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.













