him and lock eyes with him behind the mask he wears, you can see the way his eyes dart around the room like he's looking for escape.
When he takes his eyes off of you for a second you run at him again, he doesn't have the time to move out of the way this time.
He doesn't go down as easily as the last and you grapple against him before you manage to dig deadly claws into soft flesh and red gushs from the point of contact in his neck.
His hands go to his neck, trying to stop the bleeding but it's not enough, he stumbles backwards to the wall and slides down it, gasping for air like it'd help.
How tower over him on the ground, gear stained red, it drips from your nails to the floor and its smeared over your face.
You've only just torn you way through the third man's femoral artery when heavy boots steps enter the room and a gun goes off, the fouth and last enemy crumples to the floor and you ears swivel to the orgin of the shot.
A towering figure stands in the door frame and you growl at them before a sharp whistle breaks through the heavy static in your head and the figure steps into the light. Ghost.
Your growl quiets mostly, dying down to a low warning as he stalks into the room. You stand absolutely soaked in blood and the enemy's bodys lay dead or bleeding out around you.
Ghost says nothing as he approaches, swinging his rifle around on its strap to hang against his back before a hand is digging into one of his many pockets.
He grabs your jaw in a way you remember him doing before in way to much detail, your rumbling growl picks up a bit and he clicks his tongue.
"Quit yer damn grumbling." He warns and wipes a handkerchief against your face roughly, it comes away pink instead of its original off-white color.
you blink at him, confused, what is he doing?
"Ya really need to stop biting people, but I'll admit, that was bloody impressive." He says, still holding your face and squishing in your cheeks.
Your tail wags involuntarily for a breath moment before you force it to still and shove his hand off of you and quickly brush past him, mumbling a excuse of finding Soap.
He remembers you, and your unsure if you hate it or like it.
you pass Soap on the way to the exfil point, he watches you walk by with a raised eyebrow at the state of you.
You try your best to avoid Ghost after the team gets back to base and after the debriefing, You're attempts to avoid your lieutenant last about four hours, some how he hears about you avoid a mandatory med check after the encounter you had had.
Who knows what diseases those fuckers could've been carring.
One moment your hiding at the edge of the base's property, sitting in the grass and knees to your chest, picking at the fur on your tail, the next a hand is grabbing the strap on the back of your vest and hauling you up to your feet and dragging you away.
You scramble to find purchase under your feet, trying to reach behind you to and remove the hand pulling you along, your efforts useless, focus to spilt between gaining footing and trying to pry the hand away that neither are successful and you only end up stumbling backwards after who ever has you by the bitch strap.
You're to preoccupied to even growl earnestly.
"Would ya quit? Can't belive you, thinking ya could just avoid a med check." Theres that rough British accent that's becoming all too familiar.
You struggle against his hold harder and start to throw threats and insultsaround, ones that don't seem to hold much weight to Ghost but everyone you pass stares after you in horror at the graphic detail you use to threaten to tear Ghost's throat from his body and how you call him a giant motthefucker with a stick up his ass.
"Let go, you gigantic fucker— I do not need a med check!"
"Price and government policy would disagree." He huffs, the threats and insulting words roll off of him like water off of a ducks feathers.
He tugs you through the door to the medical and into its stark white walls, which has you struggling stronger.
Its not that your scared, no, you'd just prefer to skip the stupid fucking med check, you've been through them enough to know they don't really do anything and have had enough medics brush you off as a unimportant mutt to never want to do them again. Even if on occasion you'll run into a friendly military nurse who'll actually give a shit to check if somethings wrong instead of just sending you on your way.
Though this time you'd rather just be sent on your way, but you no doubt swallowed some of the blood from earlier and that's not something you can just be once overed for, what if that enemy team was carrying blood born diseases?
What you're really trying to avoid is the spread of gossip that'll come from this, stuff like tearing out a guys throat with your teeth travels fast on small military bases. And you can already hear the whispers calling you a dieased dog.
Ghost forces you into one of the uncomfortable waiting chairs, only pushing you back down into it when you try to stand up, he gives you a hard look and points down at the seat you sit on, wordlessly telling you to sit and stay.
You growl quietly at him, but stay put, arms crossing over your chest as you sink into the chair.
He waves over one of the nurses who stand around the desk as your ears pin flat to your head.
The nurse and Ghost talk over your head and your leg begins to bounce when drawing blood and a mouth swab is mentioned, this is going to take forever. You just want to go back to hiding or pass out in the barracks.
Odessa— the nurse —introduces herself, she's nice enough, hasn't called you a mutt or a mongrel, at least not yet. Maybe its because Ghost is with you.
She wanders off for a moment, presumably grabbing what she needs for a blood draw and a cheek swab.
While she's gone you glare up at Ghost, it unfortunately doesn't have the effect you want, he only stares back at you silently, almost daring you to try something. At least thats what it seems like to you.
Odessa returns with a tray of things that gets set on a side table next to you, she puts on new latex gloves that she snips against her wrist.
"Alright, lets get this over with." Odessa says, grabbing the cheek swab and hands it to Ghost. You raise a brow.
Odessa grabs your arm, pulling it away from your chest and starts to roll up your sleeve, she wipes the inside of your elbow with a cotton ball soaked in disinfectant. The smell burns your nose and you wrinkle it in distaste.
You watch as she gives Ghost a nod and he grabs your face as your eyes dart from her to him. You almost hate the way his hand on your face is becoming familiar along with his drawling voice.
He pushes in your cheeks in the same second you feel a needle slipping under your skin, the next second he presses harder, forcing your mouth open, your hand shoots up to grab his wrist, wrapping fingers around it tightly.
"Be nice." He warns, like you'll try and bite him.
He sticks the swab into your mouth, running it across the inside of your cheek.
It's all done in a matter of mere seconds, your blood is drawn, filled three small vials and your cheek is swab with an awful feeling swab before its similarly put into a plastic tube.
Odessa collects both things, labeling them as you and Ghost are stuck in a staring contest, his hand still on your face and yours still wrapped around his wrist.
You break first, turning your eyes away from him.
"Good boy." You see as he smiles under his patterned balaclava.
You growl lowly but he only chuckles, letting go of your face and reaching up to scratch behind your floppy ears.
Your mortified as your tail wags and thumps against the chair's leg unwillingly. Your cheeks go red and you roughly bat his hand away.
"Stop that." Your voice is low and threatening.
You get outta there as quickly as you can after that, the tests will take a while to come back. You shove your way out of the chair and past Ghost, speed walking out of medical.
Making sure Ghost isn't following you, you make your way to the barracks, slamming the door behind you.
You ignore Soap who's already in the room, watching you confused.
Collapsing onto your bunk face first, you groan into the sheets as the whole interaction plays over in your head. Tail again wagging against your will.
Fuck.
─── ─── ── .✦
─── ─── ── .✦
a/n: this took me way fucking longer then i meant it too, it also quite a bit longer then originally intended (just under 3000 words) but i hope ya’ll enjoy!! Again that fight scene kicked my goddamn ass for a week straight trying to get it right but i think i did alright.
See ya’ll on the next post! Whenever and whatever that may be! (I have a few ideas.)
I NEED MORE OF PUP READER WI TY GHOST OH MY GOD I LOVE THE BLURB SO MUCHHHHH
So i heard ya’ll want more of bombdog!reader? Well don’t i have just the thing for you, how about the first time reader and Ghost met?
[blurb one here!] [blurb three here!]
─── ─── ── .✦
Hybirds are still a relatively new concept to the world, especially ones working in the military, when a recruiter approaches you in your senior year. He's interested in getting you involved with the bomb investigations branch of the military, and well, you've always been interested in things that go boom. Being a hybrid mix of a german shepherd and a belgian malinois doesn't hurt either.
What you don't realize is you've just agreed to being one of the first trial runs of turning what is usually a team— one of a handler and a K-9 —into one person.
Boot camp isn't… the best, its brutal, and not just in the training, infact you breeze through that, even with double the work of other recruits, all due to your hybrid genes giving you a leg up, making you high energy, motivated, and a workaholic. You feel like you have to have something to do all the time.
No, the training isn't the problem. Its the stares, its the name calling, the degradation from other recruits thats the issue. You can handle the yelling from the drill sargents, the insults, because its not just directed at you, it isn't targeted.
From the recruits? Its mean, its personal, it's constant. They call you "Mutt," "flea ridden," and a "dumb dog," along side so many other names. They talk about how you need to be muzzled and on a leash, how your nothing more than trouble. Nothing more then a obedient dog following every order.
When their not degrading and making jabs at you directly there talking behind your back, spreading rumors about you.
You don't make any friends in boot camp, your ostracized and pointedly left out when the Drill instructors aren't forcing you to be included. You were told platoons were supposed to be family, this hardly feels like one.
It reminds you more of the bullying you'd been subjected to all throughout school, the nasty name calling, the backhanded comments when you do something right, its all familiar but that doesn't make it any easier. At least in school there were other hybrids, you weren't alone in this cruel treatment, you had friends, people to fall back on and talk too. Here you have no one and nothing.
Here your not even allowed to call home.
At all comes to a head a week before graduation, your being forced into a ring two at a time to spar, it feels like a glorified gladiator ring with the way everyone watches the matches, cheering for whoever's in the middle.
Everyone cheers for your opponent, recruit Johnson, when he and you enter the ring, your ears pin to your head at the volume of the combined voices of your so called platoon, you can imagine the jarring laughter that'll follow if you don't win this.
You stand in the lose sand, hands curled into fists like you've been taught, like you're familiar with. You stare down your opponent, someone who you've spent the last weeks being tormented by, and anger boils in you, setting your veins on fire.
Before you realize fists are flying, yours and his, your able to dodge or block the first few hits, but so does Johnson.
He throws a fist towards your face and you dodge, he tries to kick you off balance and you block with your arm, his steel toed boots meeting muscle, your sure you'll be sporting a few nasty bruises after this.
It continues like this for a few more moments before he lands a hit against the side of your face and you stagger, growling.
You get lower to the ground and rush him, tackling him to the ground, both of you go down, both struggling for control and rolling in the sand, you trade punches, blood drips into your vision from a cut on your brow, and for second he gains control, you under him.
Hands wrap around your throat and you thrash, gasping for breath, you don't understand why no one is stepping in, why no one is stopping him, there are Drill sergeants watching, you know there is, you know a visting first sergeant is watching.
Your nails dig into his wrists, puncturing and drawing blood, covering both of your hands in the thick red liquid. Johnson hisses through his teeth, leaning down to whisper in your ear.
"You think some clawing will hurt me, dog?"
Dog. Mongrel. Mutt. You hate those stupid names.
You smash your head into his, stunning him, you shove and roll, managing to get him under you and keep him there. Wrapping your own hands around his throat, sharp nails dig into the skin on his neck, new blood joining your already covered hands, he pushes at your face and you don't even think before sharp teeth meet hand.
Blood fills your mouth and a second later you feel strong hands pulling you off of him, you fight, you thrash and kick and throw your body around best you can, but thick arms have wrapped around your torso, pinning your arms to your sides and lifting you off your feet. You growl and your ears are flat against your skull in distress, you can hear voices yelling, but your head is filled with static making the words impossible to understand.
Your opponent sits up on one of his elbows looking at you with rage and disgust, and maybe a little fear, as his other hand holds his neck, the blood from his bitten hand and his neck mix.
The blood in your mouth drips from it as you continue to growl, you watch as the Drill sergeants surround Johnson and help him to his feet. Red stained sand is left in his place as he's escorted away.
Whoever is holding you loosens their grip slightly, lowering you so your feet are on the ground again and leaning over you, but they don't let you go.
A voice in your ear breaks through the static in your head and your thrashing stills, ears twitching.
"I'm going to let ya go and yer gonna calm down. Do ya understand me?"
A growl still rumbles in your throat but you push it down, swallowing it and any left over blood in your mouth, it leaves a coppery aftertaste that you think you'll be tasting for days.
You nod and he slowly lets you go, straighting up, you do as well, fingers curled into your palms at your sides.
"Recruit, ya wanna explain what the bloody hell was happening out there?"
"Sir, no sir." You answer through clenched teeth, and turn to face the voice.
Its the visting first sergeant. Ghost. His arms are crossed over his wide chest, arms corded with thick muscle. He cuts an intimidating figure towering over you.
"Wasn't a request." He stares you down, you can see his cold eyes through the holes in his skull patterned balaclava.
Again, a growl starts in your throat but you force it down, your still heated from the fight and you can hear the whispering voices of your so called platoon.
"Sir, the other recruits of my platoon believe it is humorous to degrade this recruit, during the fight my opponent continued to do so, I reacted, sir." You answer begrudgingly, you hate the idea of being a snitch, it’s why you've never taken the other recruits behavior to the Drill sergeants. And its not like you can’t handle it. You always have.
he nods, eyeing you up and down, your covered in blood—your own and the other recruits, and bruises.
"Head to the medical examiner. Yer done here," He tells you, "And for yer own sake, ignore them other muppets, it won't do ya any good to go around biting off heads."
You nod, and turn on your heel. You have to walk past the crowd of people staring at you to get there. You wipe your sleeve over your mouth, trying to ignore their jarring as you pass, but you can pick out talk about muzzles and bite risks.
the next few hours of your day are spent sitting in the uncomfortable chairs in the medical examiners office, covered in dried blood and sand in your socks. You sit with your arms crossed, a almost blank expression.
A soldier stands in a corner across from you as a watchful eye, for your sake or to watch you is what your unsure of. It's uncomfortable, but by hour three he's gone, called away for more important matters.
On hour five your let go after someone checks your cuts and deems you're fine, telling you to clean and bandage your own wounds as they hand you a small first aid kit, they had worse problems to deal with then a hurt mutt.
suppressing a growl you stand from your seat and nod, thanking them with gritted teeth. That damn name follows you every where.
You bump back into Ghost on your way out, he tells you he was just coming to check on you, you try to brush him off, respectfully of course, but he just follows you.
He follows you into the Recruit barracks and into the large bathroom, he's like an oversized shadow, you set the small kit on the edge of the sink.
Staring in the mirror you try to ignore his looming over your shoulder, but his staring is making the hair on the back of your neck stand up, setting off your territorial instincts.
You round on him, voice strained as you talk, "Sir, dont you have something better to do then follow a 'dumb dog' around, Sir?"
Ghost tilts his head silently, studying you.
"I don't see a dog, just a recruit licking their wounds." He says, taking in the damage in full now.
"Would ya like some help with that?" He points at the small kit of first aid, his voice is gruff, and theres not much tone behind it, but it almost sounds soft, you wonder why he's doing this.
Your eyes jump between him and the kit and your ears pin back in suspicion, you've never been one to Readily trust.
The movement of him raising a brow is barely visible under his mask, "Well?" He questions.
Sheepishly, you agree, giving in, your body is sore all around and it hurts, this'll be over quicker with his help.
He sends you off to the showers to wash off dried blood and the sand thats still sticking to you, clinging to your skin, hair, fur and clothes.
Your hair is still damp when you join him by the sink again, only in your skivvies, your towel rests around your shoulders.
Ghost nods his head in approval before he leans down and grabs your face, turning your head left and right, examining the scrapes and bruises. Your ears pin to your head as your cheeks are pushes in by his hand.
He moves faster then you can react, your brain lagging behind as the adrenaline is finally leaving your body, hands wrap under your armpits and you make small sound of surprise, almost a squeak, suddenly you feet are off the floor for the second time today.
The next thing you know your sat on the edge of the sink in front of Ghost, his hands now rest on the sink on either side of you, he bends at the waist and leans into you, towards your neck.
You lean back away as much as you can in the small space but your back hits the mirror, your ears lay flatter against your skull some how and a quiet rumbling of a warning starts in the back of your throat.
"Quiet down, I'm just lookin'." He murmurs, one hand grabbing your jaw again, he turns your head to the side and up, better exposing your neck. Your eyes dart to a corner in the room where the walls and ceiling meet, avoiding looking at him. Your do your best to swallow the instinctive growl, as well as stop your blushing face.
He hums, letting go after what feels like minutes of observing, but was really seconds. He straightens up and opens the first aid kit, digging through it for what he needs.
Ghost pulls out disinfectant wipes and bandages, it stings when you he wipes over the small cuts on your face and you hiss, grabbing his wrist to stop him.
"Stop yer fussin, I thought ya wanted help." He huffs and you look away from him, hesitantly letting go of his wrist.
You hiss again through clenched teeth when the disinfectant touchs your cuts again, but you force you self to be still.
He cleans your wounds in silence, sticking bandaids over the opens that need them, its a quiet few moments shared between you, but it ends all to soon when he finishes up. He tells you to be careful when he leaves. You don't think you'll ever see him again.
When you get back to the main hall of the barracks your opponents bunk has been cleared and so has the one above yours, moved to a different empty bunk. You feel the other recruits eyes on your back, they keep their distance, but they talk, they name call, they threaten. Your to tired to care.
At lights out you settle into your bunk, wounds licked and bandaged, a the few cuts still sting but its mostly bruises, the most prominent around your neck.
The last week of boot camp is worse then it was before, daily you hear about muzzles and pulling teeth, daily you hear about being a bite risk and being put on a leash. One day someone says you should be put down like the dog you are for biting Johnson.
Somehow, you make it through, you finish the last test, you graduate, you become a private.
Your moved from team to team as your skills as needed over the next three years, and rumors follow you during that time, and they grow. You hear in passing whispers how apparently you've more then a few people, how before you've been put in a muzzle for it. You keep your head down, you ignore it, you ignore the names and sharp words, as you always have, but they're always there, nagging in the back of your head,
Eventually your known as the sergeant who bites, people avoid you, scared, or they look at you with disgust. Murmurs of "Dirty mongrel." and "Mutt." Become more the common place, there expected. There your reality. You resent it.
You've been with your current team for less than a week when you get another reassignment letter, but this time it'll be the last time it seems like, the word "permanent" emboldened and underlined on the paper. Your next assignment is a special opps team, one called the 141.
You pack back up what you had barely unpacked and the next day your put on a heli.
You arrive on the current base the 141 is stationed at after a multi hour ride, your pack light, you'd learned to downsize after being moved around so much.
Walking out of the heli your met with stares from others around, and your greeted by the lieutenant of the 141, Ghost.
─── ─── ── .✦
A/n: cranked this out in like, a day, so i apologize if some its dooky, specifically the fight scene, i tried to get it over with as fast as i could since i haven’t really written one before, so again i apologize if its ass. This is also longer than i really meant it to be, but it happens. and i definitely do not have the start of a third blurb in my drafts, no siree. Definitely not.
you fucked up, you did something you really shouldn't have last op and now you're dealing with the consequences.
It's been more than two weeks since then and you've been ran ragged, sniffing false bombs and disarming them only to be asked to do it all again 30 minutes later, its none stop. Price calls it training, everyone knows its punishment. And apparently he still isn't convinced you've learned your lesson.
You're halfway into week 3 of this treatment when you stumble into the barracks rec room, looking one foot in the grave and shaking with exhaustion, your ears are layed flat to your head, and your tail is unusually still compared to its usual wagging or thrashing, hanging limping at your back.
The rest of the team sit around a table, cards laid out across the table and gathered in hands, your too tired to try and decipher what game their playing, but you'd wager Price is winning and somehow Soap is cheating, no matter what game it is.
You can smell the alcohol on their breathes even across the room, keen nose picking up the bitter scent of whatever drink they've decided on for tonight, probably beer or whiskey, you dont have the energy to differentiate between the amber colored liquors in glasses on the table right now, most are running low.
The scent of a ciger follows quickly, and you aren't sure how it isn't what you picked up on first as the smell of smoke over powers the smell of the liquor, no doubt Price is the culprit. He does love the nasty things, and the other aren't much better.
It stings your nose in way that's bordering on to much in your current state, but you do your best to ignore it as you step further into the room.
For half a second you can feel your self respect dying in your rib cage before you lower yourself to the ground on aching joints, leaning against the nearest chair, which just happens to be Ghosts. Someone the team is certain you hate.
Everyones eyes drift to you when your head leans against his thigh to support the weight of your overtired body, their game is momentarily forgotten in favor of holding their breathes in anticipation for you to snarl at the man like you usually do, sharp teeth and even sharper threats on the tip of your tongue.
They wait but it never comes, Ghost can feel your trembling against him, he takes note of the pinned ears, limp tail and tired eyes exaggerated by the matching bags under them.
You dont even growl as Ghosts free hand, the one not holding his cards, lowers cautiously to your head because even he is waiting for what everyone believes to be the inevitable reality of you biting his hand, even if you came to him.
And yet, theres still a lack of snarling, no flash of sharp fangs.
His hand meets your hair with barely any reaction, he brushes it over your hair lightly, and you push up into it, leaning into the touch. You swallow a whine in the back of your throat, trying to keep some semblance of dignity, even after dropping to the floor and leaning on the man your supposed hate, seeking attention.
"Ya' all tired out, Mutt?" Ghost murmurs, pushing buttons he knows should pull a response from you, but when he just gets a nod in return he knows you've been completely sapped of energy, to exhausted to take offense at being called a mutt.
Ghost continues to run his hand over your hair, rubbing one of your ears between two fingers, and you swallow another whimper, continuing to push up against his hand, chasing the little bits of affection while everyone else is still watching, still waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the calm before the storm to be over.
A small sound finally escapes from your throat, despite your best efforts to stop it, you press up harder against Ghosts hand before your turn more towards him, raising one hand to his thigh and looking up with wet tired eyes.
he raises a eyebrow, this is a expression he's never seen before on you, let alone anyone else has, you’ve always had this cold determination and detached façade since arriving on base, like you've been trying to prove your worth and strength to the team, to prove you belong here, as part of the 141, among the war scarred men who you stand out against. And prove that in the end, you’re just as capable at them, and you wouldn't need them if it came down to it.
Your eyes dart away for a moment, debating if you're really about to do what your instincts are screaming at you to do, and well, it takes less then a second for them to win out over your tired mind. Any left over crumb of dignity is already halfway out the door anyway.
Shakily, you push yourself up on wobbly limbs, haphazardly crawling into Ghost's lap, his large frame allowing your smaller one to slot against him perfectly.
Everyone tries to keep their mouths shut, trying their best to not react in fear of what your response would be, would you suddenly have a taste for blood? but it's against their nature and you can hear Soap choke on air.
Ghosts hands hover inches away from touching you, unsure of exactly what he's supposed to do. But then you curl further into him and his arms reflexively wrap around you, and when you still don't growl at him one of his hands go back to your hair, threading his fingers through the messy locks. Your tail wags slowly.
You can still feel everyone's eyes on you, but tucked in Ghosts chest and with his hand rubbing over your ears you find it hard to care.
Eventually, they go back to their game, glancing back over at your every so often, but you both seem content to mostly ignore each other's presence, the guys focusing on their cards and refilling drinks.
Anytime Ghost shifts, worried as if he's going to stand or shove you off of your warm spot against him, you growl in warning and your tail stills. But when he settle's down still firmly in his chair everytime the noise stops.
The clock ticks in the back ground, it's getting late and the guys have finished their game, Price puts the cards away and Gaz cleans up the glasses and bottles of alcohol, taking them away.
Soap stretches getting up from his chair and when he passes you and Ghost on the way through the door he pats Ghost's shoulder and ruffles your hair, he gets a weak growl from you for his troubles.
"Night." He says, waving as he turns the corner and out of sight.
You feels eyes on you again and Ghost is staring down at you, studying. You huff and tuck further into him, avoiding his gaze.
He weighs his options, its lights out for you both by now, it should've been lights out for you hours ago, and you have different barracks.
Ghost tries to get his arms around you in a way he can lift you off of him and stand you up, but as he shifts you growl.
He raises a brow, "What do ya' want to do here, Mutt? It's lights out an' I'm not sleeping in this chair."
You only growl again and he sighs, "I am not gonna carry you to your barracks. Not happening."
You growl louder, while he stares down at you, groaning. He doesn't think you're gonna back down anytime soon. You've fallen completely into your instincts at this point and he can tell.
"Fine." He wraps a arm under your thighs and stands, chair being pushed back with a screech against the concrete floor.
Your nails dig into the fabric of his shirt, holding on to him, a quiet sound is still rumbling in your throat in warning, but its much more subtle.
"Quit yer rumbling, I'm not putting ya down." He murmurs, bouncing slightly on his feet to settle you into a better hold.
The sound halts and again your tail wags softly as he begins to walk, nails still digging into his clothing and holding on.
Ghost ignores the stares as he carries you through the barrack halls, recruits eyes sticking to you in his arms, one of the coldest people on base holding the other. You can feel their eyes, but you couldn't care less about them right now, though you probably will in the morning.
You don't pay much attention to where exactly Ghost is going before a door opens and your flooded with his scent, more then you already were being tucked into him, suddenly your surrounded by it and its the only thing you can smell.
Your tail speeds up, and a small happy sounding noise leaves your lips.
He closes the door behind both of you with his foot, and moves to set you down on his bed, which makes you hold on tighter.
"Let go, we're both still in gear and I don't plan on sleeping init." He huffs, trying to pull your claws away, you whine but he gives you a firm look, and reluctantly you let go.
He sits you on the bed and holds his hand out in a motion you can't describe other then telling you to stay.
You watch as he walks away, towards to bathroom, and again a whine starts in your throat.
"Ah," he makes a sound of warning, "None of that. You've got away with a lot, but I will not deal with a whiny Mutt."
Another whine dies in your throat, a pout sitting on your face. Ghost ignores it to continue to the bathroom.
"Pout all ya want." He murmurs pulling off his balaclava and washing his face, he leaves the door open to keep an eye on you.
He goes about his routine, changing, which he does in the bathroom with the door cracked.
When hes done walks back over to the bed, a shirt in hand and he holds it out to you, offering it.
"Take it, if you're sleeping here you aren't staying in those." He says, offering the shirt more insistantly when you don't immediately take it.
you only stare at him, grabbing his hand and trying to pull him more towards you, he leans over you.
"No. Ya change first." His voice his firm as he pulls his hand from your tight grip.
You frown and he can see the beginning of the whine no doubt in the works.
His eyes roll and he sets the shirt to the side, next to you on the bed, then he grabs the edge of your fatigues and with a murmur of "Arms up." pulls the top off over your head, as much as he could take this opportunity to stare he doesn't, he'd rather get you to bed, and sleep would do him some good too.
You fight weakly as he pulls the extra shirt over you, forcing your arms through there right holes and then your head.
His shirt almost drowns you in fabric, it pools around your waist where your butt meets the bed.
Next— after he takes off your boots for you —he grabs the hems of your pant legs, pulling them off of you in one smooth motion, they join your other clothes in the pile next to the corner of the bed.
"That'll have to do, any of my trousers would fall right off of you." He mumbles, mostly to himself, you haven't been much of a conversationalist since you came into the barracks tonight. He doesn't mind.
He pushes you further onto the bed and down to lay, climbing in himself, he wrangles you into his side and under the covers on the edge of the bed against the wall. He settles in quickly and you take only a few minutes more to settle as well, getting comfortable against him. He can feel your wagging tail under the covers and he sighs.
You can't help but think about how warm and surprisingly soft he is as you drift off, covered in his scent and him, in his shirt and bed. Your nose no longer trying to sniff out explosives for now.
─── ─── ── .✦
[blurb two here!] [blurb three here!]
─── ─── ── .✦
A/n: this totally isn’t a random blurb from a whole au i wanna do… no not at all. Definitely not. Theres definitely not lore for this in my drafts. Shhhhhh.
When Jason comes home from his job at the mechanic—something he does part time for a chance at normalcy that isn't the apartment—shucking off his coat and putting up his keys and helmet, hes confused when theres no blurry figure crashing into his chest, not even a shout of "Welcome home boyfie!" Like he usually gets.
He frowns taking off his boots, you both hate having to mop and vacuum, thus no shoes in the apartment.
Peeking around the end of the hallway, he can see all the over head lights are off but he spots a few of the lamps on, soaking the apartment in soft warm lighting, comfortable.
From the hallway he can hear the TV playing faintly, the voices from it mingling together into a steady stream of unintelligible white noise to him.
Eyes landing on the sofa just barely visible from where he stands he can make out the pile of blankets— and what he can only hope is you under it —on it, he can only see the blanket wrapped around you from the back.
His brows pinch together, frown deepening, while its not unusual for you to turn off all the "big lights" in favor of the warm colored lamps and for you to bundle yourself in blankets he can already tell something is wrong.
Very wrong.
Even when your bundled up with just the lamps turned on you greet him happily if a bit tiredly at times, always something. Tonight you've still said nothing.
With socked feet thumping gently against the wooden floor Jason quietly, carefully, makes his way to the kitchen. His worry grows when he doesn't see any dirty dishes in the sink that are supposed to be there, that are always there when he gets home. It tells him you haven't eaten dinner yet.
Quickly he washes his hands, he uses the soap you love, the lavender and sandel wood scented one you bought him specifically to get rid of the motor oil smell that sticks to his hands after work.
Most days you don't mind the smell of the oil, but it's glaringly clear to him you're having a bad night, bad day probably. He doesn't want to make your mood worse with the strong smell of a mechanic's work.
After he scrubs the grime and dirt from under his nails he turns the sink off and drys his his hands on the towl hanging over the oven door. Making sure his hands are dry and at least room temp. He knows how you hate it when his hands are cold and he touches you on days like this.
He tip toes over to the couch, pausing an arms length away while he tries to decipher whether its a angry bad day or a none stop crying bad day. One runs the risk of him getting slapped if he gets to close.
Deciding its safe he creeps infront of the Tv and crouches down infront of your place on the couch.
His brow is furrowed and a frown pulls heavily on the edges of his mouth, expression pinched.
"Hey," he murmurs, keeping his voice low and soft, "Whats wrong, baby?"
Your eyes avoid his face and you shrug your shoulders, pulling them up to your ears.
"Hey, hey, look at me, whats the matter?" He continues, gently prodding, you chew the inside of your cheek, lips pressing into a thin line.
"I just, its— I dunno." You meet his eyes, in the warming lighting their hazel color makes them look like honey. It hurts how sincere he looks, concerned.
"Its just— don't you think I'm to… heavy?" You mumble oh so quietly, and if you didn't have his rapt attention he wouldn't have heard you.
His heart breaks when the words fall from your lips, and you can see it happening in his eyes.
"Oh, sweetheart." He whispers, and he reaches his hand out to you, hesitantly you untangle your own from the pile of blankets you hide under, placing it in his.
"No, I don't think your too heavy. I think your perfect the way you are." He reassures, squeezing your hand and you squeeze back.
"Who told you you were to heavy?" Jason asks, and again you shrug, turning your face away from him.
"Nobody. Just my brain." You answer, voice still so quiet, like your afraid something will happen if you speak up, like your fragile reality will shatter if you're to loud and he'll leave.
He hums, he knows how cruel your brain can be to yourself, his is the same on his bad days. He knows how thoughts can turn against you at a moments notice and ruin your whole day.
"Well, your brain is wrong." Jason squeezes you hand again, "You're not to heavy. And anyone who says otherwise can take it up with me, ok?"
Your free hand rubs at your eyes, wiping away unshed tears, you don't want to cry again.
"Ok." You murmur back, forcing a wobbly smile.
"Ok." He repeats, smiling softly back, his brow is still furrowed.
Jason raises up slightly to kiss your forehead and you lean into it with a little sigh, some of the tension leaving your body.
When he pulls back he's still smiling.
"Now, I for one, am starving. What do we wanna eat for dinner?" He asks, standing back up to his full height.
You both agree on pasta, something easy to make and usually a safe food for you, though Jason can tell your reluctant at just the idea of eating.
He lets you continue to hide in your pile of blankets on the couch, the TV still playing softly, while he heads into the kitchen.
Half an hour later and Jason is walking back into the living room with two plates of pasta in his hands, the couch dips under his weight as he sits down next to you.
The plates of pasta get put down on the coffee table and Jason reaches over and pulls the blanket off from around your head, the fabric pooling around your waist.
"I almost thought you and the blanket would be one by now," He teases, handing you your plate of pasta from the coffee table, "Eat up."
The plate is warm in your hands, the smell of pasta wafts up into your nose, usually its a smell you love, right now? The thought of eating and the smell makes you want to puke.
You look over at Jason, settled on the couch after a long shift at work, watching whatever trashy TV show that's playing. he made you pasta, he took the time that he should have to rest between jobs to take care of you and make sure you eat.
You stare at the plate of pasta and try to swallow the imagined feeling of bile raising up your throat.
Water gathers in your eyes silently as you take the first bite, fat tears rolling down your cheeks, as you lift the fork again and again.
Jason looks over to see your wet face and his frown returns, he sets his own plate of pasta down, he was already half way finished anyway.
He doesn't say anything as he begins to rub your back, knowing words wont help at this point and all he can do is be there. So thats what he'll do.
You eat and he rubs your back with a sad smile, he only hopes the food will stay in your stomach.
When your plate is empty he takes it from your hands and puts it back on the coffee table with his half finished one.
He pulls you into his side, leaning back into the couch and taking you with him, he wraps his arms around you and lets you continue to cry silently as he rubs circles into your back, leaning his face into your hair.
Your hands curl into the fabric of his shirt, relaxing into his hold best you can as the tears continue to flow unbidden, soaking into his shirt which you know you'll feel bad about later when given the chance. He couldn't care less.
Exhausted, you pass out there, cryed out and drained, in his embrace.
Description: you've been going to your local petplay dungeon, one specializing in puppy play, since you learnt about it, curious and interested in exploring the dynamic, while you're not a virgin you're inexperienced and vanilla compared to everyone else who attends, and so far you've just been watching, getting a feel for what it's like, but now you're ready to try for yourself.
The only thing is, you're much to anxious to approach a dom and see if they'd be willing to take you under their wing, luckily for you, you've caught the eye of one! He'll do all the asking for you. And his dog'll help out too.
MINORS DNI you will be blocked
Warnings/tags: petplay, puppyplay, spit kink? If you squint ig, oral fixation, fingering, oral (reader receiving), unsafe sex, not safe or sane, slightly dubious consent, creampie, collars, owner!ghost, pet!konig, pet!reader, slightly service dom ghost, ghost is called exclusively simon in this fic, threesome, public sex (its in a bdsm dungeon but still, its one in the open), clothed sex (on königs part), gently mean simon, multiple orgasms, unrealistic, reader is gender queer but afab, the word cunt is used repeatedly here.
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A/n: Hey ya’ll Simmer here! Second fic! This one is definitely inspired in some capacity by @rawme-price ‘s petplay stuff, I love his petplay stuff, go check him out if you haven’t already seen him around the cod tags. But the base concept of this had also been rolling around my head before I read any of his stuff, so I’m glad to get it down and out of my head. Enjoy! If you see spelling or grammatical mistakes no you don’t :)
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Wc: 3,300+
When you walk into the dungeon you immediately feel eyes on you, making the hair on the back of your neck stand up, you scan over the dungeon, over the people in the middle of play and scenes, all decked in gear that makes you feel out of place with your lack of it, until your eyes land on the couches across the room.
You lock eyes with a guy on one of the couches, his legs are spread wide, his white button up shirt— not the kind of attire Your used to really seeing in a place like this —is unbottoned from the third button up, exposing most of his chest.
His arms rest over the back of the couch, stretched out, in his hand he holds a brown leather leash, you trace the leash with your eyes and at the other end is a collar fitted around the neck of a man standing behind the couch over the man on the couches shoulder, his arms are crossed and his head tilted slightly like he's studying you.
Your eyes drift away from his face and down to the first man's face, scars run down it, gruesome yet adding something to his face that has your heart beating in a good way, but you don't have long to appreciate it before you're locking eyes with him across the room, it feels like the world zooms in on him, filling your vision.
The man in the collar leans down and you watch as he whispers something in the man in the white shirts ear and he whispers something back, his eyes never leave you.
He motions in your direction like he's calling someone over, you glance around you to check if he's asking for someone else because he can't possibly be asking for you in your mind, but barely anyone is around you.
White shirts motions again, firmly, when you don't move immediately, raising a brow.
One more fast glance before it really hits that he is asking for you. No one else.
You steel yourself best you can with a deep breath, walking across the room to him, you see as his lips tick upward on one side.
"Uh, Hi." Your voice wobbles just a little when you talk, stopping in front of him.
"Yer new," its not a question as he says it, his voice is like velvet but you don't expect the feeling that comes with it, "What's yer name pup?"
You give him your name and ask for his in return.
"Your's? How'd you know I was a… pup." You shift awkwardly on your feet.
"Simon, and this 'ere is König." He answers, tugging on leash around Königs neck to get him to bend down slightly, patting his cheek.
König's eyes never leave you, still studying, judging even. His and Simon's Gaze have you feeling lock in place.
"An' cause you've that stary eyed look, lost an' new, need a good hand to lead ya'." Simon explains, leaning forward slightly, his angle making him look up at you.
"So tell me, ya' got a owner? A dom?" He speaks softly, almost whispering, and his voice draws you in.
You shake your head, your cheeks had already been going pink but now they're closer to red.
"Uhm, no, I don't— I usually just… watch." You shrug, wringing your hands together, as you still shift your weight between each foot every other second.
Simon smiles, predatory and sharp yet still with a contrasting soft under tone, he laughs lightly leaning back into the couch.
"Ah, yer new-new, huh puppy?" He says, not waiting for an answer before he's speaking again, "how'd ya' like one? I think ya' would be just perfect in a collar an' on a leash that's mine."
The blush spreads to your ears, face heating up by ten degrees at the idea of that, your eyes as wide as they jump between Simon's face and the towering figure of König behind him, a silent question on your tongue. But you struggle to ask it while tongue ties in knots.
Simon chuckles again, and he answers your question without you really having to ask it.
"Aye, he's mine too, could use a playmate. Don't ya think so König? Want a nice little puppy to play with?"
König nods once, firmly, and his eyes still haven't left you since you walked over, since you entered even.
"What's it gonna be pup?" Simon asks, tilting his head slightly as he regards you.
You chew the inside of your cheek, nodding softly.
"Use your words." He says firmly, "What do you want?"
Your name rolls off his tongue, prompting a verbal answer from you, you avert your gaze from him for the first time, turning your head to the side. You're embarrassed.
"I want… To be your puppy." You answer quietly, almost mumbling and Simon smiles and chuckles again.
"Good dog." He beckons you closer and when you're within reach he hooks his fingers in the belt loops of your shorts pulling you forward until your legs hit the edge of the couch and you stand between his legs.
He pulls again and you clamber onto the couch, ending up straddling his lap.
One of Simon's hands wraps around your hip, the other raises to grab your face, his fingers push you cheeks inward and you automatically open your mouth. He smiles.
"You're a natural already," he praises, and he pushes the pad of his thumb into your mouth, running it over your molars.
"Don't bite." He warns when your jaw ticks and he presses his thumb against your tongue, watching as drool pools around it and starts to drip from the corner of your mouth down your chin.
You whine and he coos at you.
"Poor puppy, making a mess." Pulling his finger from your mouth, he cleans your drool off of his thumb by putting it in his own mouth.
Heat grows in your core, and your face is red as you watch him.
Simon tugs on Königs leash, and he leans over the back of the couch, head over Simon's shoulder.
"why don't you clean the puppy's face, König?" He suggests and immediately König leans forward, further over Simon's shoulder and lick the drool from the corner of your mouth before pressing his lips to yours.
König grabs your face to keep you still when you start to squirm as he starts to lick into your mouth, pushing in your cheeks just like Simon did.
Meanwhile, Simon rubs the exposed skin of your lower thighs, slowly moving up them and running fingers under the hem of your shorts, rubbing soothing circles into them as he watches König kiss you.
When König finally pulls away— what feels like minutes later —a string of saliva connects you two and your panting, out of breath.
Simon smiles at your out of breathedness as your hand rests against his chest to steady yourself and his hands travel further and further up your thighs and under your shorts until they met reach the apex, finding a damp place there he coo's once again.
"Looks like the puppy has another thing for you to clean König." He teases, brushing his fingers over the spot, making the damp fabric stick to your skin.
Your surprised by the effortlessness Simon displays when he pulls his hand from your shorts and it joins his other on your hips before he lifts you up by them and spins you around, your back to his chest and legs spread over his.
"C'mere boy." He say before whistling, and König walks around from the back of the couch, coming to stand in front of Simon and you at his command.
Simon praises König before telling him to get on his knees between both of your legs, which he does without hesitation, dropping down onto them and settling there.
Hands go to the waist band of your shorts at Simons instruction, his own hands still holding you hips to keep you still and in place.
Königs fingers catch the waist band of both your short and your boxer briefs, pulling them down your legs and off of you. They get set to the side on the couch, next to Simon so they don't get lost.
You watch as König licks his lips as his eyes find your fully exposed crotch, already slick and dripping.
"What a messy puppy," Simon's voice is in your ear, his hands moving from your hips to your thighs to keep them spread open when you try to clamp them closed in embarrassment, face incredibly red.
"Keep 'em open for us pup," He says, squeezing your plush thighs in his hands, kneading the flesh, "let us see what a good job we're doing taking care of you."
König's eyes only break away from your cunt to look at Simon for permission, who nods.
"Go on boy, Get a taste and show our puppy what a good dog you are, clean it up." He says and you whine at his words, turning your head to hide it in his neck the best you can, you have to twist a bit to do so.
When König licks the first stripe up your cunt you jolt, gasping softly but hiding the sound against Simon's skin. He chuckles.
König groans at the first taste of you, quickly diving back into your cunt, licking at you fervently, running his tongue over the bundle of nerves at the top every so often haphazardly, causing you to squirm which Simon coos at.
"What a cute puppy, all squirming and whiney." He mutters above your head, watching as König licks at your crotch.
You squirm more when you feel König's tongue prodding at your hole, seeking more of your taste, more of the honey-nectar you leak.
Whining when the muscle pushes into you and he starts to running his tongue over your walls like how he licked inside your mouth, like when he licked the inside of your cheeks.
Simons hands massage the meat of your thighs, still watching König from above in rapt attention as his tongue slowly causes pressure to build in your core, you whinper all the while the coil tightens.
"Good puppy, what a perfect puppy, taking König's tongue like a obedient little thing." He praises you, whispering in your ear while you continue to hide your face in his neck, whining, whimpering and mewling.
Once the pressure starts to build it bulids quickly, the coil in your core getting impossibly tight before König's tongue finds the special spot inside, and he knows thats what he found when you moan just loud enough for him to hear from where your sounds are muffled by Simons skin.
You can feel something starting to press against your ass in Simon's lap.
He focuses on that spot as he feels your muscles tightening, prodding that spongy spot inside until he forces you over the edge of an orgasm, and even then he doesn't stop, forcing you to ride out the waves of pleasure on his tongue.
You mewl loudly when your orgasm hits, your muscles spasming and clenching aroud Königs tongue and you whine long and drawn out when he doesn't let up.
Simon coo's meanly but one of his hands releases your thigh to hook a finger into Königs collar, pulling his face away from you.
He pulls on the collar until König is raised on his knees, panting as he looks eyes with Simon, and when a sound thats almost a whine— a sound close to what you've been making this whole time —Simons tugs on his collar more, pulling him into a rough kiss. He can taste you on Königs tongue when the man licks into his mouth.
His hand still on your thigh squeezes as he continues to kiss König.
"Good boy," Simon tells him when he breaks the kiss, his tongue running over his lips, chasing the last tastes of you he can from Königs mouth.
A deep whine leaves Königs throat, and you can see the bulge in the front of his pants.
"Can I fuck the Puppy?" König murmurs, and he's obviously experienced in making puppydog eyes if the ones he makes at Simon are any indication, "Please?"
Simon's fingers are still looped under König's collar keeping him in place.
"Ya' want that pup, hm?" He asks you, his hand that had been on your thigh coming up and combing hair out of your face.
You look between him and König, and squirm, nodding.
"Use your words." He repeats from earlier, grabbing your face with the hand that had combed your hair aside.
"Yes, wan' that." You murmur softly, still embarrassed despite the mans face having just been between your legs.
Simon hums at your response, that half smile tugging at his lips again.
"Alright, need ta get ya' ready first then." He says after pressing a kiss to the side of your forehead.
His lets go of your face, hand trailing back down to your thighs, he rubs over your hip joint for a second before he runs his fingers through your folds, slick once again, but not dripping again yet.
"Be a Good dog and stay still while I stretch ya' out." He tells you, slowly pushing one finger in to start with, König watches closely as Simon's finger disappears into you, thrusting it gently.
You squirm, hips chasing after Simon's finger, a shallow whimper in the back of your throat, Simon gives König a look and his hands go to your hips, holding you still as Simon works you open.
He adds a second finger, scissoring them inside you, his other hand letting go of Königs collar finally, to kneed your plush thigh again, again in soothing circles.
König, now free of Simon's hold leans forward and starts to kiss along your jaw, nipping gently every so often as he follows along your soft jaw and to your neck.
He kisses down your neck as Simon inserts a third finger, joining the other two in stretching you out, he goes agonizingly slow, at least for you, the stimulations there but not enough to work you up to the edge again.
You open your mouth to whine a complaint and König takes it as a invite to shove his tongue into your mouth again, swallowing the whine from your throat.
Simon keeps this up for four more torturous minutes, König only breaking from the kiss to let you both breath before diving back in, stopping any chance for you to complain.
After Simon decides you've had enough stretching he takes his fingers out from your cunt, they're slick covered as he lifts them to his mouth, he makes sure you're looking as he sticks them in his mouth, licking them clean.
your face had only started to calm down, but with the sight of Simon's fingers, covered in you and stuck in his mouth makes it heat back up, going back to bright red.
He chuckles, and again he grabs your face, pulling you face to his, kissing you and making you taste yourself on his lips, breaking the kiss a moment later when König does make a impatient noise, drawing Simon's attention.
"I know, you're being such a good boy and waiting." Simon's tone is slightly patronizing as he moves his other hand from your thigh to the front of König's pants, plaming him through his pants, König moans softly and ruts into his hand.
Simon lets go of your face, both his hands going to Königs hips to still them, before his thumbs dip under his waist band and the one of his boxers, pulling them down just enough to free König's cock.
He coo's at the sight of his fully chubed up dick, leaking pre.
"Poor dog, all worked up watching the puppy get all the attention, huh?" Simon says in faux sympathy, wrapping a had around König's length, who moans in response as Simon gives it a few strokes.
"You wanna fuck the puppy, don't you? Show the puppy how good you are? How good we can take care of them?" He murmurs, and König nods, swallowing a sound in his throat.
"Go ahead then König, show the puppy how much you like them, take what you want." He leans forward, whispering into Königs ear as his hands leave his body, returning to your thighs to make sure their spread wide for him.
König's eyes jump from Simon's face to your cunt a few times, focusing in on your stretched and dripping hole.
He's practically drooling.
His hands are still gripping your hips from earlier, keeping you in place, he drags you slightly off of Simon's lap, towards the edge of the couch.
You whine at the movemeant, your hands hold onto Königs biceps.
König rubs his cock between your folds, covering it in your gathering slick before he notches it against your entrance, shallowing thrusting.
Its only a inch at first but it effortless with the help of your natural juices making your channel wet and Simon's pre stretching. slowly, he works more of himself into you through lazy thrusts.
When his hips are flush with yours he groans, leaning forward and resting his forhead against your shoulder.
"S' good" he mumbles starting to rut against you fervently, the ridges of his cock dragging against your walls when out barely a inch before thrusting back into you.
He hits that spongy spot inside you somehow perfectly, hitting his exh time his hips meets yours, getting you to keen softly.
Simon whispers praise in your ear, things about how good you're being, how well you're taking König's length, how perfect you are for both of them.
One of Simons hands travels up to your stomach from your thigh, pressing against the imprint König's dick makes in stomach, doubling the pleasure that fills your veins and makes the coil in your core begin to tighten.
"S' tight, S' warm. Perfect puppy." König continues to mumble into your skin, his rutting picking up pace, focusing more on that spot inside you that makes you see stars.
You whine and keen, squirming uselessly since Königs hand still hold your hips still.
The pressure inside you continues to build and build, and again you hide your face in Simons neck best you can, whimpering.
Simon coo's at you again, like he's been doing all night, you really are perfect for him and König, the perfect little puppy and plaything.
Behind you, you can feel Simons own cock still bulging in his pants, pressed against your ass as your fucked back against it by König, him having pulled you off Simon's lap, making you sit on the edge of the couch between Simon's legs.
All the different stimuli,combined with still being slightly sensitive from your first orgasm, means you get worked up to the edge quickly, muscles tensing in anticipation.
König thrusts again, hitting that special spot head on, and this time it pushes you over the edge, waves of pleasure crashing over you.
your cunt clecnhes around Königs length tightly, like it's trying to suck him back in every time he pulls out.
He continues to rut into after your orgasm, and you whimper softly, pushing at his hands holding you in place, getting close to overstimulation.
"Shhh, just a little longer pup, let him finish." Simon shushes you, the hand not on your stomach letting go of your other thigh to brush hair away from the side of your face again.
König's thrusting grows erratic and soon after he follows you over the edge, spilling into you and fill you with his warm seed.
He stays there, leaning against you and panting for a few seconds before he pulls out, your mixed arousal dripping out of your hole.
Simon readjusts you back onto his lap and you whine, feeling his hard on under you.
After your first night together Ghost gets bold, figuring he’s already crossed the line of professionalism so far its unrepairable, so he starts to find ways to “fix” your behavior.
You wont shut up and keep complaining? He grabs your face with one hand and shoves his tongue down your throat until you’re panting for air, that usually shuts you right up, for at least half an hour too!
You keep being a lowkey brat at the dinner table at fancy restaurant?— you know theres a limit to what you can get away with in public, least you father get word of how you’re behaving —He’s pinching your thighs under the table, making you squeak and glare at him. But ultimately you stop the attitude.
Ghost is keeping you from leaving the penthouse and you’re throwing a tantrum over it again? He’s got you under him on the bed in five minutes, you don’t remember you ever wanted to go out once he’s done with you.
You’re having a bad day and have been whining about it constantly? he sits on the couch and makes you ride him until you forget all about it. He lets you lay against his chest after while he watches Tv.
You just moved to Gotham recently, freshly graduated from community college and with a degree in botanical studies. As soon as you settle into your apartment in a nicer part of town— still dirt cheap compared to your home town of central city —that your parents graciously payed two months rent for for you in advance you’re immediately looking for a store front to rent as well.
Your ecstatic when you find one within walking distance from your apartment in downtown Gotham, central to things like the public library and Gotham U.
It takes about month to get everything in order, haggling the price of renting the store front, renovating what you can with the savings you have from the part time job you had all through high school and college, arranging the displays, but eventually you’re ready to open.
You don’t hold a party or a grand opening for your small flower shop, you know barely anyone in Gotham having only talked to your neighbors a few times and being focused on starting up your business haven’t taken the time to make new connections in this new city, but you do call your parents to tell them, they congratulate you, always supportive.
The first few weeks of business is slow, but thats alright, word of mouth starts to travel and eventually you start to bring in good money, enough to pay rent without your parents help and live comfortably, it’s enough for you. And of course your dog, Howl, an Irish wolfhound you adopted in your junior year of college.
Over time you start to recognize a few regulars who come in quite often, though one in particular catch’s your attention. A guy about your age, early to mid twenties, maybe a little older, black hair and blue eyes, always wearing a leather jacket of some kind. You think he has to have about five of them.
The third time he comes in— the third week on a Wednesday in a row —you finally learn his name.
“I have a feeling I’m going to be seeing a lot of you, can i get a name to put to a face?” You’d ask, smiling warmly and with a bit of a laugh.
“Jason” is what he tells you.
He comes in every week on Wednesday without fail, and every time he has a different excuse for why he’s buying flowers, it’s almost endearing, like he doesn’t know all he ends to say is he’s getting them to lighten up a room, instead he has elaborate reasons, like for his sister recital or something to do with one of his brothers.
One time he claimed they were for a funeral, you’re still not sure if that one was true or not, he said it like it was inside joke.
But you indulge him, taking his excuses at face value even if they’re a little unlikely or improbable.
It’s now been three months of him coming in like clockwork, you get used to seeing him, start greeting him like a friend, joking around. It takes him three times as much time to get his flowers now because you two just talk. About your weeks, but stupid things his brothers have been up to, how you miss your hometown but you’re loving it here in Gotham, despite its many flaws.
You two grow close and you start to get excited every Wednesday morning before work to see him, excited to tell him about your week and hear about his.
Just,,, Jason falling in love and being infatuated with the Flowershop owner in Gotham who always smiles at him and treats him like a real person despite his scars and he comes up with increasingly insane reasons for why he’s buying flowers because he doesn’t think or doesn’t know he can just buy flowers because he wants too but he’s in there to often for his excuses to really work.
Description: Ghost retired from the military after soaps death, instead taking up private protection, his latest client? A wealthy tycoon owner who's hired him to protect his only child
The only problem? Said child is spoiled, entitled brat and used to getting away with it all. Well that all changes with the introduction of Ghost into their life, he doesn't do well with disobedience.
MINORS DNI you will be blocked
Warnings/tags: slightly dubious consent, rough sex, creampie, multiple orgasms, vaginal sex, p in v, unprotected p in v, not safe or sane, fingering, slight daddy kick if you squint, age gap, unprofessional behavior, unprofessional relationships, reader is ftm, reader is curvy/plus size, bodyguard!Ghost, Brat!reader, spoiled!reader, reader is afab, reader has a pussy, reader is a player, unrealistic (99% of porn/smut is).
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A/n: first post and first time writing smut! Lemme know how I did, or not. This has been sitting in my head for a while, I just finally got it out of head and onto paper. Enjoy. I apologize if its not the best writing, again it's my very first time writing smut, tusualty write other shit and it tends to be way better then this since thats what I'm used too. If you see spelling mistakes, no you don’t:)
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Wc: 4000+
It's been two weeks since you were introduced to Simon Riley, aka: Ghost, your new bodyguard. Much to your annoyance, you hadn't asked for a bodyguard let alone did you need one, but you're father had insisted, said it was for your benefit. It felt more like a punishment for the weeks before of backtalk and tipsy scandals ending up in the tabloids. Ones that could effect your father's reputation and the company's.
And that just wouldn't do would it? Not if he wanted to stay at the top of industry. Before he'd pay reporters off, threatening legal action, but he was growing sick of your repeated behavior, never learning. Eventually there'd be a reporter stupid enough— or brave enough, to refuse a bribe and push out a story.
Thus, Ghost. First place winner for pain in your ass!
He was big, intimidating and all muscle covered in a layer of fat, taller then tall the bastard. He felt more like a handler or a nanny a role you have experience with from when you were a child. But ten times worse, he's so much more commanding.
Ghost barks orders and expects you to follow them blindly, getting obviously agitated when you continue to blatantly ignore them. You watch as his jaw ticks to the side and a vein in his neck pops out every time you do so.
Pressure between the two of you has built over the last two weeks, neither of you particularly thrilled with the others existence and the disruptions in routine it causes. Last weekend he kept you from going out as you normally do to bar hop with friends and act drunker then you are, flirting shamelessly with guys only to leave them high and dry in the dumps.
Tonight the tension is building to a head, its friday night and you're looking to get back on routine to hang out with you're friends, one of them holding a party.
The only thing stopping you? Ghost.
He stands in front of the penthouse's elevator, preventing you from getting to it.
You stand almost toe to toe with him, arms petulantly crossed over your chest and glaring daggers at him, you have to raise to your tip toes to even begin to be somewhat eye level with him. Even in your thick soled boots.
Ghost stands much the same, his own arms crossed over his chest, feet shoulder width apart, he's like a brick wall, talking to him isn't much different.
"Move," you say after a moment when he doesn't immediately do so.
"No.'" He says, unimpressed with your tone.
You scowl further, and if looks could kill yours would be damn well trying.
"No? Excuse me?" Annoyance leaks into your voice.
"I'm going to be late. Now Move." You demand, poking a finger into his chest.
A brow raises under the skull print mask he insists on wearing all the time, like a challenge as he stares down at you.
"You'll be more then late, you're not going." He replies, not budging.
"You already kept me from going out last week, I humored you then, it won't be happening again." You're not backing down either, everyone who's someone will be at this party, and you're someone. You have to be there.
"You're a bodyguard, not my father or boss or anyone with authority over me, you're supposed to follow me around like an obedient dog. Thats you're job." You remind him, eyes narrowed, "You're an employee, my employee."
Ghost laughs a dry laugh, like he finds your words humorous, your annoyance grows jaw clenching as he doesn't take you serious.
"I'm your fathers employee." He Clarifies, "He has me under strict orders to keep you out of trouble and out of the press."
"and I'm much more inclined to listen to orders from the person who writes my paychecks then the spoiled brat in front of me." You're frustration only grows at his words, your jaw clenching.
Ghosts eyes runs over outfit, scrutinizing the pieces of fabric that can barely be considered clothes.
"And a party where you dress like— that, screams trouble."
You're eyes leave his covered face for the first time in minutes, looking down to you're own outfit. Mesh long sleeved top with rhinestones sewn where the mesh crosses over it self and shorts small as sin, knee high boots.
To you, its a outfit like you were normally, something fitting to show off, usual attire for when you're bar hopping and playing people. Nothing out of the ordinary.
"There's nothing wrong with my clothes, everyone there will be dressed similarly." You insist, and Ghosts brow raises again. In his eyes your dressed for a strip club or a juvenile college party, not one held by heirs to million if not billion dollar companies.
And while you're old to be finishing college you never went and don't have to, you're life is secured for well, the rest of it. You'll be given a position at your father's company at his command, something high up but easy, barely could be considered work, and when he retairs ownership will fall to you. Something you've been trained for since birth.
Though you don't act like it, you know how to run a business, could build one from the ground up if so had to, which you never will. Ghost suspects the way you act is your escape before you're forced into a role you never asked for but can't refuse.
"Don't matter, you're not going, sweetheart." He affirms, the petname mocking, and some how you're glare gets icy-er then it already was, Ghost wouldn't be surprised if icicles started to form on your eyelashes from the intensity. He doesn't falter.
"Now go change out of those things you call clothes." Ghost orders, not leaving much room for argument.
Your scowl deepens, locking eyes with him in a staring contest, narrowed icy eyes boring into his, again standing you're ground. Not ready to give in, but you also know there's little chance you'll win against an ex-military man whos more then twice your size. You're not delusional.
He doesn't back down either, keeping up the brick wall act.
Eventually something has to give, and it won't be him. You make a noise bordering on a frustrated growl.
"Fine." You grab the hem of your mesh shirt, pulling it up and over your head, you throw it at Ghost and it lands over his face as you walk away.
He pulls it off of his face, watching your back almost amusededly as you stalk into the living room and dramatically flop on the luxurious couch, not at all doing what he told you to do and going to change.
Ghost makes his own way over to the couch, he walks around the back of it, looking at you laying stomach first on said couch.
He put you're discarded shirt on the arm of the couch before squatting down to be eye level with you, thick thighs straining against the material of his tactical cargo's in the position.
"Stop yer poutin'." He says gruffly, and you turn you head slightly from where its buried in the couch cushions to look at him, one eye visible.
When you simply turn your head the opposite direction after a moment Ghost huffs irritatedly.
He stands up and grabs your ankle, pulling it to spin you slightly, forcing you to sit up and look at him.
"I told ya' to change."
"And I don't want to."
He clenchens his jaw, crossing his arms over his chest, corded muscles in his arms pulling taught and pushing out.
"Don't care, I told ya' to do something, so yer gonna do it or I'll do it for ya', sweetheart."
Your glare doubles in force, like you're trying to explode him with you're mind or erase him from existence.
He gives you five seconds to cooperate before he's leaning down faster then you can register and wrapping an arm around you middle, hauling you up and over his shoulder with minimal effort.
"Hey!" You protest, smaking a hand against his back, and kicking your legs. He moves his fore arm to the back of your thighs to keep you from gaining enough leverage to put any actual force behind your squirming legs.
"I warned ya." Is all he says in response, walking you up the stairs, through your room and into the walk-in closet.
He sets you down on your feet in the middle of the racks of clothes and you have a disgruntled look plastered on your face when he meets you're eye once again.
"Last chance, change or I'll change for ya'." He repeats, blocking the way back out of the closet.
You give in, or at least it appears you do as your hands go to the button of your shorts, undoing it and pulling the zipper down.
You begin to push the shorts off of your hips and down your legs, right in front of him, immediately his eyes raise to the ceiling, and his jaw ticks to the side for what has to be at least the fifth time tonight.
"Yer walking a very thin line." He warns, this isn't the first time you've pulled something like this, malicious compliance. He's unsurprised by your brazen behavior used to it, you have a complete lack of shame as you strip in front of him.
"What? Can't handle seeing a naked body, are you a prude or something?" You mock, continuing to strip, flinging the shorts off to the side and then beginning to unzip your knee high boots.
"Or maybe its that if you see me you're carefully maintained control will snap and you'll give in and be wrapped around my little finger trying to get more then a look." He takes a deep breath at your words and you can see as he closes his eyes like he's praying to whatever god in the sky to give him patience and strength.
"Yer getting on my last nerve, Doll." He says, hands curling into fists at his sides as he continues at stare at the ceiling like its the one in the Sistine Chapel.
you kick the boots of to the side to join the shorts, shrugging innocently even though he can't see it, and even if he saw it he knows better, you know exactly what you're doing.
"Maybe you're just weak minded." You throw back and watch in satisfaction as his eyes snap back to your form, obviously having hit that last nerve somewhere there. You assume it has to do with the fact you called him, an ex-military man, 'weak,' mind or otherwise.
"What?" You ask like you don't know what just happened, like you're not pushing his buttons on purpose and trying to get him to break. You put your weight into one hip, popping it pop to one side, still completely nude.
His gaze sweeps over you, taking in the visable curves of your body, your soft hips and pudgy stomach, thick cushy thighs. In his eyes burns a dark fire, you can't tell if it more of a desire to put you ‘in your place’ or a desire for you. You don't think it matters as long as he's falling into your trap.
"You little—" he hisses out between clenched teeth, muscles straining in his arms.
"Whats wrong? Cat got your tongue?" You tease, smirking victoriously at what you perceive to be a win in your favor in what has been a two week long battle.
You startle slightly when he grabs your wrist, pulling you directly in front of him as he stares down at you, the fire in his eyes burning brightly. You lick your lips in apprehension, nerves lighting up with the look in his eyes.
"Do I need to teach ya' how to behave, Brat?" He almost growls out, and heat swirls in your body settling in your navel, its not like you haven't traced over his body with your eyes appreciatingly before, not like you haven't had more then a few dreams where he's a starring in it and you wake up with damp thighs.
You pull slightly at where he holds your one wrist above your head, testing his grip which he only tightens when you do, narrowing his eyes at you more.
"I think I do, since ya' obviously don't know how to behave yourself when left to yer own devices, no one must've taught you."
He pulls one of your scarves off of its hanger with his free hand.
"What're you—"
He's then grabbing your other wrist and joining it to the first, using the scarf to tie them together above your head.
Ghost holds your wrists in one hand after he's tied them together, his now free hand grabbing your face.
"Do you want me to stop?" He asks, leaning into speak into your ear, face next to yours.
shake your head quickly, you can feel the heat in your stomach growing already.
"Use yer words, I know ya' know how." Ghost orders.
"No." You say shyly, redness growing on your cheeks, isn't exactly how you intended this to go, but, you could work with it.
"No what?"
"No, don't stop." You answer, looking away from his face, only playing up your flusteredness a bit.
"That's what I thought." He chuckles, and color in your cheeks darkens, feeling a crumb of shame finally, now that you're not fully in control of the situation like you had been. Or least thats what you thought, maybe you never were.
"Hey—" Faster then you know what's happening you're back on his shoulder, his hand resting against the back of your now bare thighs.
He walks out of the in closet and into the main area of your room, he tosses you off of his shoulder and onto your four poster plush bed unceremoniously.
You sit try to sit up on the covers but he just pushes you to lay back again with a look.
"Did I say ya' could sit up?" He says, wrapping a hand around your leg pulling you towards the edge of the bed, calfs now hanging over the side.
Ghost leans over you, the hand that grabbed your leg traveling up your leg to rest between where your thigh meets your pelvis in the dip of fat there, his other hand goes back to your wrists, pinning them above your head against the bed to make sure you can't move them.
"Yer awfully quiet now, Cat got yer tongue?" He mocks repeating your earlier words, watching as you stare up at him, "If i knew all it bloody took to shut ya' up was to tie yer wrists and pin ya' to a bed I woulda done it a whole lot sooner."
He uses the hand resting on your thigh to spread them apart, raising a brow at what he finds.
"Oh? Whats this then?" He teases meanly, staring at the slick that's started to gather at you're crotch, when you try to close your legs again he pinches the fat of your thighs, forcing them back open.
"None of that." He tells you, a underlying warning in the words. He would not be hunoring disobedience from you any longer.
Ghost runs a finger through your folds, gathering slick on it, you gasp and squirm a bit when he brushes over the bundle of nerves at the top of your crotch.
"You were getting off on pissing me off weren't ya'?" He asks, and you shake your head. Lair.
He scoffs, obviously not believing it, he continues to run his fingers through your pussy, only brushing lightly over where you want him to touch most.
"Don't lie, Brat." He says "You like making me mad, you like pushing my buttons."
He doesn't expect a response, watching as you squirm when he finally begins to rub circles over that bundle of nerves. He lets go of your tied wrists to push down on your hips to stop most of your squirming.
You swallow gasps when he rubs just right, sending sparks up your spine, you bring your tied together hands to mouth, biting into the meat of your plam to muffle whimpers.
Ghost continues to circle your clit, building up pressure in your stomach, he watches as the muscles in your legs pull taunt and your pussy pulses around nothing.
"Ghost—" You whine in your hand, and he inserts two Fingers into your hole in response, thumb continuing to rub over your clit while his middle and pointer finger prod around inside.
"Close already?" He huffs amused, and he can tell he found the right spot when his fingers curl and you whine.
"Come on then boy. Cum around my fingers." Ghost continues to curl his fingers into the spot in side you, building you up to the edge faster combined with his thumb on your clit.
Your legs shake and your eyes slam closed when you finally tople over the edge and come, pussy convulsing around his fingers.
He stops rubbing the bundle of nerves but doesn't pull his fingers out, now scissoring them inside you, stretching you out.
"Good boy." He coo's meanly, pushing down harder when you try to pull away from his hand when it starts to get overstimulating.
"Behave for me, Doll." He reminds, and you whimper into where you bite into your plam.
He spends another minute stretching you out before removes his fingers and you gasp, unable to decide if the loss is better or worse then the edge of overstim he was working you towards.
He looks you dead in the eyes as he lifts up the bottom part of his mask making you watch as he licks his fingers clean of your slick, your blush spreads from your cheeks to your collarbones and ears.
Ghost stands up fully after, hands going to his belt and pant zipper, he unbuckles his belt and pulls it from its pant loops in smooth motion, you sit up slightly to watch as he undoes the button on his tactile cargo's and unzips them.
You see as he reaches his hand into his boxers, pushing them and his pants down just enough to free his cock, already chubbed up.
It's thick and long, a happy trail leading to it that disappears under his shirt, he does give you much time to look before he's wrapping his hands around your legs again, pulling you right up to the edge of the bed.
He grabs a throw pillow that must have fallen off of your bed earliler in the day from the floor, forcefully lifting your hips and stuffing it under them to prop your hips up at angle so their level with him.
"Be a good boy and take it all." He murmur's giving his cock a few strokes with his hand, having collected some of your slick and spreading it over it.
"Deep breath, Baby." Is all the warning you get before he's notching his dick at your pussy and starting to push in. He watches as your slick walls suck him in easily.
You mewl when he's fully inside you and he chuckles, giving an experimental thrust.
"All it takes to make ya' behave is a good fucking isn't it? Just need some attention, hm?" He teases, voice mean as he begins to rut into you shallowly, one hand grabbing your tied wrists again, pinning them back above your head so you cant bite you palm to muffle yourself, so he can hear your sounds.
You try to swallow whines and moans, but he only starts to thrust deeper and harder, drawing them out of you.
"Wanna hear ya' sing for me, Doll." Ghost says, beginning to pant softly.
"G-Ghost—" you manage out between sounds, voice breathy.
"Just need a big man to fuck some manners into ya'?"
You nod dumbly, thoughts already in the process of melting into mush in your head, any plan you had now gone.
His free hand goes back to your clit, beginning to circle it again, you moan in response, and he laughs at you again.
"Look at ya', the little Brat melting away into the good Doll I knew ya' could be with just some attention." He murmurs, leaning over you to talk into your ear, before he begins to kiss at your neck.
"Bet ya' were all pent up, none of the little boys you play at the bar do it for ya' do they?" He says into your skin, "Need a real man to put ya' in yer place."
You only whine in response, the pressure in your core beginning to build a second time as he rams his length into that spongy spot inside you that he found earlier, making your toes curl.
He continues to whisper words into your ear, but as he continues to pound into you and you brain continues to melt into slop at the pleasure all the words blur to together, becoming one string of sounds that vaguely sounds like praise for being good and listening.
"All you need is someone to take control, hm? Let you sit back and look pretty, someone to make the big decisions so you can be dumb for once? Tired of being smart?" He mumbles, sucking marks into your neck between words and panting breathes, even though he knows you're drowning in to mush pleasure to really hear him.
Ghost feels as the muscles in your thighs begin to tighten up again, pussy fluttering around softly. His fingers speed up on your clit.
"Gonna cum on my cock Boy? C'mon, sweetheart, cum all over my dick." He encourages, cooing at you once again as he does, honing in on that spongy spot, making sure to hit it every time he thrusts in.
"Si-Simon," you moan when the coil snaps and for the second time tonight waves of euphoria wash over you, he fucks you all the way through it, only slowing down to help you ride it out.
"Good job, Doll," he kisses your cheek, before he's pulling out, only to flip you over onto your stomach, forcing your knees under you to hold you up and pushing between your shoulders blades to create a pretty arch in your back.
He pushes back in slowly and you whine high and long, trying to pull away from him to which he chuckles darkly and grabs your hips, pulling you back onto him.
Like this he reaches so much deeper into you, veins in his cock dragging against what has quickly become his favorite spot within you and his tip kisses your cervix.
Ghost begins to thrust again, pulling out almost all the way just to slam right back in, cause you to mewl, tears gathering in your eyes as he quickly works you into overstim.
"Poor baby," He coos mockingly at you, not letting up at all.
Hot tears run down your cheeks and onto your bed sheets, leaving a damp spot on them as he sets a deep and hard pace, working you up to the edge of a third high quickly from it and the overstim.
"Let me feel you cum around my cock again sweet heart, c'mon." He snakes his hand around your waist, fingers immediately finding your sensitive and abused clit and starting to circle it again.
Your quickly thrown off the edge again, crying out as you squeeze around his cock agian, and again he keeps fucking you through it, but instead of slowing down this time he speeds up, he holds you in place when you squirm and try to crawl away from where he spears you on his dick, he only pulls you back against his hips.
He chases his own high, hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise.
Eventually his hips still and he lays his weight over you, cock twitching inside you as he cums himself filling you up with his warm seed.
You whine when you don't feel him even begin to soften inside you, eyes wet and voice starting to go raw. He laughs before he's back at it again, picking up where he left off.
He places a kiss between your shoulder blades with a promise of 'Just one more lovie,' which you shake your head at, it only pulls another dark laugh from him.
"Use your words if you want me to stop baby." He tells you, and you shake your head again, its all to much, but you don't want him to stop either.
Lair, thats what he is, he brings you over the edge a fourth time but doesn't stop, going for a fifth and sixth with more empty promises of 'last time, only one more, Doll.'
