The sergeant was a wily thing. One hell of a soldier, keeping up with Soap and Gaz. Could handle their asses and throw some snark back when given. Had a demeanor like ghost, snarling at any hand offered, thinking it’s raised in violence. Yet, though almost invisible, clings to those very few words of praise given.
Skittish, almost in their aggression. Cold in their professionalism. A good soldier of course- never failing to meet expectations and go above if they absolutely must. Relishing their solitude. -Alone is safe- they remind themselves.
Ghost is the one to offer them up to price, like a guard dog bringing the limp body of their conquest to the feet of their master with that nervous expression. Of course, reader couldn’t see it. Thought it was just the LT trying to make them a better soldier.
-wanna be like you when I’m older, LT.-
Reader standing still, that same raw gleam in their eyes that price recognized from Ghost. (Before he’d tempered him, weathered him to fit his hand like a glove, a sword to wield.) A sense of… ease filling reader when the captain agrees, relenting to Ghost’s request for him to take her under the captain’s wing.
Like a mutt in the pound, unknowingly welcoming the noose around their neck. No clue of the games and tricks price would be playing to keep them docile- complacent.
Scheduled to the captain’s liking, tied to the Lieutenant’s own routine; can’t escape. More training than other soldiers- harder, intense. Almost alarming, the significant drop in free time or rest periods they had between training and marksmanship practice. Break their body, punishments and rewards. Running till they drop, feed them a compliment to feed that little worm he’d put in their skull.
-No energy to give attitude.- price would mumble to Ghost who stood by, remembering his own time trained under Price. He’s using the same tactics he used to ‘tame’ ghost. Now he’s the warden looking in on their shared prisoner who was on mile five with that heavy gear on. Good cop, bad cop. The LT dishing out heavy tasks, making reader struggle to complete them until they’re grasping at straws, begging for help.
Who steps in to comfort with gentle words and open arms? Price, reinforcing the bond between them. Finally treated as something other than a living weapon, more than just a tool to be discarded at the first crack. Reader welcomed it; First time in their life they’re shown decency or compassion. -Cling to it like your life depends on it- the voice in their head whispers and they agree. Not just a martyr in their eyes but someone with purpose.
Becoming malleable like clay in their hands as time goes on. How long? Depends…. Got reader to stop snapping at ghost after five weeks, stopped flinching at Price’s ‘adjustments’ when they’d spar and his fingers would graze the smallest of exposed skin after three months. Stopped clawing at them, didn’t feel like a mutt anymore.
Couldn’t say when it started, but they found themselves getting fewer and fewer punishments. The fact the less harsh treatment started when they stopped fighting them so hard on anything. More sweetly manipulative words from price, ghost brushing against them and getting his timbre scent all on them.
Didn’t mean there weren’t times when old habits would arise, making comments on a stupid plan for their mission. Of course the behavior was usually short lived when it came around. only to find themselves almost coughing their meal up after a brutal sparring match with Ghost. Mumbling apologies, coughing up ‘I’m sorry’s’ after each blow until they accept.
Looking up from their kneeling position with a pretty purple and blue bruise on their cheek. A little drop of crimson from a split lip, the shade matching the color on Ghost’s glove. What a sight… Their cheeks in their Captain and Lieutenant’s gloved hands, skin not touching. Pleading for forgiveness like they were at an altar of their god, pathetic for grace. When it’s given, they finally feel that euphoria the duo had been systematically training reader to crave.
Finally had them after a year- under their thumbs, welcoming the collar around their neck with an almost dazed expression. Knowing the collar meant comfort, familiarity, meant a purpose. Not just embracing the hold they had- craving it. Needing it like oxygen. Pliant- tamed.
Theirs
